... long time ago, in the clutches of the First Order...
"We're arriving where?" I asked the Stormtrooper who poked his head in to inform me I might be getting that private room I've been promised within an hour. "Star Killer? Seriously? I don't even know where to begin…"
"You begin with putting your shoes on," said a frosty voice from the corridor. Should have known they won't just send the regular variety of a Stormtrooper to go fetch me. Of course he had a shiny backup too.
There was a snarky remark I probably could make if I tried, but I was far too intrigued to be further establishing my position as troublemaker right this moment. So I reached under the table for my First Order approved black boots, perfect for stumping on people's civil liberties and put them on in silence. The Starkiller Base sounded like a place I really didn't want to wander through barefoot anyway.
"Just out of curiosity – who came up with the improbably awesome name…?" as we left the room.
Neither the regular-sized Stormtroopers on either side of me, not the captain walking in the lead bothered to answer.
Somehow I suspected that while I paced my mirror-walled prison they must have had an emergency meeting of some sort during which it was decided that I'm to be ignored whenever I manifested any sign of personality. They would most likely just lock me up in a windowless room and only remember me when they saw some piece of delicate machinery emitting smoke.
Almost made me wonder what was the point of forcing me to wear this evil cosplay of a uniform. But just as I was going to ask the bay door opened and I was led out into an enormous hangar and left momentarily speechless – a very rare occurrence indeed.
"This place is… wow…" I said, looking around. Only after it was out of my mouth I realized that I just complimented an evil empire on how impressively big their base was. Their evil base full of brainwashed soldiers that were snatched as children, if the gossip that got to me back in my civilian days could be trusted. "I mean how does this even work? Did you hollow out a planet or something…?"
"Yes," said the Stormtrooper to my left. I felt my jaw drop further.
"Don't engage with the consultant," said Phasma walking in front of us. I rolled my eyes.
"What did you just call me?" I said in my best I'm-gonna-start-a-fight-over-this tone. "First of all I am not a consultant. The word you're looking for is a captive. You know – as in kept here against my will. And second of all…"
But I stopped right there, because something I saw in the corner of my eye got my attention. A large, menacing figure in a black cape.
I stopped moving and just looked at him across the hangar, head inclined to one side, trying to figure out what's the worst that could happen if I went over there and told him there's been a big misunderstanding. Also that he owed me quite a sum for almost destroying my droid. But of course before I could get to executing that suicidal idea there was something shiny in my field of vision, obviously glaring at me under her helmet.
I actually found myself being glad for the distraction, because for a second there I had a very unpleasant feeling. Almost like someone digging through my memory... again. Siths and their damn mindtricks.
"I was just… looking," I said to Phasma. "What? Don't I get to look at the person clearly responsible for my current predicament? I mean, even you have to admit… one hell of a predicament…"
She didn't reply and I got moving before she could grip my arm and physically drag me wherever she needed me to go.
"It's just that I have so many questions. I never worked for an oppressive regime before, you know…?" I said as I walked on. "I mean first of all, the uniforms…"
... later...
So Starkiller Base was big. As in impossible for me to navigate. I didn't get a Stormtrooper assigned to me because I might attempt to leave, but because I was unable to tell where I was at any given moment.
Not really my fault, obviously. This was a planet. Apparently an artificial moon simply wasn't good enough for this new and scarier Empire 2.0…
And I once again had so many questions about that. Questions my faceless captors never took the time to properly answer as they led me from one faulty machine to another, with some lightsaber inflicted damage thrown in it for the sake of variety every now and then. Though I could swear one of them flinched as I brought up the native species this planet absolutely must have had before it was turned into a doomsday weapon.
"So this happens a lot, huh?" I said as I was once again faced with a room that was redesigned using a very specific weapon – an elegant weapon for more civilized age as one would say.
The Stormtrooper in charge of me didn't reply. "Rude," I said, though it wasn't exactly surprising.
I chose to speak to the droid instead, since I preferred people with more personality to complain to anyway. I mean it dragged all my tools all the way here – the least I owed it was some smalltalk. "So do you think it's just anger management problem or are there other underlining issues…?" I asked, getting a distracted beep in reply. "Oh, I'll get to that in a moment. It's just I can't help wondering why is this happening. Especially since it's happening to me. He gets to have his little tantrum and walk away… I'll be here for two hours, minimum," I said, gesturing to the console that was literally cut in half.
The droid beeped again. "Alright, alright. Let's get to work," I rolled my eyes.
"What are you doing?" said he Stormtrooper, sounding like I just managed to shock some humanity back into him as I began unbuttoning the jacket of my uniform.
"Am I telling you how to do your job? No. So shut up and go guard the door, that's a good boy. I mean why did they even give me something that has sleeves anyway?" I said to myself as I dropped the jacket on the floor. "Won't be needing that…"
... an hour later...
"Yeah. Severe. And if I was wearing my uniform you'd be removing fabric that melded with my skin for the next half an hour…" I said, more to Phasma who still had some problem with me wearing only a shirt as I worked than the medic studying the electric burns running up to my elbow.
I wanted to point out this was not my first severe electric burn and that I could take care of it a great deal faster than the astonished medic if they just relaxed the rules for a second and granted me access to their supplies. I would be already out of here and back to work… But no, the First Order had to follow their regulations.
"I'm sorry, is anyone going to deal with this…?" I said a minute later, since I still sat there not getting treated.
That finally made the medic snap into action. At last.
I wondered if I could convince her to give me something for the pain – because just because this was a pretty common occurrence in my life didn't mean it didn't hurt. It definitely did. If I wasn't technically an employee of an organization so evil they might actually shoot me for showing weakness I would have said something by now. But all things considered I didn't quite dare risk it. So for the next five minutes I just sat there, smiling serenely as the medic took care of my slightly melted skin, doing my best impression of someone who had no pain receptors.
"Could you hurry up? I still have a lot of sorting to do. Some of those components are definitely reusable. I thought I'll save them for later today – you know, when this exact same thing happens. I mean we are on a budget. There are only so many control panels we can sacrifice, right?"
Phasma, picking up on the fact I was clearly speaking to her, surprised me by actually reacting. "I'll assign someone to take you back when you're finished here."
I smiled at that. Of course she'll assign someone to me – the alternative being just letting me wander around freely and knowing me for all of three days, she already picked up on what a terrible idea that would have been. Who knew who I'd run into and offend, probably with the very first thing out of my mouth.
"You should probably take something for the pain," said the medic.
"Probably," I said with my best you-don't-say tone.
It was the appropriate level of meanness for this situation. I mean, yeah, I showed no outward signs of being in pain, but still she should have make a connection between how fried my skin was and how painful this was for me. After all, this was her job. I wasn't even on board with all this military dictatorship stuff and still I took my so-called job more seriously than that.
"Nothing too strong, though. I'll definitely be handling heavy machinery you know," I told the medic as Phasma left the room. "I'd hate to drop any of it on myself."