Trouble for our heroes! Captured and subjected to cruel experiments, Kyle Katarn's fate hangs in the balance as his enemies seek to uncover the secrets he holds.
Meanwhile, Jedi Grandmaster Rey Skywalker joins forces with the Mandalorian Reclaimers to devise a daring plan to rescue their fallen ally.
In the Mandalorian stronghold of Bastion, Polina faces struggles of her own. Among the ranks of the Mandalorian Dominion, she begins to understand the harsh reality of her situation, a world shaped by discipline, hierarchy, and war…
"Move faster! You think the galaxy will wait for you?" Soseron roared, his voice amplified through the wide space of the courtyard, "You're foundlings, not fodder. Prove it!"
Polina stumbled slightly as she pushed forward, her small frame dwarfed by the towering walls of the courtyard. The obstacle course sprawled before her, a maze of mud pits, rope climbs, and jagged terrain designed to test not only strength but endurance. The other foundlings scrambled ahead, some managing with grim determination while others lagged behind, their steps faltering.
Her breathing labored, Polina vaulted over a low wall, her boots landing with a splash in the sticky, churned mud below. The grit coated her legs as she clawed her way up a slippery incline, her hands burning as they gripped at the coarse rope. Around her, the grunts and cries of her fellow foundlings filled the air.
Behind her, a younger boy, his face streaked with dirt, stumbled and fell hard into the mud. Polina hesitated for only a moment before doubling back, ignoring the sting of Soseron's booming reprimands.
"Help yourself or fall behind! No one will save you out there!" he shouted, his tone biting.
"Come on," Polina muttered, reaching down to help the boy. He looked at her with wide, frightened eyes but managed to grab her outstretched hand. With a determined grunt, she pulled him to his feet.
As they pushed forward together, Sin brushed past her with a sneer, "What are you, his babysitter now? Keep up, or stay behind," he snapped, not even sparing her a glance as he vaulted the next obstacle with practiced ease.
Polina's jaw tightened, but she ignored him, focusing on helping the boy navigate the remaining course. They waded through a waist-deep trench of freezing water, crawled under a tangle of laser wire, and scaled a high wooden wall slick with mud. Each movement felt heavier, the relentless pace taking its toll on her muscles.
Finally, she emerged at the end of the course, her limbs trembling and her uniform caked in filth. The other foundlings were already standing in line, their faces exhausted but trying to mask their discomfort under Soseron's sharp gaze. Polina fell in near the back, the younger boy she'd helped staggering into place beside her.
Soseron marched down the line, his dark eyes cold and piercing as he assessed each of them. "Pathetic!" he spat, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip, "You call yourselves foundlings? You are nothing but weaklings dragging each other down."
Polina's fists clenched at her sides, her breathing still heavy. She glanced at the boy beside her, his shoulders hunched, and felt a spark of defiance burn in her chest. Whatever Soseron thought, she knew she'd done the right thing.
"You'll learn," Soseron continued, his voice rising, "You'll learn or you'll fail. The Dominion has no place for the weak." He turned sharply on his heel and barked, "Reset the course! We go again!"
The groans of the foundlings were quickly stifled as Soseron's gaze swept over them. Polina exchanged a brief look with Yuna, who stood further ahead, her face drawn but determined as she gave a faint smile.
As the foundlings trudged back toward the start of the obstacle course Polina walked among them. Her muscles burned, and her arms ached, but her mind was far from the physical pain.
As they moved, something caught her eye—a Lambda-class shuttle descending in the distance, its angular wings folding upward as it neared a landing platform just beyond the fortress walls. The familiar silhouette stood out against the blue sky, the sunlight glinting off its polished hull as it descended. Polina slowed her pace slightly, letting herself lag behind just enough to watch the shuttle's landing sequence.
She'd seen wrecks of them before back on Jakku. Buried in the sand, stripped of their useful parts by scavengers. But here, they were pristine, operational. This was the third one she'd spotted just today. For the past week, the shuttles had been coming and going at all hours, their presence an almost constant hum beyond the walls of the training grounds.
Eventually the shuttle's form disappeared from view beyond the walls. Polina glanced to her left, spotting the towering walls of the fortress and the narrow gate that led out toward the landing zone. A pair of Mandalorians stood guard at the gate.
"Eyes forward!" Soseron's sharp voice snapped her back to the present. Polina hurried to close the gap between her and the others, blending into the group as they approached the starting line of the obstacle course again.
Dr. Layna stood alone in the confined elevator, the hum of its descent the only sound in the narrow space. She clutched a datapad tightly in her hand, her knuckles white against its sleek frame. Her expression, as always, was stiff, controlled. But for a fleeting moment, as she let out a soft breath, she reached up and rubbed her eyes, her fingers lingering against her temples as if trying to stave off exhaustion or something deeper.
The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open with a hiss. Layna straightened her posture, forcing any sign of weariness from her face as her surroundings came into view.
A pair of stormtroopers flanked the entrance, they snapped to attention at her arrival, stepping aside to let her pass. She barely acknowledged them as she exited into a long, glass-enclosed hallway, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, its walls lined with transparent cells on either side. Hundreds of people were crammed within them, their figures casting ghostly reflections against the glass. Some were huddled in groups, their bodies frail and their faces pale with illness. Others paced back and forth, their eyes filled with rage or desperation. A few stared directly at her as she walked, their gazes burning with scorn, as if their hatred alone could break through the barrier between them.
Layna kept her gaze forward, her expression unchanged, unaffected by the venomous looks or the occasional sound of fists pounding against the glass. She had walked this hallway many times before; the spectacle no longer moved her—or so she told herself.
At the end of the corridor, a sealed door loomed, its surface metallic and featureless except for a glowing control panel at its side. Layna pressed a series of buttons, her movements precise and mechanical. With a sharp hiss, the door slid open, revealing the room beyond.
Inside, Kyle Katarn lay strapped to a metal bed at the center of the chamber, the machinery around him casting an eerie glow. His body was motionless except for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, his breathing labored. His face was bloodied, his lips cracked and dry, and his hair matted with sweat and grime. The once-determined warrior now looked beaten and disheveled.
Dr. Layna hesitated at the doorway, her hand tightening around the datapad. Her eyes lingered on Kyle, and for a fleeting moment, her rigid demeanor seemed to falter. There was something in her gaze—concern, perhaps, or guilt—that she quickly masked as she stepped into the room.
"Well, Doctor," a gleeful voice greeted her, breaking the tense silence.
Layna turned to see Governor Rylik, standing by the far wall as he adjusted his uniform. His movements were casual, almost leisurely, as if the grim scene before him was nothing more than a mild inconvenience. He gave her a bright smile, utterly unaffected by the brutality surrounding him.
"Perfect timing," Rylik said cheerfully, gesturing to the restrained Jedi, "Our guest here has been quite uncooperative. Perhaps you'll have better luck getting through to him."
Layna's lips pressed into a thin line as she moved toward her workstation, her gaze flicking briefly to Kyle again before focusing on the datapad in her hands. Whatever she felt, she buried it deep, her voice professional but clipped.
"I'll do what's required, Governor," she said curtly, her fingers tapping commands onto the datapad.
"Good, good," Rylik replied, his tone chipper as he adjusted his collar. "I'd hate for all this effort to be wasted," his gaze flicked to Kyle, and his smile widened, "Don't let his state fool you, Doctor. He's tougher than he looks. Quite the resilient one, this Jedi."
Layna didn't respond immediately, her fingers tightening on the datapad. She stole another glance at Kyle, her thoughts unreadable, before turning back to her work.
Governor Rylik adjusted his cuffs one final time and gave a satisfied nod, "I'll be up in the command center," he said breezily, stepping toward the exit. "Commander Tempest will be arriving shortly with the new shipments. In the meantime…" He gestured dismissively toward Kyle, his tone as nonchalant as if he were discussing inventory, "I leave our guest in your capable hands, Doctor."
Layna barely acknowledged him, her focus already returning to the datapad in her hands. Rylik paused at the door, casting one last look at the restrained Jedi before stepping out. The metallic hiss of the door sealed his departure, leaving Layna alone with her work, and with Kyle.
Her movements were fast and methodical, as she approached a counter lined with vials and equipment. The quiet hum of the machinery filled the room, accompanied by the faint clinking of glass as Layna retrieved small tubes from a nearby freezer. She placed them on the counter and began mixing substances with practiced precision, her hands steady despite the faint tightness in her expression.
As she worked, she activated her datapad and began speaking into its recording function, her tone clinical and detached.
"Day 645 of Operation Veilbreaker," she stated, her voice monotone, "Conjunction 17M remains the most successful implementation to date."
She set down the datapad and approached Kyle, her heels clicking softly against the floor with every step. Her gaze flicked to his face for a moment— bloodied and broken, his eyes still closed and seemingly unconscious. Without hesitation, she pressed a device with a needle attachment against his arm and extracted a small dose of blood. Kyle barely flinched, his body too weakened to resist.
Layna returned to the counter, inserting the vial into a sleek analyzer. The machine whirred softly, its lights blinking as it processed the sample. She resumed her log as she worked.
"Despite the success of the nanite implementation, degradation issues persist. Current readings indicate nanite integrity has dropped to 53% after prolonged use. This is consistent with previous trials, suggesting a fundamental flaw in the stability of the nanites when exposed to long-term Force sensitivity."
The analyzer beeped softly, signaling its results. Layna studied the display, her lips once more pressing into a thin line.
She added, "The degradation rate is higher with this subject, it would render sustained control infeasible without regular intervention. Further adjustments to the stabilizing agents will be required. I will need to bring this to Governor Rylik's attention before the next phase is initiated."
Her fingers hovered over the datapad for a moment, as though hesitating to continue. Her gaze flicked to Kyle again, and something unreadable passed over her features. But whatever it was, she buried it quickly, returning to her work.
As Dr. Layna continued with her work, her datapad rested on the counter beside her, still glowing faintly with the active recording.
"Introducing mixture 77-10 into the conjunction…"
She measured out small quantities of translucent liquids. Each action she took she was fully ingrained in as though she were blocking out the world beyond the clinical task at hand.
But then, a hoarse voice cut through the quiet.
"Why…"
The single word, barely audible, froze her for a fraction of a second. Her hand wavered mid-motion as her gaze flicked toward the restrained figure on the table. She hadn't expected him to speak, not in his state.
Layna's fingers hovered over the mixture for a moment longer before she composed herself.
"Subject is awake, pausing the mixture."
She ended the recording on her datapad with a quick tap. Setting aside her work, she grabbed another device—a syringe-like instrument—and approached the table.
Kyle's eyes were barely open, bloodshot and dulled with exhaustion, but they followed her movements as she came closer. Despite his weakened state, there was a flicker of determination in his gaze, as if sheer willpower kept him conscious.
"Why?" he repeated, his voice rough, almost a whisper.
Layna's expression didn't change as she adjusted the device in her hand, her focus seemingly on the needle rather than the man before her. "Your mind is fractured," she said curtly, "I doubt you'd understand even if I told you."
Kyle gritted his teeth, struggling to push the words out, "Why… help… someone like Rylik?"
This time, Layna's movements slowed slightly. She didn't look at him right away, her gaze fixed on the device she was calibrating. Finally, she met his eyes, her own cold and guarded.
"You wouldn't understand," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, as though the answer were final.
Without waiting for a reply, Layna pressed the needle against Kyle's neck, injecting its contents with swift precision. The fluid caused only mild discomfort, a brief prickling sensation that Kyle couldn't suppress entirely. His breathing hitched as he felt a strange warmth spreading through his veins, his muscles tensing involuntarily.
"What… what is that?" he managed to ask, his voice strained.
Layna ignored his question, setting the device aside and retrieving a thin tube. She inserted it into a port on the back of Kyle's hand, securing it in place with practiced ease. Her fingers moved to a nearby console, activating a small pump. A faint whirring noise began as a pale liquid flowed from a reservoir into the tube and into Kyle's bloodstream.
"This will provide you with nutrients," she explained, her tone clinical, "Just enough to keep you alive. Governor Rylik wouldn't want you dying before your next questioning."
Kyle's jaw tightened, his body betraying his efforts to suppress the discomfort as the liquid coursed through him. He could feel its cold, artificial presence spreading through his veins, keeping him tethered to a state that was neither recovery nor rest.
Layna returned to the counter, picking up her datapad and resuming her notes as if nothing had happened.
"So let me get this straight," Rider said, his gaze fixed on Rey, "You want us to help you and the Mandalorians storm a First Order base? The heavily defended near impenetrable fortress we once called home. Do you hear how insane that sounds?"
Jabs and Elle exchanged uncertain glances, but neither spoke yet. Rey remained composed and seated, her hands at her legs, her expression betrayed a faint hint of frustration. Hexa, however, was less patient.
"This is a waste of time," Hexa growled, crossing her arms and staring down the stormtroopers, "They're deserters. I told you they'd be too scared to do anything useful."
Ragnar, sitting on a rock beside her, gave her a sidelong glance. Raising his hand light he interjected, "Give them a chance, Hexa. This isn't about fear. It's about showing them there's something else out there."
Rey shot Hexa a sharp glance but said nothing, focusing instead on Rider, "We know it's a lot to ask, but the plan is straightforward and you won't need to put yourself at risk," she said, her tone calm but firm, "We just need you to lower the defenses for us to get in and get our friend. You know the base. You know how they operate."
"And then what?" Rider snapped. "We get tossed aside? Cannon fodder, just like the First Order used us. You're no different from them, you know that?"
That hit a nerve in Hexa as she scoffed audibly, her hand brushing the blaster at her hip. "I've had enough of this. We should just—"
"Don't!" Rey cut her off before she could escalate further. She turned back to the stormtroopers, her voice steady but resolute. "We are different. And I can prove it."
Rider folded his arms, skeptical, "Yeah? How's that?"
Rey stood up and stepped forward, the firelight reflecting off her calm gaze as she unveiled a holodisc, "Because I've seen it before. I've seen a stormtrooper walk away from the First Order. I've seen him become something greater. His name was Finn."
The holodisc activated and flickered the image of Finn, the former stormtrooper turned Jedi who had helped bring down the Final Order.
Jabs tilted his head, clearly recognizing the image. Elle's expression softened, intrigued. Rider, however, remained unmoved, his scowl deepening.
"Finn was more than a soldier," Rey continued, her voice gaining strength, "He was a Jedi. He saved lives, he fought for something bigger than himself, and he never stopped trying to help others like you… stormtroopers who wanted a choice."
Rider snorted, shaking his head, "Nice story. Doesn't change anything."
But Jabs leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on Rey, "His number was FN-2187, I knew of him… even uttering his name was punished severely. Did he really… save others?" he asked, his voice quieter, more thoughtful.
Rey nodded, sensing she had struck a chord, "He did. Again and again. Because he believed people could be more than what the First Order forced them to be. He believed that you—any of you—could make a difference."
Jabs rubbed the back of his neck, his expression conflicted, "I've never really done anything to help anyone," he muttered. "Just followed orders. Maybe this… maybe this could be my chance."
Elle smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. "I didn't need much convincing to want out of the First Order," she said, the smile widening as she then looked at Rey, "And if helping you means taking a stand against them… then I'm in."
Rider stood abruptly, pacing just outside the firelight, "You're both idiots," he said, his tone direct, "You think they're going to treat you any better? You think helping them makes you free? It's the same game, just different rules."
Rey took a step toward him, her voice understanding, "If you don't want to be a part of this, we won't force you. You get to decide for yourself who you want to be."
Rider froze, his arms still crossed. He looked at her, skeptical, his brow furrowed in confusion. "You're just… letting me walk away?"
Rey nodded, "There's a speeder outside, fully loaded with supplies. If you don't want to be a part of this, it's yours. No one will stop you."
Rider blinked, the firelight catching the hint of hesitation in his eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. For a long moment, he stared at Rey, clearly trying to process her sincerity. Finally, he looked away, muttering under his breath.
"I… I can't," he said, shaking his head as he sat down on a rock, his face unreadable.
Jabs and Elle exchanged a glance but said nothing, their expressions a mix of disappointment and understanding. Rey stepped back, letting Rider's decision stand without further protest. Behind her, Ragnar watched quietly.
Jabs stood and grabbed his pack, slinging it over his shoulder. "Suit yourself, man," he said, his tone resigned, "Good luck out here."
Elle approached Rider, her expression softer. "Take care of yourself," she said simply before stepping away to join the others.
As dawn began to break over the horizon, the group prepared to leave the camp, the faint light casting long shadows across the sand. Hexa watched as Rider took one of the speeders, her hand inching toward her blaster. "We should shoot him," she muttered, "He's a liability."
Ragnar stepped forward, placing a firm hand on her shoulder, "No," he said firmly. "We respect his choice, just like Kyle respected the choice of the ones he let go. Stormtroopers don't choose to be slaves. They've had everything taken from them. Let him find his own way."
Hexa hesitated, her gaze still on the former stormtrooper as he activated the speeder, she finally relented, lowering her hand. Ragnar nodded in approval and turned to follow the others.
Rey, walking ahead of the group, pulled out a small hologram projector from her belt and activated it. A flickering blue figure appeared, revealing the youthful face of a Jedi, his expression shifting to surprise as he recognized her.
"Master Rey?" Ronan said with noticeable worry, "You finally reached out. Are you alright? Where are you?"
"I'm fine, Ronan," Rey replied, her tone brisk but not unkind. "I need you to bring the others to my coordinates immediately. We're going to need all the help we can get."
Ronan's brow furrowed, his concern evident, "What's going on? Are you in danger?"
"I'll explain when you get here," Rey said. "Just trust me. This is important."
Ronan hesitated for a moment but then nodded, "Alright. We'll come. Just… be careful, Rey."
The hologram faded, and Rey clipped the projector back to her belt, her gaze shifting to the horizon. Behind her, Jabs, Elle and about a dozen Mandalorians walked in silence.
As the group continued onward, the first rays of sunlight bathed the desert in a warm glow, marking the start of what they knew would be a long day. Behind them, Rider watched from his speeder, his eyes pensive as if he was rethinking his choice then he drove off into the opposite direction.
The quarters were dimly lit, a single overhead bulb casting a faint yellow glow over the rundown room. The air was warm, stifling even, but it was a welcome reprieve from the cold, damp mud of the training grounds. The foundlings had gathered inside, some sprawled across the square beds with their old, sagging mattresses, while others perched on the few wooden chairs scattered throughout the room. It wasn't much, but at least it was shelter.
Most of the children were too exhausted to do anything but rest. Their bodies ached from the grueling obstacle courses and the relentless barking of Soseron, and the silence was broken only by the occasional murmur of a whispered conversation. A few of the younger ones huddled together on a bed, whispering stories to one another, while others sat alone, staring blankly at the cracked walls as if trying to will themselves away from this place.
Polina, however, was on the floor beside her bed, completely absorbed in her task. The wooden slats beneath her knees creaked faintly as she leaned over her work. Using small rocks, twigs, and even scraps of cloth, she had constructed a rudimentary but detailed layout of the training grounds, all embezzled on top of a thin wooden board. Every element she could remember from her weeks in Bastion was accounted for: the mud pits, the walls, the towers, even the positioning of the guards.
Her fingers moved with quiet precision, arranging and rearranging the small objects, her mind racing as she tried to think of every detail. Her gaze darted from one part of the makeshift map to another, replaying the routes and routines in her head. She muttered to herself occasionally, noting things she had missed or refining her placement of certain elements. Every observation, every moment of the past weeks, was being painstakingly reconstructed in miniature.
Yuna, sitting cross-legged on her bed nearby, noticed Polina's work and tilted her head curiously, "What are you doing down there?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the room.
Polina didn't look up, her focus unbroken, "Trying to remember everything," she replied simply, her tone distant, as if her thoughts were miles away.
Yuna slid off her bed and crouched beside Polina, her eyes scanning the makeshift map, "You've been working on that for long?" she inquired, "Is it… a plan or something?"
Polina hesitated, her hands pausing over a row of rocks representing the walls, "Not yet," she admitted, "But maybe… someday."
Yuna glanced around to make sure no one else was paying attention before leaning closer. "You really think you can get out of here?" she asked, her voice low.
Polina's jaw tightened, and she finally looked up at Yuna. Her eyes were sharp, filled with determination that seemed out of place in her small, dirt-streaked face. "We all can, we have to try," she whispered.
Yuna stared at her for a moment before nodding slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line, "Polina…"
"Why's everyone acting like a bunch of lumpy porgs?"
Yuna's words were cut short by the sound of Sin's bed creaking as he stood, his chest puffed out with mock bravado. His voice carried across the room, loud enough to catch everyone's attention.
"This place is great! Better than where I came from. When I'm the greatest Mandalorian of all time, no, scratch that, the Mand'aloooor…" He trailed off, clearly mispronouncing the title, but barreled on without a care, "I'll make you all my loyal subjects!"
Some of the younger kids chuckled nervously while others rolled their eyes. Sin grinned, encouraged by even the faintest attention, and began leaping from bed to bed, his dirty boots bouncing on the threadbare mattresses.
"You'll see!" Sin continued, waving his arms theatrically, "They'll write songs about Sin the Mighty!" He mimed wielding a sword, slicing through imaginary foes.
"I'll ride into battle on the biggest Rancor you've ever seen! No… battle Rancors! A whole herd of them! And all you weaklings…" His eyes darted around before landing on Polina, "You'll be nothing but snacks for my Rancors!"
Polina tensed, her body instinctively moving to shield her map. She stood slowly, brushing dirt off her knees and crossing her arms as she stared Sin down. Her voice was calm but carried an edge of steel.
"You can act as tough as you want, Sin," she said, her tone cutting across the room, "But deep down, I think you're just as scared as the rest of us. Maybe even more."
The quiet murmur of the other kids filled the room as Sin froze mid-step. A few of the younger ones snickered softly, whispering amongst themselves. Sin's confident grin faltered, replaced by a flush of embarrassment.
He leaped off the nearest bed and strode toward Polina, his face twisting into a scowl. "What did you just say to me?" he snapped, his eyes locking into hers, "You're just a stupid girl! You wouldn't last a day out there in a real fight!"
Before Polina could respond, Sin shoved her, trying to reassert his dominance. Polina staggered back slightly but didn't fall. Instead, she straightened, her fists clenched, and glared at him with unwavering resolve.
"Don't push me, Sin," she warned, her voice low and steady.
"Or what!?" Sin laughed mockingly, "What are you gonna do about it?"
Before he could finish his taunt, Polina stepped forward and swung her fist, catching him in the mouth. Sin staggered, more shocked than hurt, and immediately retaliated, lunging at her.
The room erupted as the other kids scrambled to their feet, forming a loose circle around the fight. Shouts and gasps filled the air as Polina and Sin went at it.
The fight was a chaotic scuffle, with both of them wrestling in the cramped space between the beds. Polina managed to land a sharp elbow to Sin's side, earning a grunt of pain, but he retaliated by grabbing her wrist and twisting, trying to pin her down. Polina squirmed free, kicking at his legs, which sent him sprawling onto his side.
Sin grunted in frustration and scrambled back toward her, his knee pressing against her as he tried to pin her again. Polina twisted under him, swinging a fist upward to catch his shoulder. He winced but held his ground, his hands gripping her arms to hold her in place.
The other children leaned in closer, Yuna among them as they watched the fight on.
They rolled across the floor, trading shoves and grapples, their breaths coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Polina kicked again at Sin's stomach as he then struck her at her nose with his palm.
Before either could make another move, the heavy doors to the barracks slammed open with a loud clang, cutting through the noise. The children froze, their murmurs dying instantly as they turned toward the doorway.
Soseron stood there, his dark armor imposing and his gaze sweeping over the room with a cold, piercing intensity.
"What in blasted hells is going on here!?"
The room was deathly silent as Soseron's heavy boots clicked against the floor, his cold, piercing gaze sweeping over the gathered children. His eyes locked onto the figures of Polina and Sin, still tangled on the floor, their breaths coming in ragged gasps. Neither dared to move under his unrelenting stare.
"Stand," Soseron growled.
Polina and Sin scrambled to their feet, both battered and bleeding. Sin struggled to get up, reeling from the pain at his stomach as he wiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his hand trembling slightly, while Polina pressed a sleeve against her nose, which was now streaked red. The two avoided looking at each other, their gazes fixed instead on the imposing Mandalorian before them.
Soseron moved closer, his dark armor making him seem like an otherworldly being within the dimly lit room. He stood before the two combatants, letting the tension hang heavy in the air as he looked them over.
"I don't care what started this," he said at last, his voice sharp and clipped, "I don't care who did what." He leaned in slightly, his tone hardening, "What I care about is whether you can show this same level of fury against the enemy."
Sin flinched as Soseron's gauntleted hand shot out, gripping his jaw and tilting his head to inspect the damage. He turned Sin's face from side to side, his gloved thumb pressing against the split lip before shoving him aside with a scoff.
He turned to Polina next, his fingers gripping her chin and forcing her head up. She winced but didn't pull away as his cold eyes examined her bloody nose and bruised cheek. He released her with the same dismissive shove.
"You'll live," he muttered, stepping back to regard them both. For a moment, a faint flicker of something—perhaps approval—crossed his face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
Soseron straightened, his gaze sweeping over the rest of the room. "You'll need that fire tomorrow," he said, his voice loud enough to reverberate through the room, "Because tomorrow, you face your first test of battle. If you're smart, you'll work together and persevere. If not…" He let the words hang ominously, his tone implying their fates if they failed.
He glanced back at Polina and Sin, his voice hardening, "This squabbling ends here. If I come back and see this nonsense again, it'll be the last time. Keep it for the battles ahead…"
His words pressed down on the room as he turned sharply and marched toward the door. Pausing just before stepping out, he barked one final command, "Get to bed. Now."
The heavy door slammed shut behind him, leaving the children alone once more. Silence filled the air as they stood frozen in place, glancing uneasily at one another.
Polina wiped her nose again, her mind racing as she glanced at Sin, who was rubbing his sore jaw. The two locked eyes for a brief moment before both turning away, retreating to their respective spaces without a word.
The other children quickly shuffled back to their beds, their whispers hushed as they settled in for the night. Polina sat on the edge of her bed, her body aching from the scuffle, but her mind was already elsewhere, focusing on the still intact mock up, she quietly pushed it under her mattress with her foot.
She lay down, staring at the ceiling above her, Soseron's words nagging at her, tomorrow would be a test—one she wasn't sure any of them were ready for.
The Mandalorians and the defectors crouched within the shadowy crevice of a rock formation, shielded from the elements and prying eyes. The light of a portable holoprojector illuminated a makeshift layout of the First Order base, drawn with precision using lines by the two defectors. Jabs and Elle sat in their full stormtrooper armor, having recovered it from the aftermath of the ambush. Both suits bore the scuffs and marks of battle, but they would fit well enough to avoid suspicion.
The quiet murmurs of discussion stilled as Rey approached from the side, stepping carefully into the crevice. Her stormtrooper armor clinked softly with each movement, and her expression was one of clear discomfort. She held the helmet under her arm as though it might bite her, her free hand fidgeting with one of the suit's plates.
"How do you wear this stuff?" Rey asked with irritation as she adjusted the stiff armor around her shoulders.
Elle smirked, leaning back slightly, her own helmet perched beside her, "You get used to it. Kind of like an itch you can't scratch—constant, irritating, but manageable."
Jabs chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he pointed to a dented plate on his chest, "Or you don't get used to it, and you just try not to think about how uncomfortable it is. Just hope you don't have to run much."
Rey rolled her eyes but allowed a faint smile to tug at her lips. She knelt near the layout, setting the helmet down beside her, "Let's focus, so the plan…"
Jabs, shifting his position, began pointing to key locations on the projector. "Here's the armory," he said, his finger tracing a route through the corridors, "It's a fallback point for troops during high alert. If things go sideways, this place will be locked down tight, and they'll use it as a rally point."
Elle added, her voice more serious, "And here's the control room. It's directly linked to the defense lines at Jabiim-Selim. If we can get in there and deactivate the defenses, then the city will be left defenseless."
Ragnar leaned forward, clearly interested as he turned to Hexa, "That's when you and the others will attack…"
Hexa nodded in agreement, her tone clipped, "The moment those defenses are down, we'll hit the city with everything we've got."
Ragnar leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the map, "Jabs and I will focus on securing the topside and the control room. If we can hold that, the others outside can come in and secure the facility."
The surrounding warriors nodded in understanding.
Elle glanced at Rey, her tone more serious, "That leaves us to find Kyle."
Rey frowned slightly, studying the map closely, "And where do we start looking? The base is huge by the looks of it."
"The lower levels," Elle replied, pointing to a cluster of markings on the map, "That's where they'd take someone like him I'd say."
Jabs nodded in agreement, "She's right. The lower levels are where they'd take the cargo every time. But here's the thing, we've never been down there. Only Rider ever patrolled that far. And, well, he's not here."
Ragnar glanced at Rey, "You'll be blind down there. No recon, no firsthand intel. Are you sure about this?"
Rey straightened, her expression firm, "I'll take the chance. If Kyle's down there, and I'm not leaving without him. But we need you and Jabs to get to the control center fast. We can't do this without that distraction."
Ragnar exchanged a glance with Hexa, who gave a reluctant nod. "Alright," Ragnar said, his tone steady, "We'll handle the topside and give you the opening you need."
Jabs tapped the map with his gloved hand, "If we can get the defenses down quickly, it'll give us all a better shot at making it out alive."
Rey exhaled, her fingers brushing over the smooth surface of the helmet. She looked at each of them in turn, "Alright, then. Let's get moving."
The lab was quiet except for the faint hum of machinery and the soft click of Dr. Layna's fingers against her datapad. Her voice filled the sterile room as she spoke into the recording device embedded in her work station, her tone clinical and detached.
"Log entry 645, continuation," she began, "Past experiments stemming from far back as Necromancer have yielded only menial results in achieving sustained control over Force-sensitive individuals. Initial tests with serum-based controls were unreliable, the subjects either succumbing to physical degradation or exhibiting uncontrollable outbursts. The method proved impractical for large-scale application."
Her gaze flicked over a series of charts and tables displayed on her datapad, "The current nanite method offers a promising alternative," she continued, her voice steady, "allowing for localized suppression and targeted control. However, Subject Beta continues to exhibit significant degradation. The nanite integrity has fallen to 37% in his system—a marked decline since the last injection. This pattern has persisted across multiple trials."
Layna paused for a moment, scrolling through a list of readings. "Perhaps," she murmured, "a return to the Subject Alpha model may be necessary. While less sophisticated, it demonstrated more stable results in early stages. I will submit a recommendation for further analysis."
As she reviewed another chart, her thumb swiped across the screen, revealing a photo she hadn't intended to pull up. The image startled her: a much younger version of herself, smiling—a rare, genuine smile—while holding a baby in her arms. The warmth of the memory flickered in her expression, her gaze softening as she studied the picture. Her fingers brushed the edge of the datapad as though she could touch a life she'd left behind.
Her reminiscing was broken by the sound of a voice from the doorway, "Nostalgia, Doctor?"
Layna startled slightly, her professional mask slipping back into place as she turned to see Governor Rylik standing at the edge of the door, his sharp eyes fixed on her. She hadn't heard him enter, and the realization unsettled her.
"No," she said quickly, flipping the datapad face down on the counter. "Just reviewing data," She tried her best to speak with her typical monotony, but a slight hint of nervousness was noticeable in how she spoke.
Rylik stepped into the room, his boots stomping against the floor as he approached the workstation. He glanced briefly at the unconscious Kyle, still strapped to the bed, his breathing shallow but steady. "How's the project progressing?" he asked, his tone deceptively light.
Layna folded her hands in front of her, her expression neutral, "Subject Beta remains too unstable," she replied. "His midi-chlorian count continues to degrade the nanites at an accelerated rate. The system cannot maintain balance in such a high-sensitivity environment. I suggest defaulting to the Subject Alpha model—it may not be as efficient, but it is far more stable."
Rylik's face darkened, his easy demeanor slipping into frustration, "We've discussed that," he said sharply, "The Alpha model is primitive. It lacks the sophistication we need to make this project a reality. Beta is the key. We cannot abandon the most promising results simply because of a few setbacks."
Layna hesitated, her eyes flicking briefly to Kyle. "The setbacks are not minor," she said carefully, "Without addressing the degradation issue, we risk losing the entire subject. The project could fail entirely."
Rylik stepped closer, his voice dropping as he closed in on Layna, "Failure is not an option, Doctor. Not for you, not for me, and certainly not for this project." His gaze hardened as he gestured toward Kyle, "He is our best chance. Do whatever you need to stabilize the process. Use your brilliance to find the solution."
Layna looked away, her fingers brushing against the datapad still face down on the counter. Rylik followed her gaze and let out a low, knowing hum.
"This project is more than just science, Doctor," he said, stepping closer to the doctor, almost right to her face, his tone had a softness to it but carried an edge of menace, "You know that. It's the key to everything we've worked for. The key to bringing her back."
Layna stiffened, her breath catching for a moment. She didn't respond immediately, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. Finally, she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'll continue the work."
Rylik's expression relaxed into a smile, but there was no warmth in it. "Good," he said, straightening his jacket and stepping away from Layna, easing off her space, "Keep me updated on your progress."
With that, he turned and walked out of the room, the door hissing shut behind him. Layna stood frozen for a moment before picking up her datapad, her eyes lingering on the photograph before swiping it away.
The room was shrouded in shadow, the only source of illumination a single red light that beamed from overhead, casting long, ominous silhouettes across the nervous group of foundlings. There was silence among them, the room filled only with the sound of their shuffling feet and hushed, uncertain breaths.
Polina stood near the center, her arms crossed tightly as she stared ahead, though her mind was far from the present moment. Think, think. Her thoughts spun relentlessly as she pieced together fragments of observations from the past weeks. The training grounds—barely guarded beyond a couple of guards. The walls—high, almost impossible to scale, though not entirely impossible if she found the right tool. And then there was the door. The one she believed led to the hangar. Shuttles arrived there every two days, like clockwork. If I can make it there…
"Polina."
The voice pulled her sharply from her thoughts. Yuna, standing beside her, peered at her with those sharp, questioning eyes, "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" she asked in a whisper "Getting out."
Polina didn't answer. She shifted her weight, her eyes looking forward as if getting back into her thoughts. Yuna sighed, shaking her head, "You're going to get yourself in trouble."
Before Polina could respond, a loud, static crackle filled the room.
"Today," Soseron's voice boomed, "your training for battle commences."
Every child stiffened instinctively as the voice of Soseron echoed through unseen speakers, they exchanged uneasy glances. Polina's heart thudded in her chest as she looked around as well.
"You are to protect the flag at all costs," Soseron continued, his tone unrelenting, "Any weapon at your disposal may be used to secure victory."
The room was utterly still, save for the soft hum of the red light above. Polina swallowed, her mind racing. Protect the flag? Weapons? Her eyes darted to Yuna, whose face had paled visibly in the dim light.
Soseron's voice lowered, "Strength is survival. Survival is victory. This is the way."
The intercom clicked off, leaving a suffocating silence. Then, the red light began to flash.
Thud. Thud. A deep mechanical sound reverberated through the walls, and the ground trembled faintly beneath their feet. Before them, the wall split open with a loud, grating noise, blinding daylight flooding into the darkened space. The foundlings shielded their eyes instinctively, blinking against the sudden brightness as the wall slowly receded.
Polina lowered her arm, her gaze locking on the sight before them.
An arena.
It stretched out vast and circular, its stone walls rising high into the sky. Tiered seating encircled the space, though the seats were empty. The ground was a mix of hard-packed dirt and scattered rubble, with jagged steel spikes and Mandalorian symbols etched into the stonework. Flags bearing the Mythosaur emblem flapped faintly in the pillars around the arena.
Polina felt a cold sweat at the back of her neck while the other children stepped forward cautiously. They were small against the scale of the arena, tiny and frail to any who saw from above.
"What is this?" Yuna whispered beside her, her voice trembling slightly.
Polina didn't answer. Her gaze swept across the arena, trying to take in every detail. At the far end stood a single flagpole planted into the dirt, a crimson flag snapping in the wind. Around it, scattered throughout the arena, were crates, crude barriers, and unfamiliar weapons mounted on racks.
Soseron's voice returned, though it now seemed to boom directly across the arena itself, "The battle will commence in sixty seconds."
"To the center! Hurry!" Polina didn't hesitate.
Sin, ever eager, bolted forward without waiting for further reason. He sprinted through the dirt, his boots kicking up dust as he headed straight for the flag. The others hesitated only for a second before Yuna grabbed one of the younger kids by the arm and followed. Polina brought up the rear, urging the rest of the group forward as they ran across the open ground.
"Let's go, quickly!" She shouted with urgency.
The children reached the flag, panting and wide-eyed as they looked around nervously. Before them stood racks of weapons, crudely made and seemingly meant for training. Electro-staffs that sparked faintly at the ends, heavy batons with thick grips, short swords that were blunt but still heavy, and small shields made of reinforced plastoid.
Sin didn't need an invitation. He grabbed a baton, its weight solid in his hand, and spun it theatrically, grinning as if he'd been waiting for this moment all his life. "No one's getting through me!" he boasted, striking a pose, "I'll take them all on! Come and face Sin the Great—Champion of the Flag!"
Polina ignored him as she scanned the weapons quickly. She grabbed a shield and an electro-staff, testing the weapon's weight as it buzzed faintly to life.
"Stick together," she said firmly, turning to the others, "Don't run off. Protect each other and hold the line."
Yuna nodded, picking up a staff, "What if the swarm is?"
Polina's brow furrowed, her mind working fast, "We use the shields to block them out. They'll expect us to scatter. If we stay close, we'll stand a chance."
The younger kids were slower to arm themselves, some fumbling with the weapons as they exchanged nervous glances. Polina moved quickly among them, urging them to grab something—anything. A small boy hefted a baton that was almost too big for him, his hands trembling, while a girl clutched a shield tightly to her chest.
Sin, meanwhile, kept pacing near the flag, slapping the baton against his palm with growing excitement, "They won't know what hit them! Whoever they send better be ready for me."
Polina ignored his bravado and turned her attention back to the arena. The sun was blinding, its light reflecting off the stone walls, and the empty stands felt hauntingly watchful. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were being judged.
Suddenly, Soseron's voice boomed once more, his tone cold and merciless.
"Ten."
The sound sent a chill through the group. Polina tightened her grip on the electro-staff and turned back to the others, "Get ready!"
"Nine."
Yuna lifted her shield, her sword at the ready, standing close to Polina. The younger kids shuffled nervously, their knuckles white against their weapons.
"Eight."
Sin planted himself directly in front of the flag, baton raised as he grinned wildly. "Let them come!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the arena.
"Seven."
Polina scanned their surroundings, her mind racing for any sign of movement, any clue as to what they were about to face. She swallowed hard, forcing her breathing to steady.
"Six."
Yuna muttered softly under her breath, her voice barely audible, "We can do this…"
"Five."
The hum of the electro-staff in Polina's hand grew louder in her ears, mixing with the pounding of her heart. She shot a glance to the kids around her. They were scared, but they were holding their ground.
"Four."
Sin slammed the baton into the ground, his grin unwavering, "Bring it on!"
"Three."
Polina's muscles tensed as her eyes darted to the barriers and crates around the arena. The open space seemed to stretch endlessly before her.
"Two."
The other children huddled closer together. Yuna's breathing quickened, but she kept her shield raised.
"One."
The silence that followed Soseron's final count was suffocating.
And then, from the far gates of the arena, a deep mechanical grinding began to rumble, and the heavy doors began to open.
For a moment, nothing emerged.
Then came the low growls.
Out of the shadows, a pack of Massiffs burst forward, their claws scraping against the sandy ground as they charged toward the group with terrifying speed.
"Hold the line!" Polina shouted, trying to sound braver than she felt. Her heart pounded in her chest as the beasts closed in.
The foundlings instinctively shrank back, fear flashing in their eyes, but Polina moved forward a step, raising her shield forward, "Together! We can hold them!"
Sin didn't need the encouragement. With a wild yell, he charged forward, swinging his baton clumsily but with enough force to knock one of the Massiffs aside, "You want some of this?!" he bellowed.
The others followed Polina's lead. A boy with a shield managed to deflect one Massiff's snapping jaws, while Yuna swung an electrostaff to keep another at bay while Polina kicked one back and hit it with her baton, sending the creature reeling back with pain. The beasts were relentless, but the children stood their ground.
One Massiff lunged straight at Sin, but he dodged to the side and delivered a swift kick to its side, sending it sprawling. "Ha!" Sin shouted triumphantly. He followed up with a swing of his baton, cracking it against the heads of another Massiff. The creatures yelped and retreated, circling warily before turning tail and fleeing back toward the shadows.
Sin threw his arms up, grinning like a fool. "You see that?! I'm unstoppable! Sin the Mighty! Fear of Beasts everywhere!"
Polina shouted at him, "Sin, get back here!"
But Sin wasn't listening. Another set of doors began to rumble open again, and Sin raised his baton confidently, "I'll take whatever's next! Bring it on!"
Polina's stomach twisted, "Sin, no!"
The dark space revealed a new threat. A line of figures stepped out slowly, clad in red overalls and identical helmets. They moved without weapons, but there was something far more menacing in their calm approach. These weren't animals. These were the older foundlings— apprentices, the same they had seen at the mess hall when they first arrived.
Polina's voice rose, desperate, "Sin, get back here now!"
Sin scoffed, waving her off, "I can take them! Watch this!" He charged ahead, baton raised high.
The lead apprentice, taller and more confident than the rest, didn't flinch. Sin swung wildly, but the apprentice stepped aside with ease and grabbed Sin's arm, twisting it followed by a punch straight at the foundling's chest. In seconds, Sin was sprawled in the dirt, gasping for air as the baton clattered from his grip.
The other apprentices moved fast, spreading out as they began to surround the group.
"Hold!" Polina yelled again, but fear was spreading through the foundlings like wildfire.
"Stick together!" Yuna shouted, her voice shaking as she tried to rally the younger kids.
But it was too late. One by one, the children broke rank. The apprentices moved in with unnerving efficiency, dispatching the foundlings with little more than well-placed shoves and grapples. None of the blows were lethal, but they were humiliating, knocking the children into the dirt and leaving them unable to rise.
Yuna followed behind a handful of younger kids and found themselves cornered by two apprentices. One, unmistakably a girl, raised her hand calmly and said in a muffled voice through her helmet, "Lay down. Don't fight."
Yuna hesitated but knew there was no point. She and the others surrendered, laying flat against the arena floor. The two apprentices turned their attention back to the rest of the group, searching for more to subdue.
Polina watched in dismay as her companions fell one by one. She stood alone at the center now, gripping her shield and baton tightly as the crimson flag flapped behind her. Her chest rose and fell as she steadied her breathing.
One of the taller apprentices approached her confidently. He stopped a few feet away, his head tilting slightly as if appraising her.
Polina didn't move. She remembered Kyle's lessons; Don't strike first. Let your opponent show you what they'll do.
The apprentice lunged forward suddenly, aiming a kick at her shield. Polina braced and absorbed the impact, skidding slightly but holding firm. The apprentice struck again, two quick, successive kicks, and Polina's arms shook under the force. Her shield clattered to the ground, knocked free.
The apprentice prepared another strike, but Polina saw an opening. She dodge, driving the electric end of her baton into her attacker's side. The crackle of energy filled the air, and the apprentice staggered back, falling to the ground with a pained groan.
Polina stepped back, panting heavily, realization dawning on her that she'd actually taken one of them down.
The girl apprentice who had spared Yuna moved next. Without a word, she grabbed a discarded baton and advanced toward Polina. The two circled each other briefly before the girl swung. Polina blocked it, her reflexes sharp. Another swing, this time toward her back, Polina instinctively brought her baton behind her, deflecting the strike in a move Kyle had taught her.
The girl paused, stepping back slightly, her head tilting as though impressed, "Not bad," she said quietly through her helmet.
Polina's grip tightened, her body still tense, but before she could respond, the rest of the apprentices moved in. She turned to face them, but there were too many. A pair grabbed her arms while another knocked her legs out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground.
Polina gasped as she landed hard, her baton slipping from her grasp. The girl apprentice loomed over her, staring down silently.
"Don't get distracted next time," the girl said coolly, before turning and walking toward the flag.
Polina lay on the ground, breathing hard as the girl reached the flagpole. She took the flag calmly, holding it aloft.
A loud horn blared through the arena and. Soseron's voice echoed, "The battle is over."
Polina pushed herself up just enough to sit, her breaths still heavy and uneven. She glanced around the arena, the scattered foundlings, the crimson flag disappearing into the hands of the apprentices, and the dirt smudged across her scraped palms.
Her jaw tightened as she watched the last of the apprentices walk away, leaving her and the others behind.
She clenched her fist, her gaze dropping to the dirt before lifting to the sky. Anger seething within her and shaped into an unshakable determination—a determination to escape.
From the shadowed heights of the arena's observation platform, Mandalore the Resolute stood with his arms crossed, the imposing weight of his silver-and-gold armor catching the faint light filtering in from the open sky. Saj-Tel and Soseron flanked either side, their gazes fixed on the now-empty arena below where the training exercise had concluded. Other Mandalorians lingered silently in the shadows behind them.
Resolute exhaled slowly, his tone measured but carrying the unmistakable edge of disappointment, "I'm not impressed with this batch."
Soseron bristled slightly, "I had told Protector Saj-Tel they needed further preparation, yet she insisted they be sent here, untrained, to prove her point."
Resolute turned his head just enough to regard Saj-Tel, "And I agreed. I gave you that chance, Saj-Tel. You wanted the arena to test your theory." His voice lowered slightly, "So far, it hasn't proven much."
Saj-Tel stepped forward, her posture rigid with the confidence she always carried, "It's not the group that matters, Mand'alor. You saw the girl, Polina."
"The one from Ajan-Kloss…" Resolute's brow lowered slightly, his voice mulling over the name, "Polina," he repeated, turning his gaze back toward the arena as though searching for her lingering presence among the disturbed dust. "Resilient, I'll grant her that. But I've seen many children across this galaxy fight for survival. Many have the ability to defend themselves. What makes this one so special to you?"
Saj-Tel's visor tilted slightly toward him, "Back on the Star Destroyer—one moment of anger, and she shook an entire section of the ship. That kind of raw power doesn't appear in just anyone."
Resolute turned to face her fully, his armored figure seeming even more massive as the lights played across the etched surface of his armor. "The Force," he said flatly, "You're betting everything on a foundling's connection to something that even the Jedi themselves could not control."
"It's not just the Force," Saj-Tel replied, her tone firm but respectful, "It's her will. You saw it in the arena today. She waited, she endured. She held her ground when the others faltered. She doesn't just lash out blindly—she thinks. That's more than raw power. That's purpose."
Resolute considered her words in silence, his gaze focused over the now-empty grounds below. A faint hum of thought filled the air before he spoke again.
"She has potential, yes," he conceded, though his voice carried no trace of enthusiasm, "But I didn't see much of it today. One victory against an overeager opponent does not make her exceptional."
Saj-Tel didn't flinch, "Given the right guidance, it will show itself."
Resolute's gaze lingered on her for a long, tense moment before he finally gave a nod, "Very well. If this girl means so much to you, she will be your responsibility. Yours, and yours alone." His tone sharpened with finality, "If you fail to temper her, to control her potential, it's on you."
Saj-Tel bowed her head deeply, the faintest glint of satisfaction visible in her posture, "Understood, Mand'alor. I won't disappoint you."
Resolute gave the arena one last glance, his voice low as he turned away, "See that you don't."
As Resolute's steps echoed down the platform along with his followers, Soseron lingered for a moment longer. His unhelmeted gaze, cold and hard, turned toward Saj-Tel.
"You're placing a dangerous amount of faith in one girl," he said flatly. "We've seen power like hers before. It doesn't always end the way we want it to."
Saj-Tel tilted her head slightly, regarding him with that same calm, unreadable poise, "Sometimes, one is all it takes."
Without waiting for his response, she turned sharply, her boots clicking against the metal as she strode after Mandalore, leaving Soseron alone to watch the empty arena below.
The sun blazed overhead as the trio of stormtrooper-clad figures marched through the arid expanse, their boots kicking up dust with each step. At the head of the group, Ragnar walked with his wrists cuffed in front of him, still in his Mandalorian armor, his helmet remained firmly in place. Jabs followed close behind, his blaster pointed subtly at Ragnar's back. Rey and Elle, both stormtrooper helmets gear, brought up the rear.
As Elle adjusted her helmet, she shot a sideways glance at Rey as they walked, "So… Finn," she began, her tone curious, "you said he was a stormtrooper before he joined you, right? How'd that happen?"
Rey's face softened, a wistful expression flickering beneath her helmet as she looked ahead. "Finn… was different," she said quietly, her voice filled with both warmth and sadness, "He was brave, loyal, and—more than anything—he chose to believe in something greater. He left everything he knew because he couldn't stand what the First Order was doing."
Elle looked down briefly as they kept walking, "Not many people do that," she said. "What happened to him?"
Rey hesitated, the answer not an easy one to give. Her gaze drifted to the horizon as if searching for the right words. "He died in the war," she finally said, her voice quieter now, "Fighting to save as many people as he could. Alongside so many others."
"I'm sorry," Elle murmured, her tone genuine, "Sounds like he meant a lot to you."
"He did," Rey replied softly, "He believed in people like you. Stormtroopers who wanted a choice. That's why I know this can work. You're here now, aren't you?"
Elle glanced ahead at Ragnar and Jabs, the two men walking in silence. "Guess so," she said quietly.
Up ahead, Jabs's voice broke the quiet between himself and Ragnar, "Never thought I'd be walking side by side with a Mandalorian," Jabs muttered, keeping his blaster steady on Ragnar as they trudged along.
Ragnar's helmet turned slightly, his voice dry and muffled through the modulator, "Trust me, it's not my ideal day either."
Jabs let out a short, humorless laugh, "You know, I remember you. Back at the ambush. You killed a lot of my friends." His words were sharp, but his tone was restrained, not confrontational, just stating a fact.
Ragnar didn't miss a beat, "They were trying to kill me."
Jabs huffed, "Yeah, that's war for you."
For a moment, the two of them walked in silence. It was clear they didn't hold each other in high regard, but neither seemed willing to reignite past conflicts. In the end, cooperation, however strained, was all they had left.
"You Mandalorians aren't so different from us," Jabs added finally, "Orders, guns, and war."
"Maybe," Ragnar replied, "But at least we know what we're fighting for."
Before Jabs could reply, his gaze sharpened. "Ahead!" he called over his shoulder, raising his fist, "The base is up ahead."
Rey and Elle quickly joined the two as the group crested a small rise. Before them lay what appeared to be an unassuming rock formation—jagged and sloping, the edges of the mesa cutting diagonally against the sky. It blended seamlessly into the surrounding landscape, a perfect illusion of natural stone.
"Looks like nothing," Elle muttered at Rey, her voice low as she scanned the area, "But it's there. Trust me."
The group descended the slope cautiously, closing in on the mesa's edge. As they approached, they found what appeared to be a small, lonely console embedded in the rock wall—out of place amid the rugged terrain. A faint red glow emanated from the console's single button, waiting to be pressed.
Jabs tightened his grip on Ragnar's cuffs, giving him a rough tug to make him look more the part of a subdued prisoner. Without hesitation, he reached out and pressed the button. The console chirped to life, and a low hum reverberated through the rock.
A panel slid open above the console with a hiss, and a droid extended from within the wall. The unit was sleek and angular, built from glossy black metal with faint crimson lines glowing across its surface. Its head was oval-shaped with a single red sensor sweeping back and forth like an eye.
A modulated voice crackled through hidden speakers, "Designation number and mission report."
Jabs stood straight, his voice steady and curt, "NT-9425. Gunner detail for Crimson Convoy, what's left of it."
The droid's sensor swept over the group before lingering on Ragnar, who stood still with his helmeted head lowered. The droid's red light pulsed faintly, "Explain the insurgent."
Jabs nodded toward Ragnar, prodding him roughly for effect, "Wounded during the ambush, we found him. We're bringing him in for interrogation and containment."
The droid's head tilted slightly, its sensor flashing as it processed the information. "Hold your position. Authorization pending."
The droid retracted slightly into the wall, and the hum of its systems faded as it seemingly went dormant. A long silence ensued as Jabs, Elle, and Rey exchanged uneasy glances.
Jabs glanced at Elle, his expression hidden behind the helmet but his posture rigid. Elle gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug as if to say, stay cool. Rey shifted her grip on the blaster she carried, her visor sweeping over the rock face ahead.
Seconds stretched, tension mounting with every breath.
Then the ground beneath their feet trembled faintly. A low rumbling sound grew from deep within the mesa, the vibrations rippling up through the rock. Slowly, the massive wall before them began to shift with a loud grinding noise. The stone split open sideways, jagged edges retracting to unveil the stark, white gleam of a First Order loading bay.
The transformation was jarring. Beyond the rock's deceptive exterior lay a sprawling, high-tech facility. Stormtroopers in their white armor patrolled the bay, rows of tanks and armored transports sat idle, workers moved between cargo crates, operating lifts and conveyor systems as droids hovered past. At the far end, massive elevators rumbled with activity, carrying supplies and personnel to different levels of the complex.
Jabs turned back to Rey and Elle, "We're in," he said simply.