Author's note: From this point, both Canon (Disney) and Legends characters will start to enter the story, as will important OCs. Given how much I'm having to establish the new status quo of the setting, a lot of these early chapters serve to set up the characters, storylines, and general political landscape. The action scenes should become more frequent from the middle chapters onward.
Chapter Two
"I trust you have a reasonable explanation for this, Your Majesty?"
Though the holo-projection before him flickered sporadically, and the GA Chief of State's posture and facial expression were as diplomatic as ever, the hostile undertone was unmistakeable. This was hardly the first time that Emperor Valius Fel had found himself dragged into a holographic conference call with his Alliance counterpart. He could not, however, recall the last time it had been over quite so grave a matter. Before the fires on Kree'os had even begun to die, grisly footage of the bombing was all over the HoloNet News. By the time Imperial Intelligence had handed him their initial report, Fel had already amassed a long queue of urgent transmissions from ambassadors and foreign heads of government demanding to know what was happening.
Although Fel was only thirty-five standard years old and in excellent shape thanks to a meticulous exercise regimen and a strong connection to the light side of the Force, his greying hairs and exhausted face attested to the steep toll of a decade in high politics. The Imperial leader kept measured tones as he replied. "Chief Handor – I trust you are quite aware that the First Order has already claimed responsibility for this cowardly attack."
The half-human, half-Mirialan's subtly green hues were difficult to make out over the holo-transmission. Still, Fel could carefully read the Alliance statesman's tattooed face. To his credit, Handor showed no irritation at the Emperor's thinly veiled attempt to goad him by stating the obvious.
"Your Majesty – I have no doubt that we've seen the same broadcasts from this mysterious 'Supreme Leader' of theirs, but let's not dance around the issue here. For decades, we've heard reports of these terrorists launching attacks in Imperial Space, yet every time we've asked what the Empire's doing about it, we've been assured that they're only a fringe group of Palpatine nostalgists and that the Empire's already taking thorough measures to counter them. Now, for the first time, they've struck outside of Imperial Space and killed at least thirty people, including two Alliance citizens! Given the circumstances, I think it's more than reasonable to ask exactly what 'thorough measures' you've been taking!"
"I'm afraid the Chief of State has a point, Your Majesty," another voice chimed in.
Fel turned to the source of the interjection. The quietly humming holo-projectors formed a small semi-circle around him, casting other ghostly figures into the meeting room. Among them was a violet-skinned, middle-aged humanoid. He was rather more austere in dress than the young Emperor, but still held a certain air of dignity and leadership. This was a man with whom Fel had come to interact quite frequently in recent years: Premier Oworta of Kree'os.
"While I have little doubt that the Empire is taking this terrorist threat very seriously," the Kree'osian leader continued, "I must nevertheless voice the concerns of my people. The First Order has said in no uncertain terms that they targeted the Imperial Mission on our world because Kree'os is in talks to accede to the Empire, the Imperial Mission is a galactically recognised symbol of your 'Victory Without War' campaign, and – in their eyes – that campaign is an affront to everything the Empire should stand for. If proceeding with the accession talks will lead to even more of these barbaric attacks on Kree'os, then it is only reasonable that the Empire provide something more solid to assure my people of their safety. If not, we will be forced to discontinue the talks."
Fel's eyes darted to the other flickering figures around the room. To Oworta's right, the holo-projectors rendered images of the Hapan, Chiss, and Confederate leaders. For the head of a rather small system like Kree'os to stand alongside such major players on the galactic stage was truly remarkable. Then again, thought Fel, this is probably why Oworta insisted that we hold a joint meeting in the first place – he knows he can put me under greater pressure if we're in full view of the other big powers.
The gathered leaders were physically too distant and spread out for Fel to sense their feelings through the Force. Still, he had enough experience at the negotiating table to tell that, despite their efforts to sustain an air of indifference, the Hapan Queen Mother, Chiss Aristocra, and Confederate Supreme Commander had all started watching him and Oworta with intense interest. Fel could also vividly picture the smirk Handor must have been fighting to keep off his face at the prospect of Kree'os breaking off its accession talks with the Empire. That would give the Alliance an opportunity to bring the growing commercial hub into its own political orbit.
The Emperor took a moment to choose his words before responding. "Honoured friends – I do not deny that we are facing a dangerous group of paramilitaries who look with a perverse sense of pride at the horrors that Emperor Palpatine inflicted upon the galaxy a century ago and would do anything to bring back what they disturbingly see as the Empire's glory days. I also admit that we did not expect the First Order to show quite so far a reach as they did in their deplorable attack on Kree'os. But rest assured: they have only a marginal presence within the Empire, our security forces have already clamped down on many of their terrorist cells, and as we speak our top intelligence units are preparing a fatal blow to their known hubs of activity in the Outlands of Imperial Space. I cannot divulge any further details without imperilling a top-secret operation, but the Empire has the situation under control."
"Really, Your Majesty?", Handor replied. "Because news can travel surprisingly quickly across the border. From what I've heard, things are so desperate in the Imperial Outlands that many locals have formed a thriving network of armed resistance fighters to defend themselves from the First Order. Forgive my frankness, but that doesn't exactly sound like a situation 'under control'!"
"Oh, I am more than familiar with how news travels fast, Chief Handor," Fel answered with a subtle grin. "But you know how these things are – some freighter crew hears something with a kernel of truth that spins into their latest tall tale at the spaceport bar. Besides, in your position I would be less keen to bring up the Resistance. From what Imperial Intelligence tells me, quite a few of them are volunteers from Alliance worlds. Every so often, our security forces intercept a ship crossing the border from Alliance space with arms and other suspicious supplies. Naturally, GA Intelligence denies any involvement in those shipments, but unless you want me to continue what I assume is an awkward line of discussion for you, I suggest you let me return to the issue of Kree'os."
The Emperor paused for a few seconds. Satisfied that, at least for now, Handor would hold his tongue, Fel turned back to Oworta and continued. "To show that the Empire has total faith in its ability to defend its citizens and the good people of Kree'os, I will personally come to Kree'os and participate in the accession talks. We will bolster planetary security to the highest level and show the Kree'osians that the Empire is more than capable of keeping them safe. That is, Premier, if you are willing to accept my proposal."
A slight hesitance entered Oworta's voice as he answered. "I am certainly…open to such an arrangement, Your Majesty, though I would have to see precisely what security you are planning to bring and consult the director of our own security service before I agree to it."
"Then let us reconvene and, in the meantime, I can have Imperial Intelligence contact your own agencies."
"That would be reasonable, Your Majesty. That is, if everybody else would like to take a recess?"
The other holographic attendees nodded in silence and, seeing Fel's gesture of approval, disappeared one by one until only Handor remained.
"We'll continue to give Imperial Intelligence any new information we find on the First Order's movements," the GA Chief of State began. "And we appreciate the Kree'osian authorities agreeing to return the bodies of our murdered citizens. But remember, Fel – we're keeping an eye on you and if you can't keep a handle on the situation, the Alliance has its own ways of doing so."
With that, Handor's visage flickered out of sight. Fel sighed as the holo-projectors powered down and the room's main lights came on. He had noticed what could only have been Handor's deliberate choice to address him by name rather than by honorific. Fel doubted that a politician as seasoned and perceptive as Handor would continue to antagonise him too openly. While there had not been a full-scale galactic conflict for a good forty years now, for many on both sides of the Alliance/Empire divide, the last civil war was almost a fresh memory. Yet in recent years, the long-standing tensions between the two most prominent galactic powers had increasingly bubbled to the surface. Fel supposed it was inevitable. With every new Imperial Mission built in an unaligned star system, and with every new deal reached to supply those systems with funding, medical supplies, and other resources in exchange for concessions that served the Empire's interests, the Alliance could feel its own sphere of influence receding. No wonder the Alliance showed such unease over Kree'os' possibly imminent accession to the Empire.
"Are you sure that's wise, Val?"
Fel turned at the familiar voice. Two figures stood waiting at the now-opened door. Draped in elegant white robes and a short, purple cloak was his wife, Karyna. Next to her stood an older man with neat, greying hair and bristling stubble. He was decked in the traditional red body armour and black cape of the Imperial Knights, the order of Force-practitioners sworn to serve the Emperor. More accurately, they were sworn to uphold the light side of the Force as embodied by the Emperor: should the Emperor fall to the dark side and fail to be brought back to the light, it was their duty to remove him from power and kill him if need be. Unsurprisingly, Fel seldom forgot about that little detail in his Knights' code. It was probably no exaggeration to say that the Knight before him now was the man he trusted most in his entire Empire: his old friend and mentor, Trey Calbhan.
Walking towards the door, Fel answered his wife. "Is what wise, Ry?"
"Going to Kree'os. I don't understand why you're putting yourself at risk like this. You've seen what these First Order types are capable of!"
As Fel strode through the door and along the corridor, Karyna and Calbhan fell in beside him. "I'm afraid your wife has a point, my liege," Calbhan added. "These terrorists are clearly much more resourceful than even we anticipated. Are you sure this is the best course of action?"
Fel gave heartfelt smile as they continued down the hallway. Through the windows to their left sprawled the arid brown and grey tones of Bastion's landscape. Though it was a far cry from the endless skyscrapers of Coruscant in the Galactic Core, Bastion had come a long way in its time as the Empire's capital world. Fel took a moment to take in the view before he answered.
"Ry, Trey – I know you both worry about me and, honestly, that means a lot. But there's even more at stake here than Kree'os. You've seen how the militarists on the Moff Council have been acting since we agreed to give Arahnos back to Hapes!"
Yes, Arahnos – a system on the frontiers of Imperial Space. Aside from its agricultural produce, Arahnos was remarkable only because it had previously been a vassal of the Hapes Consortium. During one of the several border conflicts between the Consortium and the Empire that occurred under Palpatine's reign, the Empire annexed Arahnos. Now, a hundred years later, the Empire had reached an agreement with both the Hapans and the native authorities to return Arahnos to Hapes as a semi-autonomous system. The transition agreement secured new trade routes for the Empire, as well as closer diplomatic ties with Hapes. Nevertheless, sitting on the High Moff Council, the ruling body of the Empire, were several sector governors who had only begrudgingly accepted the Empire's foreign policy turn away from armed force. These days, the Empire pursued more economic and ideological means of spreading its influence – the famous Victory Without War campaign launched by Valius' father Jagged, the first Fel Emperor. The Imperial Mission, and the larger system of foreign aid and investment of which it formed a major part, was integral to this campaign. For the militarists in the Imperial officialdom, the loss of Arahnos was nothing less than a galactic humiliation that confirmed their every sceptical thought about 'Victory Without War'. Indeed, it would not surprise Fel if a few of them had stronger First Order sympathies than they were letting on.
"My point is," Fel continued, "if we bring a growing trade hub like Kree'os into the Empire, we can offset the loss of Arahnos and show that Victory Without War is working."
Karyna's deep brown eyes met her husband's piercing blue ones. "Val, I know you're concerned about how the factional dynamics on the Council are playing out. So am I. But if this is about making some big show of strength, I don't think it's worth putting your own life in danger."
Keeping their eyes fixed, Fel took his wife's hand and spoke softly. "Ry, I appreciate your concern and your counsel. If our positions were reversed, I'd be worried too. But my father wanted the Empire to leave a legacy of peace and security, and it's my duty to safeguard that legacy. That's why I must go Kree'os myself. I can't let the First Order or the militarists on the Council jeopardise all that my father built for our people. I have to show them that we don't have to go back to the days of expansion through bloodshed."
Suddenly remembering that Calbhan was still standing next to them, Fel let go of Karyna's hand, making a small, covered cough as he straightened himself out. "I'm heading to see Imperial Intelligence now. I'll join you and Roan for dinner later. I promise."
Karyna gave a smile and a nod before turning to leave. "Speaking of my son," Fel continued while watching his wife walk away. "How's his Imperial Knight training coming along?"
"Excellently, my liege," Calbhan replied as the pair resumed their original path down the corridor towards the Director of Imperial Intelligence's office. "Young Roan's a bit boisterous, especially when he and Treis Sinde are together, but he performs splendidly in his exercises. I suspect once we get him more used to regular meditation, he'll mature faster."
Fel chuckled as they came to the door they sought. "I suppose there's only so much maturity one can expect from a twelve-year-old! Anyway – let's not keep the Director waiting!"
The ashy odour of aged tabac struck their nostrils as soon as they stepped inside. The office was every bit as spartan and orderly as one would expect from someone tasked with directing a far-reaching intelligence agency. At the other end of the room, between the cabinets and bookcases that lined the walls, sat a brown-haired, middle-aged human male in a neat, grey uniform. His eyes were fixed on a dataslate in one hand while clutching an antique pipe in the other. Spread out on the desk before him was an array of documents. Glancing up from the dataslate, he rose to his feet and gave a quick bow. "Come right in, Your Majesty. I have everything you requested right here."
Politely nodding, Fel and Calbhan strode up to the desk and took their seats. "Director Zinn," the Emperor responded, "I read the report on the Kree'os bombing you sent me earlier. Ghastly reading as expected. How about the situation in the Outlands?"
"I'm afraid it's even more dire there, my liege." At that, Zinn pushed a button on a small device on the desk. The holo-projector hummed into life, displaying a three-dimensional map of Imperial Space above their heads. Zinn thumbed a few more controls to zoom in on a highlighted section of the map among the most backwater regions of Imperial Space. It lay on the frontiers of Wild Space, beyond the shipyards of Ord Trasi and the agriworld of Agamar. If viewed with the Galactic Core at the 'south' and Bastion at the 'north' of the map, the sector would be to the Imperial capital's 'east'.
Zinn continued. "Even before we started calling them 'the Outlands', these territories were infamously hard to govern. The northernmost area is riddled with plasma storms and other spatial disturbances that make navigation difficult. We believe that this is where the First Order is hiding its main base of operations. It seems to us that, after all these years of recruitment, funding, and supplies from what's clearly an extensive support network across Imperial Space, the First Order has evolved into much more than a handful of interconnected terrorist cells. There's reports of warships flying their flag, disappearing between the plasma storms before we can get a proper look. Likewise, there's accounts of First Order guerrilla units fielding their own stormtrooper squads in attacks upon remote outposts. If you ask me, they're several major steps along the way to forming their own state in there. Unfortunately, I can't confirm my suspicions because every intelligence agent we've sent in to investigate is now missing, presumed dead."
Fel grimaced as Zinn's words sunk in, glancing over to an equally disturbed Calbhan. Studying the map display, the senior Imperial Knight spoke. "If you are correct that the First Order has formed some kind of hidden proto-state in those territories, then we've got to step things up from standard counter-terrorist measures! What do the nearest Imperial governors say?"
"We've approached them," the Director slowly replied. "But they've given us precious few leads. Disturbingly, we suspect this is because many of them are secretly sympathetic to the First Order."
A stunned silence filled the room for several seconds. "The unfortunate truth, my liege," Zinn continued, "is that holding a distant and modest post often makes officials a bit more, shall we say, susceptible to external incentives."
Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Fel responded. "I am indebted to you and your agents' tireless work, Director. Terrifying as your findings and suspicions might be, I think it best that we continue to keep this information secret. If news of the First Order's true extent were to spread now, it would surely cause mass panic among Imperial citizens and the Empire cannot afford to look weak or incompetent at a stage as crucial as this one. If you will excuse me, it is urgent that I send Premier Oworta the details of my proposed visit and security detail and reconvene my meeting with the other galactic leaders. Please keep me informed of all developments as they come to you, but there can be no public admission of what you have told me today: as far as the wider galaxy is concerned, we have the situation under control."
Even under the tan cloth layers of her protective garb, Rey felt the intense heat of the sun on her neck as she pulled her speeder into Niima Outpost. The makeshift vehicle shuddered before descending to a halt upon the sandy ground. With a tremendous heave, the young brunette lifted the bag of salvaged machine parts off the side of the speeder and began to carry them towards the concession stand. On a desert world as harsh and remote as Jakku, scavenging was one of the few means of making a living. To be sure, there was no shortage of less savoury options like mercenary work or trading on the black market. In that respect, Jakku was very much like the rest of the Imperial Outlands. Yet even at her most desperate, Rey was just too honest a person to find those walks of life appealing. Besides, for one with her sheer curiosity about all things technological, the abandoned vehicles and wrecked hulls of downed ships that peppered Jakku's surface could be quite the treasure trove. Every so often she would come across some hidden trinket or gizmo that she could convert into a useful tool or interesting accessory. Today's haul, however, had been thoroughly unspectacular. Enough bits and pieces for Rey to get some meagre credits and ration packs from the concession stand, but that was it.
As she made her way to the stand, Rey passed the entrance to a large, scrap-metal shack: a makeshift structure typical of settlements on Jakku. It was the local cantina, if such a word could describe so ramshackle an establishment. While it did not look like much, the Niima Outpost landing field was Jakku's only spaceport, so there was always a trickle of ships in and out of this unassuming settlement. Some were small freighters on supply runs along the Imperial frontier. Others were spacefarers who fancied the adventure of the Unknown Regions. Unsurprisingly, many were smugglers, contract killers, and black marketeers seeking to avoid the watchful eye of the Imperial authorities. Everyone on Jakku knew the Niima Outpost cantina as a hotspot for clandestine meetings between offworlders.
Through the open door, Rey could make out an ageing holoscreen mounted on the opposite wall. The image quality was poor, but she could still discern the familiar sight of the HoloNet News desk. Easing the scrap-filled bag off her shoulder, Rey took a few steps into the cantina to get a better view. It was only then that she realised how unnervingly subdued the atmosphere was inside. To be sure, there were patrons here and there who were clearly enjoying themselves, but it was far from the deafening din Rey usually encountered at this time of day. Many customers sat transfixed on the screen. After a further pair of steps, Rey could finally make out the slightly crackling audio.
"…the confirmed death toll of the Kree'os bombing is now forty. In the next standard hour, we expect to hear an address from Emperor Valius Fel about the ongoing situation with the First Order…"
At that, the broadcast image shifted. Now Rey could see what appeared to be the side of a building, blown wide open and pouring out smoke. Through the dark, billowing clouds, she could make out ominous flickers of flame. Rey brought her hand to her mouth as the holocam zoomed out, bringing the sprawled bodies into view. After lingering on the surrounding chaos of pedestrians running and visibly injured victims stumbling out of the building, the cam zoomed in again, this time on some nearby graffiti. Rey shuddered as the painted symbol came into focus.
This deep in the Outlands, the First Order was anything but obscure. While Rey would be first to admit that her grasp of galactic politics extended little beyond the odd snippet of a news broadcast or conversation with an offworlder, she knew enough to be very conscious of Jakku's perilous closeness to First Order territory. Of course, it was all officially Imperial Space, but this far out from Bastion, the Empire meant little beyond the occasional patrol to avoid. Rey for one had never considered herself an Imperial citizen in any meaningful sense. Worryingly, over the past standard year or so, she had heard rumours from both locals and offwolders of an increase in First Order operatives passing through Jakku. Letting her eyes linger on the displayed graffiti on the holoscreen, Rey swore she had personally seen a handful of local traders and clients openly wearing that foreboding symbol.
The news image changed abruptly to a different piece of footage. Now it showed a shadowy face speaking into the holocam. Though the video was far too dark and grainy to discern many facial features, the figure was clearly humanoid, with a voice that seemed both aged and masculine. The few unobscured parts of his face and neck suggested an extremely gaunt and weathered body with deep pits and crevices. Nevertheless, the figure exuded strength. Edging closer to the holoscreen, Rey's ears picked up more of the speaker's menacing tones.
"…and once the Fel Pretender has fallen, we will make the Empire worthy of its name again! Until then, we will continue to strike at those who have betrayed our heritage and left us weak! The False Emperor on Bastion preaches 'Victory Without War', but we remain Imperial! This I promise as Supreme Leader of the First Order!"
At that, the holo-image switched again, filling the screen with the First Order symbol as the news anchor provided a brief description of the terrorist group.
Growing up as an orphan on Jakku, Rey heard many stories from traders and freight crews who stopped at the spaceport. Every now and then, she had caught word of the galaxy's elusive guardians of peace and justice: the legendary Jedi Knights. She had listened to tales of how these beings wielded luminous blades and unbelievable powers to protect the innocent. Every so often, while gathering scrap from the burning sands, she would drift into daydreams that, one day, a Jedi would come to Jakku, drive out the First Order and everyone else who used the planet for their own sickening ends, and take her far away from this doldrum corner of the galaxy. Perhaps the Jedi would even help her find the answer to the question that came to haunt her every night in the toppled AT-AT walker she called home: the question of who her parents had been.
Snapping back to attention, Rey tore her gaze away from the holoscreen. Picking up her scrap bag, she chided herself for entertaining such childish fantasies. After all, Rey mused as she resumed her slow walk towards the concession stand, why would the great and powerful Jedi ever take interest in a backwater world like Jakku?
The crackling baton narrowly missed Eight-Seven's head as he weaved to the right. Bringing his own baton into a defensive stance, Eight-Seven studied his opponent's posture for an exploitable opening. While heavy, plastoid body armour encumbered both figures' movements, they were surprisingly agile on their feet, circling each other in deathly silence. Don't slip up now! Eight-Seven mentally whispered as he went on the offensive. Most First Order fighters made do with whatever old rifles and pieces of plasteel body plating they could get their hands on. To be chosen for the Stormtrooper Corps and wear the iconic armour was one of the highest honours one could receive, and Eight-Seven was keen to prove that his superiors had not erred in bestowing that honour upon him.
Eight-Seven bitterly recalled his childhood years on a long-neglected Imperial world. He remembered how the teachers at his school dismissed him as a no-hoper: an unruly adolescent that no number of detentions seemed to solve. Yet if everyone knew that he had no prospects, how could they have blamed him for acting out or for spending long hours exploring the darkest corners of the HoloNet? It was through one of the hidden HoloNet groups he discovered at age sixteen that he came to the First Order's attention. Over the following months, he secretly met with a local First Order organiser to talk about what the group could offer him. They saw and appreciated his intelligence in a way his teachers never did. He found immediate appeal in the First Order's image of a harmonious galaxy united under a strong Empire that could forever guarantee peace and justice for all. For the first time, he felt that he had a purpose; that he was part of something greater that gave his life meaning.
In due course, he was taken off-world to a secret training camp where he learned all the essential skills of a First Order militant: how to field-strip and fire a blaster, how to make and detonate explosives, how to perform a hit-and-run attack. After one such exercise, the drill sergeant summoned him to the command tent. At first, he had his stomach in knots: had he failed to meet his trainers' expectations? Instead, he felt his heart leap at the news that he had been selected as a stormtrooper and would be brought to the First Order's main base of operations for special instruction. That was the day that, in the tradition of the First Order Stormtrooper Corps, he abandoned his birth name and accepted a designation. It was to show that he had discarded his former self and become an instrument of the Supreme Leader's will. That designation was FN-2187, which his squad-mates abbreviated to 'Eight-Seven'.
Admittedly, Eight-Seven knew little of the First Order's enigmatic Supreme Leader beyond the occasional holo-broadcast and, of course, the pamphlets Eight-Seven had voraciously read as a recruit. Still, Eight-Seven knew more than enough to grasp why the False Emperor Fel had to be toppled: why the Empire as it now existed had to be torn down and reforged into one worthy of Palpatine's legacy. This was why he could not comprehend those who called themselves 'the Resistance'. Did they not understand that they were taking up arms against the very thing that would bring peace and justice to them and everyone else in the galaxy?
A sudden counterstrike brought Eight-Seven back to the present. Cursing silently for letting himself slip into his memories at such a crucial moment, Eight-Seven brought his baton into a downward, diagonal swing. His opponent – FN-2199, or 'Nines' for short – closed the gap and blocked the blow. As their weapons locked together, Eight-Seven gritted his teeth and drew on his reserves of strength. For several moments, the two stormtroopers were fixed in place, struggling to break the impasse. Just when Eight-Seven thought he was gaining the upper hand, Nines broke off the baton lock. Realising what his opponent was doing, Eight-Seven rushed to change his stance, but it was too late: in the split second that Eight-Seven needed to right his balance and find his footing, Nines brought his baton inside his fellow stormtrooper's guard and lunged at Eight-Seven's torso. Eight-Seven fell wincing as the electrified baton head struck him in the lower ribs. Just as Nines brought the weapon up for the finishing blow, a voice called out from the sidelines. "Enough!"
The pair froze in place immediately. In a circle around the fighting arena stood the rest of their platoon, who had been silently watching their training exercise. Most were wearing the same gear as Eight-Seven and Nines. The sudden command had come from the one figure amongst them whose attire stood out. While still recognisable as a suit of stormtrooper armour, it had a reflective metallic finish rather than the standard white, draped beneath a black cape with a red line along the edge. He did not know if they held any truth, but over the years Eight-Seven had heard rumours that this distinctive armour was coated with chromium salvaged from a ship that had belonged to Emperor Palpatine himself a century ago.
This was Captain Phasma, one of the Supreme Leader's most trusted officers. As well as instructing and leading First Order stormtrooper units in general, Phasma commanded an elite group of fighters within the Stormtrooper Corps. These were the Inquisitorial stormtroopers. As the name suggested, these troopers were tasked with ensuring absolute loyalty and ideological purity among the First Order's ranks. For one as fanatically devoted as Phasma, to betray the First Order was not just an act of treason: it was an act of apostasy punishable only by death. While Eight-Seven could honestly say that he had never entertained such blasphemous thoughts himself, he had long appreciated Phasma as much for her moral instruction as for her martial training. If Eight-Seven was to be a living symbol of restored Imperial glory, then his mind could leave no room for doubt as to the rightness of the First Order's cause. As Phasma stepped into the arena, Eight-Seven willed his pain-wracked body to its feet, standing to attention next to Nines.
"Excellent!", Phasma remarked as she approached the two troopers. "You have proved to my satisfaction that your platoon meets the high standards expected of the Stormtrooper Corps! I am therefore honoured to give you all your first proper mission. Mere hours ago, our agents confirmed that a Resistance operative has been gathering valuable intelligence in First Order space and is due to liaise with some sympathisers in a village on the nearby world of Ilis. Our job is to intercept and capture him. We leave in three standard hours. Get patched up if you need to: the Supreme Leader needs you all in top condition to perform your sacred duty! Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am!", the platoon answered in concert. While Eight-Seven inwardly struggled to shout with his injured ribs, he was elated at the prospect of finally proving his worth in the field.
"Good! Then I'll see you all in Hangar 7 in three hours!" At that, Phasma raised her left fist to the right side of her chest to form the First Order salute. The platoon followed her in perfect unison. "Remain Imperial!"
"Remain Imperial!"
Author's Note: And there we have it! Please leave a review - I'd love to know your thoughts!