I wrote this chapter as an insight to more of Captain Phasma's mind and attitude towards her job and what she thinks and feels. I found it was important for this to be shared before I progressed to the final chapter of this mini fic. I hope you enjoy :)

-2Tame A River

The Captain's Surrender

Chapter 2: Behind the Chrome Mask

...

Somehow, the rogue trooper known as FN-2187 had managed to escape the First Order yet again.

For all his shortcomings on the battlefield, he certainly was proving to be quite resourceful when desperation forced his hand. Captain Phasma was almost proud. But what was even more real than any pride she might have taken over the defected trooper's impressive accomplishments, was her sense of sorrow for what she knew was coming.

The man hunt had begun.

The BB-8 droid unit who held the map to Luke Skywalker's hidden location was Kylo Ren's top priority at the moment, and the unlucky soldier, FN-2187, had thrown himself right into the middle of it.

There was a girl too now, apparently. A horrible shame.

No matter which fraction of Resistance fighters these two had joined, their days were numbered. Literally, numbered.

Captain Phasma had the launch date right here in front of her as to when the First Order's best kept secret was ready to be utilized. She had only been planetside to see the weapon for herself once- for it was such a highly classified project.

But she had seen the specs of the entire weapon station. She'd been studying them for years, actually. General Hux had approved her petition to have them, due to the fact that she needed to become fully familiar with the new station's surroundings before her upcoming dispatchement there. She wasn't positive, but she had the feeling General Hux himself would soon make the freshly finished base his official place of operations.

Whatever enjoyment the General pretended to flaunt in having control of the First Order's fleet, Phasma knew for a fact that he did not at all take pleasure in the many confinements of airman life. Being born into exquisite wealth and title, Hux preferred the personal comforts of home over the strictly minimalistic life required of a military man. And while he tollerated the stressful lifestyle of roaming the corners of the galaxy, he did not thrive on it.

That was Kylo Ren's department. The force wielder was ever the nomad, traveling to and fro in his star cruiser, hardly depended upon to be seen in the same place twice. It could have been a character trait which resulted from his restless, tormented spirit, but Phasma had long decided she would not attempt to understand him.

He was a deadly weapon in the hands of Supreme Leader Snoak, and that was enough.

Captain Phasma's current position did not provide her with any liberties, least of which, the risk of getting herself into any trouble. She had played by the book, behaved rigidly professional, and displayed nothing but unwaveringly loyalty to the First Order every day since her first enrollment years and years ago.

And while keeping up these appearances, she simultaneously had been sending private, important information on the First Order to the Resistance every opportunity that arose. And those opportunities did not arise very often. But when they did, Phasma always had a massive data of information that was passed on. No doubt that made the General Liea and her Resistance fighters very happy.

Of course, Captain Phasma didn't know for sure. She'd never seen their expressions, much less had a conversation with any of them. It was too dangerous. The most she'd received from the Resistance were code words that indicated they'd received her transmissions...

Yes, it was a complicated, high risk, estranged life that she lived.

Sometimes when she lay in her steril, cold bed at night, she let her mind wonder just why she had committed herself to this occupation. It was brutal, unforgiving, and thankless. Depression spells were frequent, and anxiety attacks even more so. All of which she had to hide. She could give no hint, not even the slightest indication of her silent suffering, else her whole operation would be put in jeopardy.

She would not fail. She could not fail. No matter how much wearing this heartless chrome mask cost her in the end, she would not waver. For her loyalty to the Resistance was strong.

Every day, Phasma was forced to come face to face with the unspeakable evils of the First Order, and the tremendous terror in which this colossal military force used to manipulate and oppress the Galaxy. She hated it with a passion. Perhaps it was this hatred that had fueled her to viciously cut down her competition until she reached the top of the food chain. Maybe her anger for the Order was the cause for her cold and strict demeanor with her soldiers, as well as her short and closed off manner with her superiors.

With every fiber of her being, Captain Phasma despised her job, even while she was forced to use the best of her talents to do it well. It was a cruel and unusual punishment to endure. But she'd asked for it. Signed up for it even.

And suddenly her mind's eye was filled with the flashback of the exact moment she had signed her name on the dotted line.

She'd been nervous, but she hadn't even hesitated. She'd stood up from her chair, snatched the pen, and with utmost seriousness, scrawled her name. A name she had now forfeited for Phasma.

What a different person she had been then. Youth and naivety had masqueraded as courage and patriotism. If she'd been a little older, a little wiser, she would not have given up her whole future for this. Was it worth it? If she hadn't signed, someone else surely would have, right?

Would she have been forced then to sacrifice so much?

These questions were the ones that liked to creep up and plauge her mind in the middle of the night, when sleep would not be gracious enough to take her.

But then morning would come and she'd don her armor again. Piece by piece she would seal herself back up into the unbreakable creature that she had become. She'd take one last look at herself in the mirror and examine her short blonde hair, her dull, gray-blue eyes, and the mixture of anger and sadness that dwelled within them.

With a stern expression, she could almost convince herself she actually was who she pretended to be; the person she was behind the chrome mask.