For followers, it's been a while. I hope you're willing to give this story a shot.

This is a darker story that is meant to effectively be a war story and a dissection of the ideology of the Empire and how someone might be swayed into believing that they are right. This story may feature actual Star Wars characters at some point, but in the short term it will be entirely OC and will be set on entirely new locations, although I do hope I can weave in enough Star Wars energy so that it feels like... well, Star Wars. But don't come here for a light story. This pulls more inspiration from Sicario than it does from Episode IV.

That being said, I really poured my soul into this chapter and I really hope that people like it.

Wullusk

Secitaria System

Operation Tresswalker

My breath was loud in my helmet. The visor I gazed through was slightly fogged, each inhale and exhale remapping the opaque blob at the bottom of my vision. Every intake of air focused in my ears, clear, unlike the muffled sounds surrounding me.

I looked to Zed, then Hyne, then the sergeant, Press. They were outfitted in similar kits to mine; the strapped and equipped storm trooper armour, shaped and painted in such a way so as to reduce it being recognisably human, each contortion and fold in the armour slightly off, each stripe of camouflage and fleck of paint designed to give the illusion of just another piece of nature.

The weapons they held were no different to mine either, top-of-the-line standard-issue blasters, outfitted with scopes that could transition between long-range and short-range zooms, collapsible stocks that allowed for interchangeably quicker or more stable aiming, open heat cyclers that allowed the weapon to fire indefinitely until it was destroyed or withered away.

The masks of each soldier were the same expressionless shell as mine; a flat, green-and-brown circular shape with a wide slit where a reflective black visor gazed emotionlessly back and a slight, cylindrical obtrusion around the mouth area where a gas mask had been fitted to prevent exposure to toxic chemicals.

There we stood, impatiently patient, itching to go yet disciplined enough to wait. There was an air of unease, a knowledge that there was no turning back. Every one of us would face the enemy tonight. The dread pervaded the atmosphere, but it did not outweigh the boredom of standing in a circle, waiting for the clock to strike 2.

It was 1:57.

I looked back the way they had come. The tunnel was impossibly long, shiny silver steel hiding under layers of bronze rust, trapezoid shaped with rows of symmetrical vertical bars holding the roof up, lit by musty, near worn out lights that had been chugging along for almost a decade. The dull lighting may be unexciting, but the vast majority of our journey to this point had been with our night-vision lenses active, everything obnoxiously bright green, any modicum of colour washed out.

The tunnel, like the base, was a hold-over from Clone Wars era conflict, and was one of four tunnels that were meant to be used as an escape route should the base come under attack. As a result, the first part of the tunnels were illuminated at all times, while the rest of it would only be illuminated should they be needed. In order to get close to the Rebel base, we had entered at the exit, walked 14 kilometres in pitch black, and then only finally been able to see some actual light for a final 500 metre trek. Now we were at the end of the tunnel, 500 metres away from the Rebel base.

1:58.

A low murmur, crackling from the portable radios, buzzed in my ears. It was Saz from team 2 speaking; "All teams, are we ready to commence operation, over?" A rumble of agreements from the other team leaders. "Press," he said. "Is the kill switch ready, over?"

Zed was twitchy, the greenest member of the team, head swaying side to side, feet bouncing nervously. His fingers readjusted grip on his weapon repeatedly, seemingly never in a comfortable position. He was obviously discontent, but he never voiced any concerns. At one point, before the mission, Press had asked him if he was sure he could come. Zed had been confident then, but now that he was deployed and there was no backing out, his confidence had drained completely.

Hyne was reclining against the only vertical wall, at the end of the tunnel. His gun hung by the strap around his neck, both hands on it but in a more resting position, clutching onto it the way one might clutch a pillow to their chest. Hyne was a special case; he was from a different bracket of Empire's special forces teams, sent to overwatch the operation and report back to the nebulous higher-ups about the structure of the mission and the information about the rebels. He didn't seem that old, definitely younger than Press, and there was an arrogance and humour about him that rubbed me the wrong way.

Press was the ideal soldier, and the ideal Sergeant. Whilst the others were all in their positions, Press had perfect form, perfect posture. His gun was held with a proper grip at all times. He didn't seem to know the definition of small talk, and he was demonstrably incapable of breaking from orders or disrespecting a superior officer, although he was certainly capable of busting my ass for every dumb mistake. He was a model soldier, and an annoying one.

"Copy Saz, kill switch is ready for activation." Press said. "Are busses in place for a run, over?"

A few moments pause. Another choppy, static voice sounds from the intercom. "Copy Press, Busses are waiting and ready to go, I repeat, Busses are waiting and ready to go, out."

"1:59," I said.

"I'll take point when we exit the tunnel," Press said. "Hyne will follow me, then Sam, then Zed. We'll make our way to the base through the field, nice and simple, just as we drilled. Once we're in it will be smooth sailing. Take out our battery, wait for the other teams to take out theirs, call in the busses and go find the crystals. Simple, clean. Everyone clear?"

"Clear." I said. Hyne gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Clear." Zed said. His voice was unsteady.

"Relax, dude." Hyne said. His body language was calm, but his voice betrayed mild annoyance. "These kinds of missions are small potatoes. No one dies on stuff like this. You'll be fine." He shrugged. "Well, rebels die."

Saz's voice broadcast over the radio. "Press, it is 2, activate kill switch and then we are a-go, over."

"Copy Saz, activating the kill switch now." Press produced a small device, a black cube with a glass box surrounding an orange button. Carefully flipping the glass box open, he thumbed the button. "Kill switch is active in 3… 2… 1… out." He pressed the button.

Pitch black. Every light in the tunnel went out. Complete darkness swamped my vision. "Alright teams, commence operation, out." Saz's seemed louder without any visual stimuli.

One by one, I saw the soft flickers of systems booting up. A green glow appeared from the visor hiding Press' face, then Hyne's, then Zed's. Then my own night vision powered up, and suddenly we were all standing there, in the dark yet lightness, seemingly awash with green light.

"Alright, just as we drilled it." Press said. His hands found the ladder and he began to climb, one step after another, where somewhere above his head he would find a small hatch. When Press was sufficiently far up, Hyne swung his weapon around his back, grabbed the ladder and pulled himself up, climbing at a steady rate. Then it was my turn, and I hoisted myself up, hands pulling as I ascended, eyes up at Hyne's dirty boots, and past him, Press climbing as well. Below me, I heard Zed begin upwards too.

The column came to a halt as Press reached the hatch. There was the slight sound of him turning the circular handle, and then a louder noise as the hatch swung open. Soon after, the ascent began again. I stared upwards, hearing nothing but the noises of grunting men and boots on metal, before Hyne reached the top and disappeared out, and then I saw the small hole with a starry sky beyond it. As I climbed, the hole became bigger, the sky encompassing more of my vision, until I reached the top and, taking Press' hand, was pulled out of the hatch and into the field.

The Rebel base was more of a fortress. A huge wall, topped with soldiers and batteries surrounded an inner segmented area consisting of a barracks, a command post, an armoury and more. The enormous base was definitely well-designed and protected, having been successfully used by the clones to hold off separatist attacks during the clone wars. The base itself was surrounded by an enormous field of tall grass, spanning dozens of kilometres and littered by wrecks of small ships that were shot down decades ago. Under Clone control the grass would never have been allowed to grow tall enough for full sized humans to hide in it, but the rebels did not have the same resources as the clones, and the Empire has vastly more resources than the Separatists did.

After Zed had completed his ascent, we turned away from the hatch and towards the base. At night, the planet of Wullusk had no moons. The stars in the sky provided almost no light, meaning the grass was nearly completely dark. The plants came up around our faces, as tall or taller than us, and we saw through a parting in the blades that the colossal Rebel base was only barely visible when seen next to the abyssal night sky.

We started walking towards the base, in a V-formation, Press at the front, Hyne to his left, and Zed and myself to his right. Over the intercom came the occasional piece of chatter between other teams, but nothing major. The dirt was soft beneath my feet. The grass rustled, quietly, parting as we went. It was just 500 metres to the walls of the base.

We trudged past a wrecked ARC-170, the predecessor to the Rebel's favoured X-Wings, its hull dingy with rust and its wings on one side, still poking upwards, guns pointed toward the sky.

"I see movement at the top of the walls." Zed said quietly. I looked up, and he was right. Shapes moved formlessly at the top, so far away and so dark that the only thing that could be made out was the motion itself, like the shadow of the monolith was crawling. We said nothing, just pressed on.

400 metres.

Another shipwreck, this time a Separatist Vulture droid, it's 4 wings splayed out in awkward positions, a body that fell funny and was never put back in its right place.

Hyne reached out to touch the wings. His hands ran along black patterns, soft soot marks that had not broken the metal but had nevertheless struck the chassis of the droid. Softly, he said; "These marks didn't come from batteries. They came from regular blasters. The Rebels having been using this droid as target practice, and likely others too."

"You're saying they shot these," Zed gestured at the vulture droids, "from up there?" He pointed into the vast black.

Hyne waved the implied question away. "They can't see us."

"But they know we're here." Zed said. "We shut their power. They know we're coming."

"They can't see us." Press said, firmly, ending the conversation. Nevertheless, he raised his blaster, more cautious than he had been before. Hyne did the same, implicitly, and Zed noticed them both and mimicked the motion. I realised that I had subconsciously done it as well.

Press trudged on, ever forward, the rest of us following. The grass was getting shorter now, down from completely masking our movements to being only up to our waists. "Should we crawl?" Zed asked.

Hyne cast him a long look, his expression masked by the helmet but easily guessable. He eventually looked forward.

300 metres.

There was a soft clump, and the rustling of moving grass, as each footstep came down, one after another. I began to feel itchy, on my face and arms and my side. I was cold, yet my face was sticky with sweat. Each deep breath I took was loud in my ears, the loudest thing in the world. Each breath was wet on my face. I felt every tight strap on my body and every light breeze blowing past my legs. I looked down at my feet, moving robotically, one after another. Then I looked forward.

The shapes emerged out of the darkness, previously invisible, not contrasting to the rebel base. They were figures, as tall or taller than a man, and I had initially taken them for one; I saw Zed had too, raising his blaster, like to fire without thinking, but Press reached his hand out, firmly pushing the blaster down. "Those aren't soldiers." He said.

"They once were." Hyne replied. The shapes before us were long pikes, implanted into the ground, each 7-foot tall. Old, grimy, unclean stormtrooper helmets were affixed, the poles driven through the scalps of the helmets, each one more brown than white, but unmistakably belonging to a fighter who was likely dead now. We moved around them, set still against the light breeze. No one looked to see if there were heads within the helmets.

200 metres.

Beside us was another rusting clone-war era ship, a gunship, large enough to climb inside and hide. A looming wing jutted out above our heads, the gun pointed at the base as if to fight off the whole rebel army itself.

We were close now. The wall loomed above us, a mountain. We stared up at it, almost in awe. We had seen the base from above, and in the day time, and it was not at all impressive then. But now, standing in its shadow, we appreciated the majesty.

The radio blared to life in our ears. "All teams, all teams, we are getting readings of a spiked heat signature on the walls. Can you confirm, over?"

"Sam, check it out." Press said. I sunk to one knee, hand reaching for my chest area where the thermal imager was placed. I brought it out; a small pad, like a book, with a screen that displayed the thermal signature of whatever the pad was pointed at. I angled it so that the screen was facing away from the walls and towards me, and switched it on. At the same time, I deactivated my NV.

For a brief period, there was utter blackness. My eyes drank in nothing, the total void. We had appreciated the night whilst looking through night vision, but without it, the true darkness of the Wullusk's night set in.

My eyesight began to adjust, and I noticed a faint crack on the horizon. The line between the monolith and the sky.

The pad blinked on, once again obliterating my vision of the base, and after a brief period of glowing darkness, it displayed a blue-rendered image of the base, each shape pixelated and hard to distinguish. There was a definite blue accompanying the walls and the night sky, with speckles of orange as people moved across the top.

"I'm not reading any extreme heat signature…" I began, scanning the wall. "Oh, wait," I found something strange; a large, broiling signature, directly North-West of us, rumbling and coiling like a fireball. "Yeah, I've definitely got something."

"Can you identify what it is?" Press asked.

"No, sir." I replied. Switching my voice to comms, I answered; "Hello, Davey. I'm reading this signature as well, over."

"Us too, over," said Saz's group, "And us, over," said the last team.

My mouth felt as though there was something large pushing through it. My chest began to tighten. I forced myself to swallow.

On the pad, the signature began to constrict. It became smaller and smaller, and then took on a strange shape, like a glass overflowing with water, or a tube of paint that was being squeezed, or a cannon-

There was a rumble, and the impossible darkness was split by a faint red glow, travelling away from the base and upwards, towards the sky, burning bright like a star. Its travel slowed as it reached its apex, and then;

"A flare." Someone whispered.

The tiny sun supernovaed in vibrant light, and suddenly the whole field was illuminated; the base; the grass; the wrecked ships; everything lit up by a vibrant red light.

There was a kind of silence as the flare burned in the sky, and I heard, one by one, the night vision worn by each of my fellows deactivate.

We saw the wall, dozens of metres high, rock-hard sandstone, and I wondered how we ever thought we could approach such a thing.

We saw the field, stretching into an infinite distance, a small area of grass illuminated by the flare and pockmarked by shipwrecks. My eye was drawn to the abyss that swallowed the world. It was just the four of us and the monolith. Red awash my vision. Hyne looked at me, his mask sinister under the light, the black visor betraying nothing.

"Behind the ship now. Behind the ship!" Press commanded. We began moving, for the gunship, just as the firing started. Red bolts sailed through the sky, stretching from the tops of the walls to tear up the landscape. Clumps of dirt were scattered and blades of grass were scorched to flame, sent flying up into the air as burning fodder and raining down as ash. We stumbled away from each strike, Press reaching the battleship first and taking cover behind the rusting hull, Hyne quickly joining him, then me, finding a different cover behind a wing implanted in the ground. Only Zed was still in the open, near frozen, and Hyne quickly darted out of cover, grabbed his arm, and yanked him behind the wreck.

We remained there, the four of us, blaster fire raining down around us. It was oppressive; bolts smashed into the ground and clanged off the metal. In some parts, where the ship had more seriously been weathered by time, the blaster fire tore through altogether, breaking the alloy and leaving a concave wound.

"Alright," Press yelled, raising his voice to compete with the shrill sounds. "when the flare burns out, we run like hell for the wall! There're no more ships for cover after this one, so we have to make it on that trip or we'll all be shot to hell."

I peeked around the wing, and saw that the shooting was concentrated in other areas too, little pockets surrounding the wall at different points. The different teams, all laid down in their own respective barrel.

Hyne looked up at the sky. "We got maybe 10 seconds till this field goes dark." He yelled. "Get ready to run."

He slung his weapon behind his back, as did Press, as did I. Zed held his for a second, as if like a comforting pillow, before doing the same.

I looked up at the sky. In the sea of inky black, the only light was the flare, burning bright as a sun. But I could see the glow was dimming, ever so slightly, and the flare was slowly falling back to earth.

I activated my night-vision, and suddenly I was blinded by light. All I could see was white, everything glowing with an intensity I'd never heard of before, and then suddenly things came to a sharp focus and I realised the flare was burnt out and I ran.

The four of us were sprinting, like our life depended on it. The shooting hadn't ended with the flare, and though they were not able to see us as they fired, each shot that landed near us temporarily lit us up for the rebels to see.

My lungs began to burn. My arms and legs pumped battery acid. Every panting breath was difficult. Hyne pulled ahead, me following close behind, then Press and Zed together. The sound of foot in front of foot, of gasping operators, of heavy gear slinging about and rustling, only audible for small gaps of time before being obscured by the crashing shots and the flying debris pelting your vision and the

rocketing beam crashed at my feet and I was knocked off my feet, flying forward, carried by momentum. I crashed into the dirt, brushing through grass, tumbling end over end, face up.

I sighed.

I could've laid there forever.

…

A face swam in front of my vision. A woman, her face crinkling into a smile, patterns on her face that I didn't recognise. She stood at a window, holding me, and turned so I was looking out too. There was a breath-taking view of a city of sandstone, towers tall as mountains, people bustling to-and-fro. "One day, misa, this may all be yours." She said, her voice gentle. Quick as it came, the fleeting memory was lost. I tried to reach out to grab it again, but the details were wrong. In a haze, it was gone.

…

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

I forced myself to get up, breath weak and trembling, limbs like concrete. There was a persistent, high-pitched buzzing in my right ear, a tuneless tune, at first loud enough to drown the world out. Blocking out every other noise, like I was underwater.

I looked around. Press and the others were dozens of metres ahead, still going, much further. I could hear them through the radio, as I heard other people, but the words were indecipherable. I was still a hundred or so metres from the wall. I tried to look at my feet, focus on the grass, but they swam around, sticky and brown like a pool of honey.

But the ringing was clearing away. My four feet coalesced into two.

"Get up, Sam!" I heard Press saying through the comms. "Come on, you can do it!" I didn't really understand it at first; it was just salad, each individual word known but the whole indecipherable, and then suddenly everything snapped into focus, and I was running.

I reached the wall just as the second flare exploded in the sky, once again casting the field into brilliant red, but by now there was no one for them to see. Right at the base of the wall, we were invisible.

"Glad to see you made it," Press said when he saw me. Hyne gave me a curious look, but didn't speak. Zed clapped my shoulder.

Press grabbed a small green satchel from his belt, quickly affixing it to the sandstone wall. He held out his hands and we each passed identical ones in turn. Press secured them next to each other, in a 2x2 pattern, before producing a detonator.

We stood back, a few metres or so, and then Press flicked the switch. After a second's delay, the wall crashed inwards, charges detonating in a momentary burst of light before leaving a cloud of smoke. As the smoke cleared we looked inside. The base's power was still out; the light from the flare cast a small area of light inside, but the rest was shrouded in darkness. One after another, we activated our night vision.

The inside of the base was a series of narrow hallways, old and dusty, the sandstone held up by a metal frame that ran alongside the edges of the walls and ceiling, beams stretching from floor to ceiling.

It was quiet in the base, quiet like it hadn't been outside, not really. Separate from the wind and the rustling grass, it truly was just the four of us and our footsteps. Our footfalls were quiet, insulated by the soft material that padded the bottom of our shoes, yet in the still base they were disconcertingly loud. I found myself unconsciously lightening my steps, as if worried I would disrupt the slumber of some creature far greater than myself.

We reached the end of a tunnel and found ourselves at a set of steps, leading upwards and curving around out of sight. Press led us up them, taking us to the roof, where our target, the battery, lay.

"Hold up." Hyne said. We stopped immediately, dead quiet. "I hear something."

There was a distant, whispery sound of marching footsteps, but they were getting louder, and then they were clearly descending the stairs; two pairs of feet, marching down towards us.

Hyne raised his weapon. "I've got one," he whispered.

"I'll take the other." I replied. I tightened my hold on the weapon.

The footsteps were crescendo-ing in volume, and then all of the sudden two soldiers whirled the corner. They were both in sandstone coloured uniform; pants, shirts, and darker boots. They were pale of skin, and the left one was dark haired and round, whilst the right one was blonde and angular. Their eyes widened in fear at the same time, and whilst the darker haired one fumbled for his weapon, the blonde one just stood there, as if accepting his fate.

Hyne fired once, a red blast escaping from his weapon and burning a hole in the chest of the darker haired one. He reeled backwards and fell, and before he had hit the ground I shot the blonde one in the stomach. Both men found themselves on the ground wheezing, their eyes still seeing and clearly panicked. Hyne moseyed over and fired two more bolts into the darker haired one, finishing him off, before delivering the same fate to the blonde.

We stepped over their dead bodies, eyes staring at the ceiling and unseeing, as we went on. The dark haired one had blue eyes, and his mouth was parted slightly, like he was mildly shocked at this turn of events. The blonde's face was sorrowful, his green eyes shining with unshed tears, his hand clutching at his chest where Hyne had made sure he would not be getting up.

We left them behind us, ascending the stairs, passing a number of doors that led to different things; a workshop littered with weaponry and explosives, as well as half-built furniture and little gadgets and things that the rebels had been tinkering with; a barracks with a series of bunk beds, each one adorned with pictures of families and friends, many containing notepads or journals that looked like there were entries left to be made; most of all a series of long hallways that stretched far away.

We must've ascended several flights of stairs, but eventually we reached the roof. The black sky expanded beyond us, the flares long since stopped firing. We stood upon the walls we had been staring up at only just before, now deserted and empty as rebels had been relocated to other places.

We slowly moved down toward the battery; it was located on a circular elevation at the corner, about a hundred metres away. Three rebels manned it; two on guard and one seated within. When we reached the weapon, we made short work of them, dispatching the two guards and then blasting the soldier in the turret as he reached for a pistol.

The battery stood imposing, its twin guns pointed into the sky. But with no one to man it, it did nothing.

And then it was done. We were all alive. Our mission was complete.

Press quietly spoke into the radio; "All teams, our battery is down. I repeat, our battery is down, over." We heard affirmation from one team, and then another, and then the final team confirmed that theirs was down too. "Busses, you are clear for a run, over." Press reported.

"All clear Press; prepare for some fireworks, out." Came the short reply.

The walls were huge, at least a kilometre in perimeter, and housed within the base was a series of interconnected buildings, no more than 2 stories tall, each one a barracks or an armoury or a war room. The lights still weren't back on; the rebels knew that the soldiers atop the walls had stopped responding. There was a definite stillness about the base, broken only by the occasional shifting blackness that signified a rebel fighter shuffling through the dark.

Hyne looked out into the darkness. "See, Zed? It wasn't so bad after all."

Four stars appeared in sky. Blue dots, travelling quicker than anything, pulsing through the night straight towards the base. Just before ramming into the planet of Wullusk, the dots came to a crashing halt and out emerged the busses; strange, misshapen Tie Fighters with two sets of wings affixed to a single, elongated cockpit. The busses were large, very large, and unwieldy, yet they carried an air of power that few of the smaller ships had. The busses pulled up, travelling adjacent to the ground, and as they travelled over the rebel base they lit up the night in blood red, firing explosive bolts into the centre of the compound, destroying buildings and incinerating enemies.

A mess hall caught a single bolt through the roof and ignited from the inside. A red laser hit the foundations of a watchtower, melting them to slag and causing the structure to topple on its side, crashing into a courtyard. A volley of rounds cut through a hangar bay, explosion after explosion shining dazzling light upon all.

And then, just like that, the last bus came in for its last pass, and the few vehicles curved upward and jumped to hyperspeed travelling away from the planet.

Smoke rose into the night sky. There were no screams of injured or dying, nor creaking of metal structures collapsing in on themselves. The only sound was the licking flame, ravenously consuming what it could before sputtering out. The air felt electric. It smelt that disgusting, scorching metal smell.

Hyne looked at me and nodded. "We did good." He opined. No one replied.

We found ourselves walking through the compound, the silence overwhelming. We passed the husk of an X-Wing. No bodies were visible. We passed a wrecked barracks. At least two charred remains were recognisably human, but their faces and likeness were runny or charcoal. The licking flame had died to a much quieter sound now, and it was really just the noise of our footsteps, each one echoing through the compound, joined by a symphony of steps from other teams also investigating the carnage.

I stopped outside the hangar that had been lit up. An X-Wing stood, the outside furnaced, but curiously the inside seemed well preserved, save for a dead body. I popped the hood and examined the craft. The pilot had clearly been cooked by the heat, and the circuits were damaged beyond repair, but on the surface level the inside of the craft was at least recognisable.

I lifted out a photo of a proud man standing with his three sons, the oldest no older than twelve. He beamed in the photo, clearly happy like most people aren't. I turned to the dead pilot and attempted to lift off his helmet to check if it was the same person, but where I touched him his flesh began to slough off, and it quickly became apparent that no identification would be possible. Just in case, I laid the picture against his chest.

I caught up with the others at the site of a centrally located war room. "This is where the crystals were being kept," Press began, "according to our intel." The building was demolished, inaccessible, but a hatch around the back was not quite welded shut, and with some difficulty and some assistance, Press was able to pull it open.

We descended, NVG on. It was just as dark in here as everywhere else. The interior of the basement area was a small, earthen tunnel held up by metal struts that lead to an iron door. Each strut was leaning slightly, clearly shaken at the foundations by the barrage. As we advanced forward, dust came down from the ceiling, showering us in a light coat.

Through the door was a room housing a few chests, a wooden table with some maps and chairs surrounding it, as well as a board that looked like it was used for strategic planning. A small fire was lit in a fireplace, where the ashen remains of burned documents were clearly visible. A man lay dead on the floor, a metal strut crushing his chest, his hand still clutching documents he clearly intended to burn. His skin was flecked with red blood spots, and his free hand was under the bar, as if to push it off him. A small pool of viscous liquid had settled around his upper spine.

Press stood at a black chest under the wall where the maps should be. Carefully he popped it open. I don't know what I expected; emanating blue light, perhaps some kind of flowing gas. But the chest was empty. "The crystals aren't here." He stated, matter of fact.

Zed was the first one out of the basement. Hyne strolled through the tunnel, as if he almost hoped it would fall on him. Press climbed the ladder with a sense of restrained urgency. I took a look back at the dead man, still holding his important documents, and then I ascended.

-Empire-

I have plans for more, but if not then just treat this chapter as a standalone short story.

Reviews are always appreciated.

Thanks for reading