I honestly thought this chapter was going to be shorter. And then I realized I REALLY had to think about just HOW JJ wasted my favorite boy (nay, my favorite character) when there was so much potential. Honestly I'm in the camp cheering on Hux being the spy, to the point where my dad told me to shut up in the theatre for screaming about it. But that doesn't mean it didn't need a VERY thorough explanation as to why he did the thing. Hence my job here, as best I could. Man I missed writing for him.

To Do the Next Right Thing

Chapter 2

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd pretended to be dead.

Of course Hux expected Pryde to not buy the shot in his leg; even as a general who seemed to not do much of anything anymore, he knew Pryde's ruthless mannerisms. Watched them closely. Had felt the back of his hand, his boot, even, in his youth.

Pryde probably had the suspicion that he'd been the spy well before he announced it and shooting him down, and Hux had been counting on that.

He'd also been counting on Pryde's, well... pride to hit his target without looking, to not shoot again in the head to make sure he was dead. He also figured Pryde would be too far focused on Ren's mission to Exegol to worry too much about the disposal of Hux's body, or the damaged security cams still about the Destroyer.

Know the enemy, Pryde had once said before, after a rather ruthless training session. Hux never thought that enemy would be the very thing he'd tried to build all his life.

If Pryde remembered to shoot him in the head, if it was really the end—Hux honestly would not have minded in the slightest, after what he'd done, how he'd betrayed the cause for which he'd always been training. He'd been in the face of death plenty of times before; this easily could have been his final breath and he'd be in a less self-loathing position. If Pryde shot him in the head, it'd be the easy way out. The one where he didn't have to think, didn't have to live with his actions, this consequence of what it meant to go against the First Order. To admit that he, Armitage Hux, had found fundamentally deep flaws within the system he once found so perfect.

But he hadn't. Two Stormtroopers (they must have been, one hauling his torso, the other his legs) handled him off the bridge, no doubt taking his body to the morgue to dispose of with the other unfortunate Stormtroopers that had met their end at the hands of the Resistance. No doubt they at least had an idea what dead weight felt like, and Hux tried his damnedest to hold still, recovering from that rather brutal blast, no doubt leaving a bruise on his torso.

Blaster-proof armor certainly wasn't easy to come by, but certainly accessible for a First Order general. He'd wrapped up his leg in his quarters (albeit crudely; he hadn't had much time to prepare), then slipped the armor under his uniform. By that time, the Wookie, Commander Dameron, and former FN-2187 were well out of Pryde's reach—perfect for him to show his face on the bridge and give his excuse, adding a bit of exaggeration to his limp. Sure, it had been a while since he'd taken a blaster to the leg, but he implied the injury to be far worse than the hell he'd experienced prior.

Kylo Ren's plaything. His abuse toy. Without Snoke, there was nothing holding back the new Supreme Leader to take out all his frustrations on a living being. Sometimes Ren was bored and just... threw him against a wall for his amusement. No, never enough to kill Hux; Ren couldn't lead an army worth a damn and even Ren had to admit his adversary had at least a few decent ideas.

Then Pryde came back into his life, and that precipice on which Hux once stood, between loyalty and betrayal, teetered over the edge so quickly he hadn't even noticed the change.

There'd been Brendol, who never failed to let Hux forget his bastard status and showed him his boot more than his hand or fist. Maratelle, who would pinch him under the table and would smirk whenever Hux had to give his excuse as to why he suddenly hurt, as there was no way Brendol's wife could cause such cruelty. Kylo Ren, who had just been plopped into a ranked position in the First Order without earning anything, using his powers to fish out every emotion within Hux and hold him down, throw him without the power to stop it. Finally Pryde, whose assignment to watch over Hux after being a First Order general for years added nothing but insult to injury.

The encrypted message to the Resistance had been sent out in a rage, when all his military prowess, all his training seemed to be thrown away for some hope in this seemingly fictional army that relied completely on a ghost and on the Force. The Force, which had caused him nothing but pain and suffering these past few years. Emperor Palpatine, whom his father had worshipped, returning from the dead because of some damn abilities he couldn't dream of possessing. He was sick of all the undermining.

And yet, for a split second, he wished he could have taken the message back, keep everything as normal. Maybe things would have changed—but who the hell was he kidding? Ren and Pryde's power hungry stances would only drown him further.

Commander Dameron had insulted his mother, and yet Hux blasted the Stormtroopers slated to execute them. His heart pounded, eyes wide for a moment as he realized there really was no turning back after something so insane. He was the spy. He told them about Exegol, about the Emperor. He watched Kylo Ren wretch Boolio's head off his body with his bare hands and stayed silent.

So no, after all that, with adrenaline coursing through his veins, FN-2187's blaster shot to the leg didn't affect him too much in the long run. He just hadn't expected it in the moment.

"Damn," said the Stormtrooper closer to his head. "For such a skinny guy, he weighs a ton."

"You ever see him eat?" the second asked. "Looked like he was wasting away those last few days."

"General Hux, Resistance Spy," the first scoffed. "Of course he was wasting his life. I don't think I've ever heard anything so pathetic before."

"Who'd've thought."

In moments like these, when he could hear everything so clearly, he truly was all right playing dead. To see if they were worth living. And really, this would give him more pleasure than it should have.

The door rushed shut. Hux slowly counted to three after the Stormtroopers tossed his body on the slab. Strip him for his boots and weapons, then toss him into the incinerator. Record the death and cause, move on to the countless Stormtroopers hauled here after the rescue of the Wookie.

"What the—!" the first one called out, but Hux had already stabbed his neck, right in the jugular, under the helmet. That concealed blade always kept under his sleeve certainly came in handy during tight situations like this, where he only had mere moments to act. The tactic of surprise, of using people's preconceptions about his size, always worked to his advantage.

As the first bled out on the floor, the second fumbled for his blaster. "Oh, shit!" he cried, and though Hux's face was less than a meter away, the blast missed.

He reached for his comlink, but Hux kicked it out of his hand with his uninjured leg, before handing him the same fate as his colleague, his blade slipping under the helmet to slit his neck. While the two twitched while dying, Hux grabbed one of their blasters and took out the security camera, then locked the doors, making them inaccessible to mere Stormtroopers. If this half-assed plan—thought up just after the Falcon escaped—was going to work, he only had an hour.

And then he waited. Hux pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in his face, always annoyed this tended to happen during a conflict—why couldn't his blasted, bright hair just stay in place where he needed it? He figured he'd meet his real end if anyone on the ship actually wanted to pay attention to their internal affairs, but again, he had calculated Pryde's arrogance, same as it had always been.

That was the thing about his father's colleagues. They'd always thought him too weak to succeed, too dumb to outsmart them.

Once the coast became crystal clear, Hux stripped out of his uniform, jaw clenching at the realization that he'd never have the pride of wearing it ever again. The thought kept him from focusing on the pain in his leg and chest. Had he more time, he would have organized his clothes, would have tried to clean up the bodies to make the scene look as clean as possible, but that inevitable factor of time would dictate his every move. If he died on this ship, so be it. He'd die still believing in the First Order, what it had once been before being twisted and bastardized into the mess it now was.

If this worked, if he lived... maybe it was the coward's way out. He'd endure every waking moment in agonizing anxiety, this shadow of a former life looming over his head. But he'd survive. And maybe there was something still out there for him in this galaxy.

Damn, were Stormtroopers just getting shorter? Hux swore he was far too tall to squeeze into the armor as some makeshift disguise, just to get from here to an escape pod. And yes, he understood the irony of escaping to Batuu in quite the similar manner as those Resistance prisoners had months ago—the failure, the catalyst that brought Hux to this point.

While ill-fitting, the suit fit its purpose, and with the helmet on Hux finally understood just why so many of them missed their targets. Upping the budget for Stormtrooper upgrades had always been the cause for which Phasma supported wholeheartedly, and Hux finally got it. Too damn late now. Blaster in hand, he tried to stop the pounding in his chest as he stepped out of the morgue, shutting the door as quickly as possible so no one could gaze upon the carnage. After he relocked the door with his code, Hux scurried down the hall, wishing he could sprint to an escape pod without suspicion. But he had to cover up his limp, enduring the pain like it was nothing.

Good thing he'd had to cover up whatever pain—physical or emotional—he'd received his whole life.

All right, he'd made it to the shaft, just a few more halls to go—he even nodded at fellow Troopers, saluted to an officer or two.

"GR-4512." Lieutenant Rodinon, headed right toward him, addressing him.

Kriff. Stormtroopers usually had a different accent than he, less dignified with these shortened vowels. So casual. Hopefully he could pull it off. "Lieutenant," he addressed with a bow of his head. It sounded so... foreign. Unnatural.

"Heading back to your post?" he asked, raising a poised brow.

"Yes, sir," Hux replied slowly, trying to get that accent right. "After the Refresher." Oh, how undignified. But he had no excuses here—not after everything he'd just done.

"Ah. As you were."

Thank the maker. Hux could breathe again once Rodinon continued in the opposite direction.

Once in a pod, he again played that waiting game. The realization that the supposedly deceased former General Hux wasn't in his place hopefully wouldn't dawn on Pryde until he was off this Destroyer, and the ship halfway across the galaxy. T-minus ten minutes—until the Destroyer disposed of its garbage, from which Hux would finally detach. They'd go into light speed in search of Exegol, and Hux would retreat to the outskirts of Black Spire Outpost. Thankfully the pod boasted the time next to its controls.

Minutes always passed like hours during these tense times, while he waited for his fate. He got why FN-2187 had taken his helmet off so soon after the scourge on Jakku; he had so much trouble breathing in this damn thing, in such a panic.

All right. He could calm down by thinking up a new plan, once he actually landed.

If he made it out.

First was to strip out of the armor. Land on the outskirts, a few kilometers from the Outpost. Find an alternate tunic, or jacket, preferably in muted colors. A hood, definitely, or a scarf to cover up his hair, which would certainly stand out from far away. He'd have no credits, so he'd have to take some sort of job; unfortunately, it'd be through the damned Ohnaka Transports. A smuggler life until he had enough credits to leave to some isolated corner of the galaxy. And stay out of First Order and Resistance territory at all costs.

T-minus five. Hux leaned back against the wall of the pod. He could fly. He was pretty decent, really, but rarely got to do it. And given his ability to read TIE fighter patterns, he'd do well in a smuggling unit (though the thought of taking down his own just about murdered him inside).

He could deal with Batuu's three suns for a time. He could deal with the snarky inhabitants, as well. Keep his head down, like back at the Academy, and secretly plot. Only this time, no one would try to kick him down as he tried to claw his way up to at least a semblance of his former dignity. He'd have to start going by just "Armitage," a name he'd always resented—the only thing he could recall his mother ever giving him. It'd be strange to hear it in normal tones, and not like they were spitting the damn thing at him in resentment.

T-minus one. At this point, Hux expected to hear something coming down the hall, dooming him. That's how things always went down, right? Rodinon would say something to Pryde, who would quickly find the morgue in complete disarray and send every Stormtrooper out to find the escaped corpse. With his luck, it was certainly possible. He moved to prep the pod for takeoff.

Thirty seconds. Twenty. Fifteen. Still nothing. Hux wished he could shut his ears up; his beating heart made it near impossible to think.

Two, one... Hux detached the pod, just as the garbage was dumped. There was still a chance for them to notice on the bridge, for Pryde to get over himself and shoot him down if anyone dared speak up. He held his breath; they should be taking off, why hadn't they just yet?

After what seemed like hours later, the Destroyer shot off into the galaxy. With that held the death of General Hux's illustrious (yet terribly flawed) career. His former life, given up in a flash. He finally wretched off the Stormtrooper helmet, tossing it across the pod like it had burned his hand.

Armitage Hux couldn't survive the First Order. But he'd survive past his abusers, that was for damn sure.

So the incident on Batuu is LITERALLY the plot to Rise of the Resistance. It's canon in the Star Wars universe now, can you believe it? It's a ride so good I cried, and everyone needs to go on it.

Yes, we need two flashback chapters to explain it all. I blame both JJ and my need to just keep writing about Hux for as long as possible. Like honestly. Does anyone think he's actually dead? We all know Darth Maul came back from worse.

Did I write about Batuu because it'll be the easiest planet for me to write about? Yes. Hush. And did I just steal the escape from both A New Hope and Empire? Also yes, hush. We're just getting started here.

As always, kudos and comments are always appreciated! I feel so welcomed back into this fandom from your support!