+Mat-neema; 2:01 am galactic standard time; Outpost Quadri

Pax lifted his carbine, an old DC-11 from the clone wars, and flicked off the safety with an ominous click. The rifle was one of the few things he could call his; coming from a poor upbringing, his parents enlisted him in Mat-neema's imperial military academy at an early age.

While he at first detested it, he came to accept his fate and, if you could believe it, came to almost enjoy it.

The comradery of the military was alien to him, having been a social outcast for the majority of his nineteen years. In the 114th infantry corps however, he found solace and friends in the searing lasers and rocks of Mat-neema's lone moon; it had been a rebel cell before his unit was sent in to sweep away the remnants of it after a barrage from Mat-neema's requisitioned patrol fleet.

The fighting had been his first, and he adapted quickly. His unit had been separated from the main force of 20,000 troops sent to take the moon back. Nervous, socially awkward, and poor Pax Ryne had lead his unit back to the main force through the moon's barren surface without any officers or their noncommissioned inferiors. This had gained him an order of the emperor, an accolade given to troops that displayed notable courage. Something he certainly did.

Promoted to corporal, he was a minor celebrity among his division. Now he was on a similar assignment to another rebel cell. Self-contained and ragtag, it was a mere shadow of the first cell on Mat-neema's moon. Despite this, it had been spreading chaos, so, his division was sent in.

Footsteps to his rear caused Pax to glance back, ignoring the slight unconformity of his helmet. A trooper, in similar armor to his own, though it was pockmarked by laser burns and dust. The trooper was in full sprint, the DC-11 they held was hanging loosely from their right hand. Several of his comrades looked to him with worry as the trooper came to a panting halt in front of him.

"Sir!" they breathed, snapping their left arm to the section of their helmet that covered their forehead. "We've found them, sir!" Pax's left brow arched behind his helmet.

"Why are you telling me this?" he inquired, more curious than irritated. The trooper's shoulders suggested relief.

"Captain Qyn has an assignment for you, Sir." the trooper informed him. Pax nodded.

"Thank you, trooper. Take five," Pax ordered, and the trooper gave a weary nod.

"Thank you, sir." the trooper said, and with one final salute, they limped toward the makeshift medical station Pax had been guarding. Just as Pax motioned for his squad of five, including him, five more took their place at the breastwork of imperial barricades. Once Pax's troops were moving, one of them asked:

"So Pax, what do think this mission is gonna be?" The voice came from the squad's newest member, Valkor. Valkor was only eighteen, barely acceptable service age, and boundlessly curious and energetic. Pax shook his head.

"I don't know Val, I don't know." was all he said. Valkor, for his part, took the statement not with his trademark eagerness, but with solemn contemplation. Pax felt a tingle of uneasiness; the last time Valkor had acted like that the transport they were on was shot down. He prayed the same wouldn't repeat itself.

The group of five marched through the impromptu base for the operation with discipline that bespoke of their position. When they reached the command tent, Captain Qyn was there to meet them.

"Corporal Ryne," the captain saluted the squad, and gave a small smile as his troops did the same. Unlike many imperial officers, he wasn't arrogant, having worked his way through the ranks over ten years of service.

"Sir!" the squad said in unison, gaining an approving nod from their captain.

"Corporal, I trust the march wasn't too eventful?" he asked Pax, who shook his head. Qyn nodded and motioned for a technician to activate a hologram model of the city the imperials were in.

"Now, why I requested you; we have located the rebel cell's main base, but it is heavily fortified. The squads we sent there are bogged down and need assistance. I want your squad to go through the sewers here," he pointed to a manhole that was illuminated in red. "Expect fierce resistance - these rebels aren't weaklings," Pax nodded, having guessed similarly earlier that rotation. The captain gave a crisp salute to the squad.

"Good hunting," Pax turned, and his troops did the same shortly after, forming a line out of practiced precision. Pax felt a smile spread across his face; he trained them well.

The stench of uncleansed sewage and waste assaulted his nostrils soon after his squad entered the sewer. His boots made sickening sounds as they impacted the mud and watery trash of the wretched waste dump. At this moment he would've expected a quip from Valkor, but none came. Another twinge of unease spread through Pax's psyche.

His eyes roamed the sewer's walls, the brown orbs searched for any sign of fortification or tampering, and found none. Five minutes later and still his squad had encountered nothing.

Splash.

Pax's shoulders tensed; that hadn't come from his men, he was sure.

"Safeties off, boys," he said, and a chorus of clicking rung throughout the sewer. The squad continued their march, rifles held in tighter grips than in previous moments. They reached a blast door and two barricades made out of scrap durasteel - a pumping station. At that moment Valkor spoke up,

"Sir, I have a bad fee-" a green laser tore through his throat before he could finish his sentence. The now group of four spun around to see faint ozone wafting from a corner. Pax raised his carbine fired in a deadly calm. The red bolt hit home above the rebel's heart, and a soft moan and clatter as they dropped their rifle to the ground in pain.

"Defensive positions, now!" Pax darted to one of the barricades, and another of his troops joined him there. The other two made a beeline for the remaining barricade, both making it.

"Suo, Contact command! We've found rebels! They have cloaking equipment!" he shouted to the tech, who shouted back,

"Yes sir!" Pax gave a grim nod and peeked out from his cover; the rebels had deactivated their cloaking, showing clothing patterned after the sewer itself. Pax mentally swore and fired blind bolt towards the rebel's general direction. A chorus of retreating feet reached Pax's ears and he smiled bitterly. These rebels were going to play hard to get, eh? Well he was good at catching.

The trooper next to him, Farad, raised his rifle over the barricade and fired, a terrified screech echoing throughout the sewer a second later. Not so tough now, are you? He thought savagely.

Lasers of all colors danced across the no-mans-land Pax's squad had created. A kaleidoscope of bolts singed the walls of the sewer, marking it akin to a sloppily applied tattoo. The rebels, though outnumbering them two-to-one, had difficulty getting a shot at any of Pax's squad. The stormtroopers responded to the rebel's lasers with their own brand of hellfire and brimstone, and they slowly began to pick off the rebels that had ambushed them. The group of ten was forced into a desperate race to find cover. Fire from the imperials forced them to take anything they could find; piles of trash, outlying sewer wall, and even the dead bodies of their comrades. So was the sheer tenacity of Pax's men.

The exchange of fire continued in a staccato rhythm for several minutes before disaster struck. The blast door behind them opened, and with it came fifteen rebels, armed each with DC-11's of their own. Pax spun around, switching his carbine to fully automatic as he did so. He got five bolts out; three went wide, permanently marking the wall behind the blastdoor. The fourth seared through a rebel's kidney, while the fifth cut through the slender neck of the only rodian rebel of the 15. Not a second later three bolts struck him in his right thigh, his heart, and his cheek respectively. Pax collapsed to the ground, his squad's screams of shock and surprise flavored with pain reaching his good ear.

Pax hadn't expected to die this day, nor in this way. Yet he did. His squad - all of them - were led into a massacre. He didn't blame Qyn, the order was tactically sound. How could he had known the rebels would be using cloaking devices? Or have these types of forces? He couldn't.

Pax felt himself ebbing away, but it wasn't as violent as he expected. It felt...calming. The sounds of the outside world were muffled, making the pain Pax felt at the loss of his squad easier to handle. The pain eventually faded, too, along with his hearing, and the few pleasant memories he had flashed in his eyes. With a final, small breath, Pax Ryne bled out. the grip on his DC-11 slackened, and it made scant noise as it touched the sewer's permacrete floor. his eyes flicked over to Farad, who lay spread-eagled adjacent to him. for a brief moment, behind their helmets, their eyes met. The pair of orbs were the last things the stormtroopers saw. In Pax's last moments, a single fraise reached his good ear:

"Agent Kar, Prepare for the worst."

AN: This chapter got slightly dark, didn't it? I'm debating whether to bump the rating up to T. Tell me what you think. Any follows/favorites will be, as always, duly noted - Raging Celiac