Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm just playing in George Lucas' sandbox. Please don't sue.
Summary: The day before his promotion to commander, an anonymous stormtrooper thinks about how he copes.
Genre(s): General, some angst
Author's Note: Inspired by Luke's "I can't see anything under this helmet!" in ANH.

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For the Glory of the Empire
By Trickster-jz

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Everything looks different behind the helmet.

It makes the job easier. They had known what they were doing when they designed it.

The deaths of fellow soldiers do not haunt him; their corpses do not seem so grisly. Commanders' stern and unfeeling faces always hide all the right answers and strategies. Everything is as it should be.

(The bodies look different. When he kills them, the beings just become targets during practice. The looks on their faces blur, and he can't see their expressions of horror or—worse—acceptance. Although sobbing over their parents' corpses, children don't register as anything other than background noise. The death becomes…necessary.

For the glory of the Empire.)

---

Everything feels different in the armour.

It protects him. They must have known what they were doing when they designed it.

The deaths of comrades-in-arms do not strike so deeply; they are too far behind to be real. Superiors' harsh "criticism" does not whip his soul, and he does not hate watching as they casually order death.

(The murder doesn't stain him; the blood washes away. Children's cries of fear and grief are lost in the fray. He doesn't remember home life when he follows orders and burns a traitor's residence. He doesn't realize that his family owns a house just like this one or that one. He has no connection to his work. And the suffering he sees everywhere is just…necessary.

For the glory of the Empire.)

---

But at night he has to discard the armour. Before he goes to sleep, he has to take off his helmet and put it at the foot of his bed.

Then, the protection is gone.

He sees their corpses, and the wrongness. He smells the fire; he cries out with them, and shares their pain.

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Every day before this, he pushed through the nightmares until morning. He ordered sleeping aids, and muffled his screams in his pillow. The others don't remark on it; sometimes, he knows they do the same.

Tomorrow, though, he will go trade in his helmet and armour. Tomorrow, he will pick up an officer's uniform.

There will be no more hiding, and the nightmare will go on unabated.

For the glory of the Empire.

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Please R&R!

.Tjz