In his dreams, he always saw her face.
In his dreams, he could only reach out to draw her near and watch as she drifted away.
In his dreams, he was back on Coruscant, laughing and joking with the rest of the Republic pilots over some dumb prank Wes had pulled.
In his dreams, he was safe.
He didn't know how long he had been here. Time was irrelevant on this little world in a sad little place that most definitely wasn't home.
Eleven of them had survived the space battle only to be captured on the ground by the Imperial Forces. They had been shoved in a cell that was barely the size of his office back home. There was more room now, though. Only five of them were left.
Corran… Ooryl… Asyr… Myn… Nawara… Tycho… They were gone now, all gone. One by one, she took them away and they never returned. Never.
No one talked much anymore. The urge to do so had faded away long ago. Not even Janson could lighten the mood with his jokes or Hobbie with his straight-faced replies.
They were all going to die. They knew they were going to die.
In his dreams, more of them survive.
In his dreams, the New Republic rescues them all.
In his dreams, he rescues all of his pilots.
In his dreams, they're safe.
Two guards open the cell door and take positions on either side. Unconsciously, he feels himself draw further away from these faceless monsters and in front of the young Tatooine pilot who held Inyri in his arms.
She was coming.
Someone else was going to die.
Footsteps echo in the empty hallway he knows lays outside this bare room. She pauses in the doorway, flicking her gaze from pilot to pilot before coming to stare steadily at him.
He has been chosen. The guards know it, the other pilots know it, and he knows it.
Wes and Hobbie struggle to their feet so they can bid their friend goodbye. To him, it seems almost futile. They'll see each other on the Otherside. They'll join him there before too long.
He murmurs something to them, some sort of farewell, before the guards yank him roughly away, dragging him after the monstrous woman who destroys his squadon.
There is another room now; an empty room, a clean room, a white room. The stark color of the walls scares him more then anything else. There is only emptiness all around.
That is before he sees a figure shoved in as well, his hands bound behind his back and forced to his knees. He knows this man... it is a man he had thought dead.
A terrible voice speaks to him, seeming to echo through his mind, asking him something. He shakes his head in response. He will not do anything that they ask, but then she offers in impossible. She offers to set the rest of his pilots free if he will do one thing for her.
It is a long agonizing moment for him. He does not know how to respond. Finally, he nods weakly. To save his pilots, he will do what he must.
Kill Tycho.
The words echo in his mind.
Kill Tycho.
He cannot do this, he cannot. He cannot kill his best friend.
Kill him. Kill him now, the voice says urgently as a blaster is pressed into his hand.
He can see the other man struggling to catch his gaze and a whisper reaches his ears.
Kill me. Do it. Save the others.
He shakes his head urgently before shouting his refusal to the voice.
A sharp pain erupts from his neck and he stumbles forward in surprise.
You could've saved them, he hears the voice say calmly. It continues on, saying how he had been given a shot of obbedisca, a drug which will make him obedient to orders.
In his heart, he knows he has condemned the rest. He knows that there is no escape now.
Again, the voice tells him to shoot the other. He cannot stop himself from raising the blaster. He cannot stop himself from pulling the trigger.
But he can apologize as he does.
The blonde man hits the ground, dead before he does so.
He screams. He screams all of his anger at this evil woman.
But wait, that voice: it gives him orders yet again. But these… these he would have done anyways.
Another shot brings eternal white before his eyes as he crosses to the Otherside.
In his dreams, he never came here.
In his dreams, his love is with him and they are away from this dreadful place.
In his dreams, all of his pilots are free and happy.
In his dreams, he is not a murder.
But he dreams no more.