"Don't wait for me! Jump in and fire her up!"

Screeee!

The little white and orange ball whizzed ahead, beating Poe to Black One by a few seconds. Pilots and engineers scrambled across the hanger, readying squadron X-wings for the fight of their lives-

A flash of orange heat launched Poe back through the hanger doors, his body colliding with the deck-

The pilot sucked in a sharp breath at the hint of smoke in the air. His brown eyes snapped open, his body shuddering at the dream – no… a memory. Right? That was a memory. The catalyst event to the downfall and rise-

This isn't an X-wing.

The grey panels of this room were too far apart to belong to any starfighter. Was he laying down? Thick black eyebrows frowned at the room, taking in its dull details. It was pretty much just panels, floor, open door; nothing special, and nothing he recognised. A cargo container sat lonely in the room's corner, lock indicator lit.

Poe was on a ship – that much he could tell. He could hear the vibration of the engines reverberating through the deck plating. Every now and then, it stuttered, as if they had damaged a thruster. The smell of smoke permeated the air – something had burned recently, but it (hopefully) wasn't burning now.

He tried to sit up – but his right wrist was caught on something. Poe glanced above his head, shaking his hand. Old cuffs smacked against a bed rail, one snapped around his wrist and the other around a rail of the bedhead. His eyes glanced down to still see his jumpsuit – minus his flares, life support unit… and his harness. Hm. That can't mean this was a rendezvous gone wrong, right?

Kaz.

Kriff.

Poe smacked the cuff around the bed more violently, trying to get himself upright. Kaz was nowhere to be seen. He was on an unfamiliar craft, with no BB-8, and Kazuda wasn't here either. What had happened? The last thing he remembered was that crazy electrical storm taking out his life support systems. He'd lost consciousness.

Footsteps stopped at his doorway.

The pilot froze, turning his eyes to the human standing with his arms crossed. The man's wispy brown hair was tousled, some of it stuck to the sweat on his forehead. He wore no First Order get-up, donned in a typical Resistance-brown cargo pants and tanned long-sleeve shirt. His brown eyes had locked Poe firmly within their gaze. A black holster was hooked around his hips, holding a rather chunky-looking blaster.

"State you name and rank," the man demanded.

Poe gaped for a moment, glancing back up to the cuffs entrapping him. "I've got three questions for you," he breathed, yanking once more on the cuffs. "Who are you, where am I, and how the hell did I get here?"

"Name and rank," the man repeated.

"What's yours?"

His captor's frown deepened, stubbled jaw clenching. "We rescued you from a disabled X-wing. We'd at least deserve to know who you are."

"You could be First Order for all I know."

"Could be what?"

Poe rose an eyebrow, surprised at the genuine confusion on the man's face. "Y'know… white bucket-heads? Intent on galactic subjugation? Was dealt a massive blow from the Resistance not too long ago and now they're running and hiding? It's impossible for you to have not heard of them."

A moment passed as the man tried to process everything Poe had just blurted. "What?"

"Where is my wing-man?" Poe demanded loudly. "What have you done with him?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The racer I was flying with! What have you done with its pilot?"

"There were no other starcraft in the area," the man stated. "We'd have already located them if there were."

Poe swore. They'd left Kaz at the mercy of the freak storm in the middle of space, with no back-up or help on the way. They'd been too far out of range for Resistance scanners to pick them up – they'd only meant to be surveying possible refuges for First Order cronies. An easy fly-by, Poe had pitched to Finn, nothing more. That was the only reason a General had been allowed to go out in a relatively new starfighter. Kazuda's repairs on the Fireball had just been completed and he was eager to come. It was the perfect opportunity to stretch his wings again.

But his captor kept trying to pull answers to other questions out of him. "You were alone in an unfamiliar class of X-wing. Are you a test pilot?"

"I wish," Poe grumbled to himself. He readdressed the man. "We gotta go back and find the racer. That storm would have torn it apart!"

"That storm almost tore us apart," the man stomped forward, closer to Poe. "This ship is barely flying as it is. We can't launch a search for a ship you've not convinced me is there."

"I swear to you, it's there. Its pilot is only young and we're out of range of Resistance scanners – you can't-"

The ship's deck-plating groaned, a loud pop shuddering through the bulkheads and rocking its occupants. An engine had blown.

The internal com chimed. "I'm not sorry to interrupt your loud game of chase-the-lothcat's-tail. Our repair efforts don't appear to have helped anything. I intend to land us on the nearest habitable planet."

A droid?

It didn't use a voice-box he recognised.

The man sighed, sparing Poe one last dangerous glance as he swung around and marched out of the quarters. "I'm on my way."

"Wait a minute," Poe called after him. "You got me out of my X-wing in space – don't tell me you plan to land with it still docked!"

But it didn't stop his captor, the brooding dark-haired mystery man continuing his march out of view. Poe grumbled at himself, hauling his body further up the bed to get a closer look at the cuffs. If he could just find a way to pop it open, he could make a run for BB-8 once the ships had landed and contact Kaz.