#Men in Engine jammers

[athleticscorpion]

6. Tyson Pickering, 26

[usafphantom2]

ONLY A FIVE-SECOND WINDOW TO HIT SR-71

Recently, SR 71 pilot Steve Grzebiniak wrote, “Deceptive jamming, essentially defeated the SAM ( surface to air missile) capability to successfully intercept the SR 71 as the window to acquire track and launch was very limited.”

Jim Goodall, a well-known author of books about the SR-71, responded in messages to me. Then, SR 71 pilot David Peters responds to Jim about the subject of the SR 71 jammers and the probability of being shot down by the Russians.

Jim said, “As for the “Deceptive Jammer,” when searching for Habu’s to shoot down, the enemy has only about five (5) seconds to find, lock on, and fire its ‘boost glide’ SA-2. And they would have to be looking for it.

When one drives this 34-ton Black monster, remember that it flies through the heavens at over 3,200 feet per second, or 43 miles a minute.

With less than a half percent of the atmosphere at 85,000 feet, the SAM would have to hit the Blackbird, an impossible task as the control fins on the Soviet SA-2 are useless at 85k.

The only way to take down an SR-71 was to try to F.O.D. the aircraft by detonating it in front of the flight path in hopes of FODing the engine or shattering the cockpit windscreen.”

Lt. Col.David Peters responds, “As I have said many times, we only feared the SA10 nuclear. That’s because of exactly what you are talking about. A nuclear blast in front of us would likely prevent evasive action, unlike a 2 or 5, which we could theoretically get around. But suicide was never in the Russian mind, so we felt it was more than improbable. The other factor was they didn’t have very many, and they were mainly deployed around Moscow. It definitely factored into our emergency war order mission planning, as most of those were post-nuclear BDA around Moscow.”

I am grateful that these men took the time to respond to me. This confirms what I thought before that there was really nothing to fear while flying the SR 71 so close to Russia. I am still and always will be amazed at the talent of Kelly Johnson of the Skunk Works and his team that built the amazing SR 71.

~ Linda Sheffield with David Peters,Jim Goodall and Steve Grzebiniak

@Habubrats71 via X

[autisticsupervillain]

FTF: Isekai Invasion

The show where we take a character and drop them into a different franchise at a random location to see if they can conquer the world.

This Episode....

Mary Jane Watson invades Mount Massive Asylum!

Conditions:

Insomniac Games's Mary Jane

MJ as of Spider-Man 2 with all her associated equipment.

MJ will be replacing Miles Upshur in the plot of the original Outlast with all the same goals. If she can escape the Asylum alive with all the evidence needed to bring Murkoff to justice, that will count as a win.

MJ cannot call in the Spider-Men or anyone else for help.

Scenario:

The same set up as Outlast but with MJ replacing Miles Upshur. Mary Jane Watson, reporter for the Daily Bugle, gets an anonymous email from a burner account about the atrocities being committed by Murkoff at Mount Massive and goes in to investigate. MJ speculates that the building has a jammer when she mysteriously losses all signal after getting in range, but she pushes on regardless. It is only after MJ can no longer get out the way she came in that she realizes the building has been overrun, leaving her no choice but to push in deeper.

Invader: MJ

Mary Jane Watson. One of the most iconic damsels and love interests in comic book history. Though iconic for her role as damsel in distress in the Rami movies, Insomniac's Mary Jane is more in line with her comic counterpart. She's a freelance reporter capable of kicking as much ass as her superhuman boyfriend sometimes and she'll do anything to unbury the truth.

She's surprisingly an expert in stealth and infiltration. She's snuck into the compounds of crime lords like Tombstone and Hammerhead, snuck past the international mercenaries of Silver Sable and her men, and avoided capture by Kraven the Hunter's mercenaries. Using her boyfriend's Spider Lures as a distraction, she's even managed to break into the Oscorp undetected.

While writing a book on the country of Symkaria, MJ got some self defense training from Silver Sable herself, as well as a fancy new taser that can drop a goon in one shook. She later upgraded this taser gun with Peter's gadgets, allowing it to shoot webs and shoot sonic blasts loud enough to ward off a symbiote behemoth. With these tools, she's able to take down Kraven's hunters, who are strong enough to kick down steel doors with a single kick snd survive rpg rockets exploding in their face. These are the same rockets that usually explode with an energy equivalent to 650 kilojoules.

Source:

What's more, MJ is fast enough to dodge arrows from a hunter's crossbow, which csn travel up to 350 feet per second or 106.68 meters per second.

Source:

Honestly, Mary Jane Watson is kind of a badass. She's escaped from being captured by Kraven's hunters, fought her way through a symbiote hive, outrun a Symbiote controlled Spider-Man trying to kill her, and managed to fight off the control of the Scream Symbiote, with some help from Peter.

This MJ is a far cry from the damsel in distress she's stereotyped as and she's just as vital a member of Spider-Man's team as the Spider-Men themselves.

Invaded: Mount Massive

The Murkoff Corporation could never be said to have had a sterling reputation. The company had an unofficial history of human experimentation and exploitation. Never on American soil, of course. Never anywhere that the American public would actually care about. Not until they bought out Mount Massive Asylum.

Because if there's one group that Americans care about less than foreigners, it's the mentally ill.

Murkoff wanted to exploit the theories of the retired Nazi Dr. Wernicke by diving into dream theory. The enlisted him in their Morphogenic Engine program, hoping to summon, empower, and control the nanotechnological ghost known only as the Walrider. To this end, the experimented on the mentally ill, physically and psychologically torturing them. Turning the compatible into human engines so their nightmares could fuel the god they wished to enslave while leaving the incompatible to rot and die. Even loyal members of the company, like executive Richard Trager and Father Martin Archimbaud, were used as test subjects at the earliest convenience. The variants, as they were called, begain to mutate and deform. Tumors formed over their bodies, clogging their mouths and block their eyes. Their hair begain to fall out and they emancipated into borderline skeletons.

The variants pre-existing conditions worsened. At best, they became catatonic and unresponsive to the outside world. At worst, they became violent and murderous.

And then they found a subject fully compatible with the Walrider. Able to sustain it, control it, and survive as its host. Billy Hope. As soon as he was in control, all hell broke loose. The Variants broke out and happily took their revenge on their tormentors. Scientists and security alike were butched like pigs, heavily armed soldiers were impaled on pikes. And the Walrider was set free.

Notable Variants include the likes of Eddie Glusken, a misogynistic serial killer who was only made worse by the Morphogenic Engine. Granted superhuman strength by the treatments, he was now strong enough to lift a full grown man off the ground with one arm. "Doctor" Richard Trager was now strong enough to cut off limbs, decapitate his victims, and cut open the gates to the elevator with his giant scissors. And every varienty in the build was now strong enough to bash down doors and kill reporter Miles Upshur, who survived a massive explosion that blew him out a window. An explosion thst generated an energy equivalent to 11,840 kilojoules.

Source:

But the most dangerous Variant in the entire building was Chris Walker. Once a simple war veteran suffering from severe PTSD, Chis became a killing machine with an enhanced sense of smell, hearing, and sight that could let him track down his victims even in the dark. Obsessed with containing the threat of the Walrider, Chris's judo skills and military training make him a veritable beast, capable of easily ripping Miles's head clean off with one hand and bashing down reinforced steel doors.

But even he is still just a man next to the Walrider. A futuristic marvel of nanotechnology that feeds off the dreams of its host to survive, the Walrider can fly, go through walls, go through your pores and rip you apart from the inside, and is nigh-invisible to the naked eye, only complely visible on night vision cameras or during the day.

The only issue, however, is that the Walrider is completely submissive to the will of its perfect host, reliant on them to survive. And if its host is not perfect, as Miles Upshur turned out to be, they will be reduced to a walking corpse overtime by the possession.

Mount Massive Asylum represents one of the biggest atrocities committed in the name of corporate greed. A warcrime that even drew the digust of the Nazi forced to work on it. No one cares about "a building full of forgotten lunatics". Let it burn, I say.

Throwdown Breakdown:

The stats on this one are rather interesting. Miles Upshur is 11x more durable than the goons MJ can one-shot, meaning every single thug in the building is going to be strong enough to rip MJ apart if they get their hands on her, seeing how Miles is almost completely helpless against them.

But, none of the Variants have ever demonstrated superhuman speed, meaning they're absolutely never catching MJ, who can move fast enough to dodge subsonic projectiles. Sure, Chris Walker is fast, but MJ is faster than a speeding car. If he doesn't get the drop on her or corner her, he's not getting his hands on her.

Then there's MJ's other gadgets. Her sonic blasts will likely have no effect, as they're specifically designed to fight Symbiotes and ordinary humans are unaffected. At most, I could see them potentially stunning Chris Walker due to his advanced hearing. MJ's noise devices could be a good distraction, but her taser could likely be tanked due to how much stronger the Variants are. On the flipside, I don't see any of the varients breaking free of her webbing. This is the exact same webbing Peter regular uses to lift cars and restrain his supervillains. That's a bit out of the league of most Variants. Meaning she could probably skip Trager's whole segment by webbing him to the wall, which is admittedly funny.

This is compounded by MJ's far superior stealth. Walker might be a military veteran, but MJ's snuck past some of the best international mercenaries on the planet. It's no contest on that front, even with Chris's enhanced senses.

It's with the Walrider that this becomes tricky.

The Walrider isn't invisible or intangible in the same way, say, a ghost is. It's basically a cloud of microscopic nanites. It's difficult to spot and touch because it's a very thin cloud. For most people in most circumstances, it's difficult to spot until it's basically right in front of you, at which point it's too late to escape. This means that I'm pretty confident in it getting through MJ's webs, even if some of its components get stuck.

The issue is how damn fast MJ is. The second it appears in her face, she's gone halfway down the hall. It doesn't help that it prefers to throw its victims around before killing them, which would only give MJ the opportunity to escape.

I think the Walrider could easily end MJ's run if it got the drop on her. Which it very well could. It got the drop on Miles several times and he actually has the means to see it coming in less than optimal conditions, something MJ wouldn't without a night vision camera.

But, this is where MJ's superior stealth comes into play. With a sneaking ability far superior to Miles and a speed that the Walrider can't keep up with, MJ could avoid getting ambushed by the Walrider by never getting found by it in the first place.

There are plenty of scenarios where MJ gets ripped apart or, worse, possessed by the Walrider. But there are more where MJ uses her superior stealth and speed to avoid it long enough to complete her mission. And once she kills Billy Hope, whose sitting helpless in a tube at this point, the Walrider wouldn't be able to make her a new host to survive due to her just being too fast for it to catch.

Overall, I think Ms. Watson has all the skills she needs to get the scope she's after.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Mary Jane Watson!

[navida-mga2023mi6015]

Shot list

Two supersoldiers carrying container

Container? possibly gopro view

Container tossed onto desk

Container pssshhh's open, reveals capsule

View of the capsule baby

Capsule baby glances at camera

Mark is asleep, drooling

Eyes open

Mark jolts awake

Sits up on the bed

He sees car

Crew Member greets mark

Mark walks up to the car, talks to crewmate

Crewmember stands up, jammer needs to be booted up

Crew mate on the window of driver

Garage door opens

Car starts

Engine starts, drives off

On the highway

Marks eyes on the rear view mirror

View of mark, camera pov from the dashboard steering whee;

Car wheel hard turns, dust cloud

Car turns, breaks off route

Slowing down at border crossing

border guard approaches

"papers please"

Mark view on side mirror

Mark view from passenger seat

He reaches for dashboard

Dashboard opens

Mark visible hesitation

Guard helmet tossed away

Drops to the ground

Guard on the ground slobbering

Car revvs up

Foots the pedal

Car kicks up dust, exhaust burst

Car breaks barrier gate

Guard staggers on ground

Camera pans as car gets chased by military vehicles

Car darts

Heavy vehicles close on tail

Bird's eye view of city

Fleet of assault vehicles closing in

Shot of Sign board

Car drifts

Cops follow suit

ZOOOMs past junction

Chaos unsues, trucks tipped over

Explosions

Epic Drift

Swerves into parking lot basement

Closes car door

Approaches elevator

Several guards in lift

KO'd guards pour out afterwards. Mark walks over them into penthouse

2 bulky men lay before him, guarding baby

Walks in through to the baby

Further intimidation

Tensions rise

"Hello, Mar-" runs past

CUT TO: panting, shaking

Mark runs with stolen baby

Further running

Crashes through window glass

Baby too disoriented

Free falling

Mark closing eyes

Closeup of eyes

Jolts awake

Sits up in a haze, sweating and panting

Notices baby in car

[ryansultimatefitness]

[athletictaipan]

[paa-official]

Recording No. 14

I looked over at Xothar and she went over to the strange lizard-man. They were both conversing in their own language and I occasionally got a few amazed and sometimes skeptical looks from him. Becka and I exchanged glances and I noticed how the other men in black suits broke their camouflage and we were surrounded by lizard-men. They made sure we didn't make any wrong moves while Xothar talked to the other.

With the last sentence she said to him, they all exchanged glances and the one next to Xothar then looked at me in surprise. He came closer to me and Becka rose from her kneeling position.

>> Why would two Grievers, as you call yourselves, betray their own people for a planet that was promised to them as a new home world? << he asked me.

I had to raise my head a little, but that had already been a habit for me, since I wasn't the tallest Griever on the ship >> We have our personal reasons. I don't know how much you can relate to this, but I can't allow an invasion where the entire human race dies out for no reason. <<

He looked down at the unconscious Eriny and began to grin. As he did, he looked to his colleagues around us and they began to chuckle quietly amongst themselves >> Then you'll need more than the two of you to make this happen. <<

>> We were hoping you could help us with that. <<

Now he chuckled himself and even turned to Xothar and Rundor >> These must be desperate times for you, aren't they? <<

>> The invasion was supposed to take place today, but we don't know anything about you yet. That's why it was postponed. <<

>> Yes, Xothar just told me all that. But today is your lucky day. I am the first General Xornud of the Phalanx Army. << he interrupted me and held out his hand.

Until then, I hadn't realized that these creatures only had three fingers with black claws. I hesitated to accept the scaly handshake. No one would have just helped a stranger with something without being persuaded or knowing the full extent of it. Then I remembered Jenny and how she had invited me to her place the first time we met.

I returned his handshake, >> I am Apath and this is Becka. We're both scouts for the Auroran army. <<

He gently squeezed my hand and Becka gave me a slightly shocked look >> Auroran? Was that your last home planet? <<

>> Yes, but we were both born a year after Aurora died. <<

>> Interesting. Then you two get in with your human with me. We're going back to the city. << he then ended the conversation and went ahead with his four people. He instructed Xothar and Rundor to drive with the others.

I and Becka grabbed Eriny by the arms and carried him after Xornud. >> What do we do if this really is a trap? We don't know what Xothar told him. << she whispered to me.

>> That's what we have the watches for. <<

>> And what if the alarm doesn't reach the ship? There may be jammers in this city. <<

>> We are shape-shifters. If the worst comes to the worst, we can sneak out. Until then, all we can do is blindly trust our hosts. <<

We arrived at three white vans. The footprints emanating from them formed three large lines that separated in different directions very early on. Xornud opened the side door for us and let us get in first before sitting in the passenger seat.

On the way to this town, I looked out of the window into the dark desert to realize that we were already driving on an interstate highway. So I finally asked Xornud >> Excuse me, but where exactly are we? <<

>> We are in New Mexico. Near the small town of Dulce, to be exact. <<

>> Are we going to Dulce? << Becka then asked.

>> The town is on the way. <<

Becka looked at me with a look that told me she knew just as much as before. But I just shrugged my shoulders and made sure the other lizards didn't attack us.

After 20 minutes we entered Dulce. The small town was empty and none of the houses still had their lights on. Then we suddenly pulled into a large garage and the engines were switched off. Silence spread between us all and it also remained dark in this garage. Xornud pressed a button on a remote control and it jerked briefly. The floor beneath us began to move downwards and moments later we found ourselves in an illuminated shaft leading downwards.

The deeper we went down that shaft, the more I believed the lunatics on the street and their conspiracies. The cloaks these lizards had could have at least explained them pretending to be human, but I still wasn't sure if they were using this technology to smuggle themselves into high places. Let alone whether they were using this opportunity to take over the earth themselves. The ground stopped and a gate opened in front of us. The engines were switched back on and we drove on slowly. The path in front of us was made of this sandstone, just like the walls around us. It had all been very tunnel-like with old lamps hanging down from the ceiling, providing just enough light.

But then we left the tunnel and found ourselves on the edge of a very large and open cave, which was dimly lit, just as it had looked outside. In the hollow of the cave was a huge city made of the same sandstone and in the middle was a dark gray pod half buried in the ground. Becka and I stared out of the window in fascination, admiring this unusual city.

>> That in the middle was the ship that our people crashed on Earth centuries ago. << Xornud said when he noticed us.

>> How long have you been here? << Becka asked.

>> More than half a millennium, perhaps. I'm not sure about that. I'm not that old. <<

>> Who lives over 500 years? << I then said jokingly.

>> Oh, that's not the problem. The problem is that I'm only 200 years old. <<

My smile slowly dissolved and I looked over at Becka, who was also looking at me in shock. Only a short time later, closer to the pod, we stopped in a hall full of more vehicles and got out. Xornud came straight to us as we were carrying Eriny again >> Leave it to my people. They'll take him to the medics and then back to where he came from. Where does he live? <<

Becka took a step forward >> He's from Washington, D.C. <<

>> Good. My people will take care of him. He'll wake up tomorrow in his own bed like nothing happened. <<

Two of the lizards came up to me and took Eriny from me to take him to a medic. Meanwhile, Becka followed behind him with a worried look.

>> Let's go. << Xornud interrupted Becka's thoughts >> We have to tell our two regents about you and the invasion. <<

We followed him and his men down several corridors and hallways until we entered the ship. The entrance was guarded by two soldiers with spears without blades, but we were all let through because Xornud had waved us all through. The ship was made of this dark gray steel, both inside and out, like parts of the Phalanx's armor. Only against my expectations, the high and wide corridors of the ship were quite well lit with ceiling lamps.

The deeper we went into the ship, the more of these Phalanx we encountered. There was much more variety among them than there was among the Grievers. There were phalanx that came up to my waist and some that were one or two heads taller than me. The color of their scales also ranged from light shades of green or red to dark shades of grey. Their eye colors were just as different and some of them had a crest on their heads that reached all the way down their backs. And they all gave us similarly confused and irritated looks when they saw me and Becka.

After a while, we probably arrived in the middle of the ship, where there was a large double door. Xornud asked us to wait outside while he spoke to the two regents. In the meantime, we got more astonished looks from passing Phalanx and Becka turned towards the door >> I don't like the way they all look at us. << she whispered to me.

I grinned a little >> I didn't know that was a problem for you. <<

>> Well, Eriny just infected me a bit. << after this sentence she fell silent and I could see her cheeks turn slightly pink.

I could have told her about Jenny because I realized that I wasn't the only one with this problem. Maybe it could even have loosened me up a bit, especially after that dream I had after the crash. But then my thoughts turned to something else. The dream I had before. What did it mean? Was this the price I would have to pay if I helped humanity? A kind of hell that people talked about. At least the strange shards and the red figure with the horns would fit the description.

But Xornud opened the door and pulled me out of my thoughts >> Come in. They want to hear what you have to say. <<

[dead-mens-tales]

Ahoy, Crewmateys!

And welcome to the Dead Men's Tales (DMT) fanfiction hub.

Info:

Fic tone works to mirror the Henry Stickmin games: goofy, sincere, and emotional when deserved. Expect to laugh and also to hurt a little.

Basic knowledge of Completing the Mission is required, knowing the bio lore is recommended.

No lewd themes, though a small amount of cursing and some graphic harm/death.

The chapter drops themselves will be spoilered, but be warned: if you scroll the blog, you'll DEFINITELY see spoilers.

If the chapters get buried, find them in the TOC section of this post or at #dmt full

This is an ongoing project and I might make revisions. If a revision is important enough, I'll make an info post about it.

Chapter drops are not standardized because I have a gig based work schedule, but I'll try not to leave you hanging. Expect at least 3 days between chapter drops.

My concept artist and beta reader is teknamy on tiktok! All art, unless otherwise stated, is credited to him. He would like to ask that you not be gross about his art. No, he will not draw the stick guys making love.

Have fun!

Cast

R Henry Stickmin

Alias: Hal

Pronouns: he/they

Gender: nonbinary

Attraction: oriented aroace, grayro

Age: 28

Abilities: foresight, cybernetics (wings, rapier, gatling gun)

Theme: Hating Every Minute by Alkaline Trio

-

R Charles Calvin

Alias: Chuck

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: man

Attraction: bi allosexual grayromantic

Age: 28

Abilities: mind reading

Theme: The Great Escape by Boys Like Girls

-

R Reginald Copperbottom

Aliases: Reggie, Reg

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: man

Attraction: homosexual biro

Age: 43

Theme: Bulletproof Heart by MCR

-

FM Right Hand Man

Aliases: Chief, Conrad Copperbottom

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: transgender man

Attraction: gay gray ace

Age: 41

Abilities: cybernetics (rocket, laser, comms, shield, sword)

Theme: Every Thug Needs a Lady by Alkaline Trio

-

VH Henry Stickmin

Alias: Henry Suave

Pronouns: he/they

Gender: nonbinary

Attraction: oriented aroace

Age: 28

Abilities: foresight

Theme: You're Gonna Go Far, Kid by The Offspring

-

VH Charles Calvin

Alias: Charlie

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: man

Attraction: bi allosexual frayromantic

Age: 28

Abilities: mind reading, cybernetics (laser targeting, sonar cannon, comms, comms jammer, remote hacking/control)

Theme: Sugar, We're Going Down by Fall Out Boy

-

Larry Bakedfries

Pronouns: they/he

Gender: nonbinary

Attraction: diamoric asexual

Age: 26

Theme: I Wanna by The All-American Rejects

-

The Among Us Crewmates

Pronouns: they/them

Red: captain, med tech

Purple: first officer, nurse

Gray: engineer, mechanic

Yellow: weapons tech

White: errand boy, shapeshifter, imposter

Pink: head spacetime researcher

Orange: Pink's research intern

Relevant timelines:

Free Man (Lawyered Up, Unseen Burglar, Relentless Bounty Hunter, Ghost Inmate)

Valiant Hero (Sneaky Escapist, Just Plain Epic, Government Supported Private Investigator, Presumed Dead)

Revenged (Badass Breakout, Unseen Burglar, Rapidly Promoted Executive, The Betrayed)

AO3 Link:

[usafphantom2]

The only way to stop an SR 71 was never tried .

Recently, SR 71 pilot Steve Grzebiniak wrote, “Deceptive jamming, essentially defeated the SAM ( surface to air missile) capability to successfully intercept the SR 71 as the window to acquire track and launch was very limited.”

Jim Goodall, a well-known author of books about the SR-71, responded in messages to me. Then, SR 71 pilot David Peters responds to Jim about the subject of the SR 71 jammers and the probability of being shot down by the Russians.

Jim said, “As for the “Deceptive Jammer,” when searching for Habu’s to shoot down, the enemy has only about five (5) seconds to find, lock on, and fire its ‘boost glide’ SA-2. And they would have to be looking for it.

When one drives this 34-ton Black monster, remember that it flies through the heavens at over 3,200 feet per second, or 43 miles a minute.

With less than a half percent of the atmosphere at 85,000 feet, the SAM would have to hit the Blackbird, an impossible task as the control fins on the Soviet SA-2 are useless at 85k.

The only way to take down an SR-71 was to try to F.O.D. the aircraft by detonating it in front of the flight path in hopes of FODing the engine or shattering the cockpit windscreen.”

Lt. Col.David Peters responds, “As I have said many times, we only feared the SA10 nuclear. That’s because of exactly what you are talking about. A nuclear blast in front of us would likely prevent evasive action, unlike a 2 or 5, which we could theoretically get around. But suicide was never in the Russian mind, so we felt it was more than improbable. The other factor was they didn’t have very many, and they were mainly deployed around Moscow. It definitely factored into our emergency war order mission planning, as most of those were post-nuclear BDA around Moscow.”

I am grateful that these men took the time to respond to me. This confirms what I thought before that there was really nothing to fear while flying the SR 71 so close to Russia. I am still and always will be amazed at the talent of Kelly Johnson of the Skunk Works and his team that built the amazing SR 71.

~ Linda Sheffield with David Peters, Jim Goodall and Steve Grzebiniak

@Habubrats71 via X

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 39 (NSFW)

Read on AO3. Part 38 here. Part 40 here.

Summary: The WHO probably doesn't recommend you do any of these things while pregnant.

Words:  9900

Warnings: tw: graphic depictions of big time violence, both physical AND sexual, DUBIOUS consent, voyeurism

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hello, welcome back to my horror show! Hahaha.

Thank you very much for your patience in me waiting to get this chapter out. As you can tell, it is a beast. I genuinely hope you enjoyed it as apology for the long wait.

Cannot thank everyone's kindness and thoughtfulness enough. Your comments always, always brighten my day. I love y'all with my whole heart.

“So the plan is to flank them.”

“We’ll flank them here--Kuruk, Ap’lek, and you will take the east side. Cardo, Trudgen, and myself will take the west.”

“Where do we pull over, then? We won’t be able to get the Buzzard that close.”

The Night Buzzard was split into three sections--the front third was dedicated to food and supplies storage and an imitation of livable seating, the second third designated entirely for weaponry. The rear of the bus consisted of four stony, stripped bunks, beds in function only. 

The Knights Templar--save for one, who was driving--had spent the past hour out of the six-hour journey at the front. They crowded over a map, debating their strategy while you watched, perched on the tiny couch across from them. Your Commander loomed beside you, silent, the knife of his gaze occasionally slipping over you, so sharp it slit you through his mask. He had hardly spoken a word since you’d boarded; the quick, piercing glances were the only evidence you had that he remembered you were there--a feat while stuck in close proximity on an armored bus.

“A five-hundred foot perimeter is typical.”

“Five-hundred feet gives them too much opportunity. The Buzzard has jammers.”

“Jammers don’t mask the sound of the engine, ‘Shar.”

“All right then, Vic, but the more space we give them, the greater chance they have of escape.”

Kylo Ren turned to them. “The primary objective is to destroy the subversives. Flank the encampment, salvage what documentation you can, kill any that cross your path.” He paused. “Leave Pryde to me.”

His voice was cold, even through the modulation. You sulked into the corner of the couch, anxiety knitting in your chest. To be near your Commander brought you a sense of peace, but the unanswered question of your future--your child’s future--left you lurching. You longed for a moment, two moments alone with him, an opportunity to search his eyes and find liberty in his response. Perhaps in a hormonal, pregnant haze, you’d imagined it like a prophecy: his large hands, curling around yours, his lip trembling with fear, his silence a concession. And you’d imagined the words swirling into your ears, granting you everything you’d grown to need.

I’m choosing you, he’d breathe.We’re free.

But staring at him now, hidden under a helmet, armored, toting a rifle and pistol, you weren’t sure where the man in your prophecy might be. You weren’t sure if that particular man had ever existed at all. 

The bus shuddered, striking into rough terrain; beyond the tinted windows, you could make out a field blanched under the quarter-moon, wild maize exploding through the grasses. 

“We’re about half a mile out,” called the driver--Kuruk, you thought. 

At this, Kylo opened a cabinet and grabbed two devices--they beeped and hissed when he turned them on, and he fiddled with them both in a sort of calibration before crouching to be level with you. He pushed one into your hands, stowing the other one on his hip.

“This frequency is full-duplex. We will hear each other at all times. If someone unfamiliar to you even glances at the Night Buzzard, you will call for me.” He pinched your chin between leather fingers, angling your eyes into the void of his mask. “Do you understand?”

Your cheeks burned. You swallowed. “Yes, Commander.”

He huffed--static in the mask--and patted your cheek. “Good girl.”

As you blushed, he stood and crossed to the Knights. They steeped themselves in hushed discussion until the driver signaled their arrival. With a rumble, the Buzzard slowed, coasting to a stop behind a smattering of trees, and through the darkness, you could spy a collection of distant glowing lights, cold and artificial. One of the Knights murmured something about cutting a generator, and Kylo nodded. A brief, mustered agreement, and the doors opened, the soldiers filing out, leaving their leader behind. He turned to you a final time.

“The exterior is bulletproof. The door will lock.” His presence was heavy. You wished you could touch him. “At even a glance.”

“I know.” You gazed at the transceiver, its power light blinking like a heartbeat. “I will.”

Kylo held you under his stare for a lingering second before stomping down the steps and exiting the Buzzard. With everyone now gone, the air seemed stale. Empty. Sighing, you rose to your feet, dragging yourself to the driver’s seat and plopping into it, cradling the radio in your lap. The only noise filtering through the speaker was muffled static. 

Though you could only see from several hundred feet away, the camp seemed unassuming, composed of a couple dozen military vehicles and a bunch of pitched tents that appeared half-packed away. They’d said the encampment was moving tonight--the Buzzard’s dash read 10:42 PM. Bodies bustled under the lights, Angels in black uniforms and armed with rifles carting indiscernible armfuls to store them on trucks. You scanned the fields, searching for your Commander, but found nothing. Kylo Ren and his men had disintegrated into the dark. 

It started with a flicker--the camp’s lights fluttered like a flame--and a black veil swallowed the outer ring of the perimeter. The men in your sight seemed confused, not concerned, spinning to examine the issue, creeping forward. And then one dropped with a crack, the items in his arms tumbling free, his body folding into itself as it hit the ground. With firecracker panic, the camp erupted, soldiers revealing their rifles and whirling in sloppy formation, only to watch other comrades smack the dirt, shot dead in random, bloody heaps. 

A coordinated effort was abandoned, and the Angels scattered, rifled roaches under dying halogen lights. But their attempts to hide were futile--the second they found shelter, another layer of lighting winked out, and they scuttled to the center, shooting volleys of gunfire in no particular direction. It was only then you caught them--the Knights, cutting through the camp like raven razors, collapsing tents and impaling bodies as they passed. A pair was back to back, twirling as one clotheslined two Angels and the other emptied a clip into an approaching squad. A third covered those two, winding around them and unleashing a full automatic round into the camp. 

Then a sharp bang, white fire--you winced--the men in the camp stiffening in temporary paralysis. In their stupor, the other three Knights descended, sharks consuming a helpless meal, rending their prey into paper shreds. One Knight slit a man’s face from ear to ear, a crest of blood in the dirt, and twisted his knife into the back of his mouth. The man screamed into the sky, so loud you heard it from the Buzzard, and then through the transceiver, followed by echoes of furious voices demanding order in new, terrible chaos. 

The horror picked up the pace of your heart--this was different than the times you’d watched Kylo. Their savagery was almost sadistic; a thought confirmed when two Knights paused their spree to watch an Angel wriggle like a split worm, kicking him as his blood clumped mud under his chest.  You swallowed, tearing your eyes away as another section of lights died, plunging the entire camp into darkness. Shouting choruses of strained voices ripped through the radio, the only sign of activity the sparks of muzzle fire and shifting shadows under the moon.

Staccato pops pierced the speaker, and you jumped, focus darting between the device and the absolute nothing you could see beyond the bus. And then a voice, familiar--the man you remembered as Pryde.

“Took you long enough, Ren.” Another round of gunshots. “Three weeks to pin us down?”

Two shots, louder, closer. “Easier to find rats when they have nowhere to hide.”

“You’re willing to bet on that.” A single pop.

“Betting implies faith in the outcome.” A pause. “I don’t have faith. I have knowledge.” 

A cacophony of shots staticked the speaker, and you clapped your hands over your mouth, silencing your squeals. You glanced out the window, still seeing nothing but the twinkles of the Knights’ massacre. Like dust, the exchange settled, someone panting over the channel. From the clarity of breath, it didn’t sound like Kylo.

“Impossible,” said Pryde. “There are cells that you can’t possibly--won’t possibly ever know about.”

“You’re willing to bet on that.”

Something crossed through a shaft of starlight, moving toward the Buzzard. You blinked, inching toward the dashboard. It was difficult to see in the darkness.

“You pushed Gilead too far.”

“I’m improving it.”

“Your improvements are borderline treason.”

“You’re heading a coup.”

Explosions of noise through the radio, a growling scrape--your throat tightened. The shadow was definitely human. It was definitely coming closer. Running.

You grabbed the transceiver, holding it to your mouth. “Um. Commander?”

The only response was static, a party of bullets through the speaker. Fear stabbed your chest, your pulse in your ears.

“It will never be treason to restore Gilead to God’s word.” Another crackle. “I’m righting your mistakes.” More gunfire. “This isn’t a coup, it’s retribution.”

“Commander,” you said, a little louder. “Sir.”

“You’ll need the support of the Council.”

It was an Angel. He was rushing the Buzzard with something, some sort of bag in his hand. It looked, maybe, wiry. It looked, in your mind, like a bomb. 

Your heart careened--why wasn’t he listening, why wasn’t he answering--and you fumbled the radio, sending it tumbling onto the floor of the bus and under your feet. The light stopped blinking. 

“Fuck.” You tried to kick it toward you, managing only to knock it under the seat. “Fuck! Kylo! Kylo!” 

Of course, there was no response.

“You think you have the support of the Council? You’re no Snoke. You never will be.”

You scrambled to the floor, knees scratching metal. Reached for the transceiver.

“I killed Snoke.” A clatter of metal--you snagged the device and flung it toward you. “This is my destiny.”

Turning it on, you screeched, “Kylo please there’s someone running with a bag please help!”

The sound of a gunshot. An inhuman snarl. And the radio went dead. 

“Kylo?” you said. “Commander? Sir?”

A shriek of fire erupted in the camp, spewing dirt and smoke into the air, and you screamed, shouting nonsense into the transceiver, as if this would summon him to your side. The explosion guttered in seconds, flames trickling to death, fog fading. There was no sign of the Knights. Or your Commander.

Your heart thudded. Something could’ve happened to him. He could be dead. But there was no time to process or consider it. You were alone in the Buzzard. With the Angel only coming closer. One hundred possibilities reeled through your mind--he could be escaping, defecting, taking this chance to denounce his chains--yet the only one you could consider was the one that involved him blowing you and the bus to whichever afterlife actually existed. Running wasn’t an option, if he did blow up the bus, with you being in the middle of nowhere and with no places to hide. There was only one other choice. Before anything and everything else, you needed to survive. 

Steeling your jaw, you scrambled toward the second third of the bus, threw open the weaponry cabinets and stared at the assembly of rifles, shotguns, pistols, and other deathbringers. There was no leisure to figure out how to use a new type of gun--you barely knew how to use one. You snatched a pistol, testing its weight in your palm before fussing to find the safety. Your fingers found the magazine release instead--it popped out, revealing a full clip, and you silently thanked whatever divine being allowed that to happen, because there was no way you would’ve checked to see if the stupid thing had bullets. The safety was already disengaged.  Swallowing, you wiped your palms on your robe and tramped to the exit, chin quaking while you flipped the lock and opened the door. 

The summer air stuffed your lungs, and you wheezed through it, stumbling into the dirt. Holding your breath, you sidled up to the Buzzard, spying the Angel sprinting through the grass. Your hands shook, stomach churned. There was no way you’d nail this shot. Unfortunately, you had to try.

Teeth gnashing, you tugged back the slide and raised your arms, elbows locked, fixing the sight of the pistol on the shifting shade. To account for delay, you led the barrel in front of his path, following him for one second, and two. You pulled the trigger.

Rattled by force, the bullet went wide, whizzing into space, and you gulped, watching as the Angel paused, searching for its origin. You hunted for oxygen, but the air was thick, ears shrill with terror. Adrenaline drunk, you threw your arms forward, aiming again. Fuck it. He still wasn’t moving. This time, you wouldn’t miss. 

Lip curling, you fired, wrists flung back, and the Angel yelped, dropping a knee. You had only seconds to celebrate before he turned straight toward you, and your blood froze. He struggled to his feet, hand moving at his waist--you panted, unable to stop the rapid vibration wracking your joints as you tried to aim again. In a zombie shuffle, he leveled his own pistol and sent off a shot, pinging the steel next to your head.

“Fuck!” 

You clung to the side of the Buzzard, heaving now, clenching the gun in your hands. You wanted to get it together. He still had that bag in his arms, and now he knew you were here. You needed to get it together. With his injury, he was holding his gun one-handed--the recoil recovery would be your chance. Every pulse of your heart clouded your sight--you drew in a slow, deep inhale through your nose, ignoring the flighty feather of thought in the back of your mind:

Where the hell was your Commander?

Shaking it off, you adjusted your grasp and spun the corner, moving to aim--another shot glanced off the bus, and you shrieked, falling to your knees. Growling, fight-or-flight flaring, you tracked the Angel, determined to win, and pulled the trigger.

And nothing happened. 

“What the fuck,” you said, and smacked the gun, like this would help. You tried to shoot again, but nothing. “What the fuck!”

Your failure was the Angel’s opportunity--you glanced up, his arm already raised. 

Pop.

Wincing, you waited for the pain. But none came. You blinked, peering into the grasses, and spotted the Angel, crumpled to the ground. 

Commander Kylo Ren broke through the night, a cyclone through the fields--relief flooded you, fleeing your lungs--he was alive. He was here. And he was charging you like a tank.

“Kylo,” you breathed, and clambered to your feet, pulling your lips in over your teeth. But he didn’t respond. Your fight-or-flight stalled in his approach. 

Palms wet, your grip slipped and the gun smacked the dirt, shooting a round into the grass. You flinched, neck hot, made to grab it, but before you could reach, a gloved hand gnarled your hair and whipped you back, hauling you onto the Buzzard.

You yipped in pain. “Kylo!” Tugging at his fingers, you tried to pry free as he yanked you up the steps, but he tightened his grip, wrenching you forward and tossing you onto the couch. “Will you--”

His mask snapped with static--he seized your face, pinching your cheeks. “You seem to have a penchant for bullets,” he said. “If you’re so interested, I’ll put another one in you myself.”

You glared at him, pushing him off. “Are you kidding?” you said. “I thought he had a bomb!”

Kylo grabbed your face again. “He was carrying documents. And your solution was to begin a shooting match.”

“Who cares?” you spat. “You’re the one who didn’t respond to the radio!”

He growled. “You may care little for your own life, but you are--” 

In the distance, tires squealed, a vehicle spinning into the field--his head snapped toward the front, and he pushed you free, striding to the driver’s seat.

Without a word, he revved the engine and threw it into gear, slamming on the gas and peeling through the grass, speeding in the other vehicle’s direction. You jolted with the terrain, seeking purchase on the couch, but he jerked the shift into low gear, motor wailing as he plowed through the plains. Thrown forward, you grappled with the table across from you, peering through the windshield, watching Kylo barrel into the night.

You knew that he was in pursuit of Pryde. But your conversation didn’t feel finished. In the back of your mind, alarms blared: evidence, evidence of your inevitable fate. The man in your prophecy was a stranger. The one in your reality hadn’t come when you’d called him. He seemed reluctant to choose you at all.

The Buzzard roared, its acceleration impressive for its size, chasing the speeding sedan, catching its rear in its headlights. Focused, Kylo shoved the gearshift forward, and the engine howled, flinging you back to the couch with a yelp.

“Stop moving.”

You frowned. “It’s not like there are seatbelts back here.” 

The sedan cut to the left, zooming toward a highway, and Kylo growled. “Get up here.”

Gripping the sides of the aisle, you pulled yourself toward the driver’s seat, and when you met the back of the chair, Kylo reached around, wound an arm around your waist, and dragged you on his lap. You squeaked--before you could adjust, he hit the brakes and jerked the wheel; the Buzzard whined, teetering in protest, and Kylo tugged you to his frame, shifting under you to keep you both from hitting the floor. 

Your face burned--despite your frustration with him, he was large and warm underneath you, his  chest steady at your back. Swallowing, you grabbed his thighs, hoping to steady yourself, and if he noticed, he didn’t care, letting you cling while he focused on the hunt. The sedan bumbled across pavement, sliced through the highway, back into the fields--Kylo smashed the gas, and the Buzzard flew over the asphalt with a smack, bouncing you on his lap, sending heat to your cheeks. The distance from his prey was negligible, now; the car was some type of black Volkswagen, the license plate glinting in the glare of headlights.

Kylo stiffened and lowered the window, buffeting you with gusts of syrupy air, and grabbed your hands, tacking them to the wheel. “Steer.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait--”

He brandished his pistol and stretched out--you jostled over his thighs--lining up a shot as you bore down on the car. Gritting your teeth, you kept the Buzzard straight as it rumbled over the dirt, and he tensed, firing two shots, blowing out his target’s rear tires. The Volkswagen whirled, a tornado in the grass spiraling toward you, set to collide with your front-end; you thought to do nothing else but swerve and spin the wheel. The sharp curve pitched the bus off of its side, and you cursed, the both of you thrown toward the steps. 

A strong arm barred your waist, catching you and wresting you back, and a leather hand encompassed yours--Kylo slammed the brakes, righting the tires as the bus screeched to a stop feet away from the car, rocking you both into the driver’s side, his hold buffering you from injury. You panted, face and flesh hot, head airy; in the grass, Pryde scrambled from the Volkwagen into blinding light, a crimson streak through his scalp. He ducked, took cover behind his car and drew his pistol, lodging two shots in the windshield. You yelped--there was no chance to speak before Kylo pushed you off, his own pistol in hand as he shouldered his way through the bus door and into the glow of the Buzzard’s headlamps.

Pop, pop--the fire stalled your Commander’s advance, and he shielded himself with the bus’s body. Emblazoned with righteous furor, Pryde shot again, burying a bullet in the frame.

“You’re an idiot, Ren. You’ll do this forever. I won’t be the last.” From your height, you could see Pryde fussing with something. He must not have known you were there. “As long as you go against God’s plan, you’ll never win.”

Then he tossed whatever was in his hand, covering his eyes--a stabbing flash eclipsed your sight, its detonation drowning your ears, and you gasped, seething, curling at the waist. When the noise died, you groaned, rubbing the artifacts from your vision, peering into the field. In the seconds you’d been stymied, Pryde had disappeared. Your Commander shot into the car--nothing--and crept through the grass, head on a swivel.

Spits of gunfire from the driver’s side of the Buzzard, and Kylo juked back, landing them on opposite sides of the bus in a stand-off. You chewed your lip. Pryde definitely didn’t know you were there. And there was still a cache of guns in the cabinets. Turning, you snuck through the aisle--but when you reached the storage, a hail of bullets crackled from the Buzzard’s rear. Despite being inside, you bowed, heart in your stomach, pulse pounding with fear. You needed to keep going.

Swallowing, you threw open the door to the cache, plucking another pistol from its hook. You remembered your near-follies earlier: magazine, check. Safety, check. Slide pulled back, check. More sweat on your palms. Cursing to yourself, you wiped them on your robes again, shuffling to the front--and then another blast, another searing light. You hissed, knees buckling, gunshots echoing through your ringing ears. A grunt escaped you, your jaw tense, and you shook off the pain, forcing yourself to look through the windshield. Your eyes adjusted, unfuzzing, just in time to see Enric Pryde raise his gun and shoot your Commander twice in the chest.

It happened in split seconds. Kylo staggered, impact hampered by his bulletproof vest, his gun falling into the grass; you trapped a scream, your muscles burst with adrenaline. Bungling the pistol in your grip, you scaled the driver’s seat, blood soaring, brain baffled--you were doing this again you were seriously doing this again--and leaned out the window. Pryde approached, raised his weapon, training it on Kylo, and in that instant, your mind cleared, annoyance and worry and terror swallowed with rage, all of it coalescing into a single, solitary thought:

That’s my child’s father, asshole.

You steadied your arms, pulled the trigger--your ears trilled, elbows bowed--and Pryde howled, knee slamming the dirt. Pinching your lips together, you fought the urge to tremble, preparing to shoot again, but Kylo had already recovered. He lunged, tackling Pryde to ground, the other man’s pistol sailing into the air and disappearing into the dark. 

Pryde twisted underneath your Commander’s weight, trying and failing to throw him off. “God doesn’t make exceptions, Ren!” Kylo clocked him in the jaw, and he choked, sputtered. “Gilead will never accept you making a whore your--”

Kylo’s fist clobbered his face, striking him over and over and over, blood spewing from his mouth, his nose, over his chin. You couldn’t sit down, something strange tingling your neck under the knowledge that the mention of you made him snap: a sick glimmer of affection, of hope. A disgusting delusion that, perhaps, he really could choose you. Bone cracked, Pryde’s cheek collapsed, and Kylo stopped, heaving, arm reeled back.

The older man wheezed, skull pulverized to a mess of meat. “Go ahead and kill me, Ren. But there’s no such thing as destiny. The longer you try to fight God’s design, the greater you’ll lose.”

“Interesting theory. But God doesn’t design Gilead.” Kylo glanced at you, still bent out of the Buzzard. Your heart fluttered--without him having to say it, you knew what he was asking. With an underhand, you lobbed him the gun, and he snatched it from the air, jammed it against Pryde’s broken chin. “I do.”

Pryde gagged, red drool dribbling from his lips. “You’re the devil.” 

“Yes.” Kylo’s voice was mechanized malevolence. “I am.”

Pop. Blood spattered his visor, Pryde’s head lolled in the grass. At the same time you exhaled, slumping into the driver’s seat, your Commander’s shoulders bunched, then fell. He hung there, hovering over his victim. Silent, he stared for a moment before he rose, pistol in hold, and crossed to the bus.

You should have felt relief as the door opened and he stepped onto the Buzzard--his enemies vanquished, a victorious soldier, your body the spoils--but when he towered over you, your ribcage constricted with dread. Pryde’s words looped through your mind.

You’ll do this forever. I won’t be the last. The longer you try to fight... the greater you’ll lose.

They nagged you, clawed at the wrinkles of your brain. Because despite their origin, you knew--despite not wanting to know--that they were very, unfortunately, true. And if you knew that, then part of Kylo had to know that, too. Part of him had to know how shallow this victory was.

He flicked a switch on the dashboard, and picked up a wired transmitter, spinning a knob until static fizzed from the Buzzard’s radio. “Target eliminated,” he said, and reported a pair of coordinates. “Your status.”

Another voice came through the speaker--one of the Knights. “Documentation obtained. Encampment neutralized. En route shortly.”

Without a word, he flicked the switch and replaced the transmitter. 

“Um. So.” Shifting in the seat, you gazed at him, seeking his eyes through the visor. “Will this ever stop?”

A tired hm was all he offered.

You sighed, pulling the robe closed over your chest. “I mean, will you always be fighting just so we can be together?”

He stood, solid, staring. Or not staring. It was too difficult to tell. Either way, he said nothing.

“I know that’s what you want.” You shrugged. It was easier to look at him when you didn’t know if he was looking back. “For us to be together. But this isn’t going to work.” 

His head tilted a single millimeter. “Work.” It was more of a question than a statement.

“If this is what it’s going to be, then it won’t work.” The words hung, heavy in the air, and you paused, waiting for his response. You received none. So you continued. “There’s another way, though.” Leveling him with your gaze, you held your breath. “We can just leave.” 

Kylo snorted, turning into the aisle. “We don’t need to leave.”

“We do.” You shook your head. “He’s right, Kylo.” You crossed your arms. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. You have to realize that you can’t make this perfect. It’s broken.”

“Of course it is.” He returned the pistol to the weapons rack. “It’s broken because I’m not finished.”

You frowned. “Well, it really doesn’t matter what you do,” you replied, “if it involves Gilead at all, then I don’t want it.”

He spun on his heel. “You don’t want it?” he asked, voice rising. “Is this not enough?”

Raising a brow, you caught a laugh in your chest. “Of course it’s not enough! How could it be? I told you--I’ll always want more.”

“More? More than what?” Kylo stalked through the aisle, heel-ball-toe. “Haven’t I kept you safe?” He was a black condor, cornering you in the driver’s seat. “Fucked you well?”

Heat seared your face. “It was because of you that I was in danger anyway!” Shaking your head again, you allowed your chest to puff out in indignance. “None of it is enough when you’re free, and I’m not.”

“No,” he said, “you were in danger because of imperfection. People assigned to the wrong roles. People failing to fulfill the roles they were meant to fill.” He edged closer. “Freedom is inconsequential under perfect design.”

“Your design is bullshit, your roles are bullshit!” You jumped to your feet, bumping his breast, and his shoulders tensed--but you ignored it, and pushed past him into the aisle. “As long as you try to force things on people, they’ll never be happy.” Flustered, you gestured toward him. “Hell, you’re not even happy! I know you aren’t!” 

The prophecy seemed distant and comical, now. But the inevitability of this reality was almost too painful to admit--the fact that despite your pregnancy, he was still unwilling to forgo his stance. The facts were that you would never be with Kylo Ren, he would never know his child, you would never be allowed to have him, and he would never understand your needs. 

Dozens, hundreds, thousands of nevers welled in your throat, flooded your eyes, nevers that never should have been, and nevers that never would be. Never whispering his name, never waking up in his arms, never seeing him cradle his child, and never falling asleep next to him in a future where he was your home and your family, a future where you would feel his lips on yours, naked in your shared bed, feeling safe, feeling secure, feeling loved. 

Your throat was tight. “I’m… I’m pregnant, Kylo. I don’t want to raise my child in a world where it can’t know choice. I don’t want to fulfill whatever you believe my role is!” Scanning him, you stiffened your jaw, and his fists tightened, his leather gloves squelched. “I want to be with you. I do. But it can’t be like this.” Steel sharpened your tone. “As long as you have Gilead, you’ll never have me.”

You pivoted, stepping toward the back of the bus--but a leather-bound hand grasped your neck and whipped you back, curled you against his chest, a metal muzzle at your face. Frowning, you squirmed, and he halted you with ease, subsuming you in his strength.

“That’s where you’re mistaken.” The sound coming from the mask was not one you recognized. “I already have you.” His free hand skated down your stomach. “I’ve already won.”

“Get off of me, Kylo.” You moved again, but he shook you in his hold.

“You said it yourself,” he replied. “You wanted this. You wanted my child.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Your skin tingled from his proximity, from the electric silk in his voice. “You have my body. That doesn’t mean you have my mind.”

“So you say. Yet you pulled a gun on Pryde. You helped me end his life.” He huffed, a human rumble in his throat. “Who would do that other than someone who wanted what I wanted, too?” 

You tried to shake your head, stuck in his grasp. “I don’t want what you want.” Something flickered low in your abdomen. “I don’t want to fulfill a role.”

Kylo shifted, his hand sliding from your neck into your hair, coiling around it. “You already are fulfilling your role.” Every word forced you to resist the urge to whimper. “You want to be mine. And you want it so badly that you’re willing to forsake everything to have it.”

Shame streaked through you, hotter than hell itself, and you cried out, shoving him back, only for him to grapple you and flatten you along the pantry chest first, smothering you, stoking horrified heat under your flesh. He wrenched your arm behind your back with ease, his boots framing your feet, his hips pinning your backside. 

“Don’t deny it,” he said. “You know I’m right.”

“No.” Most of you was sure he wasn’t right. But the tiny twinkle that shivered at the thought of forever being his, no matter the cost, agreed. Your chin trembled. “You’re wrong.”

Another rumble, deep in his chest. “Am I?” His pelvis pressed against you. “You’re willing to deceive Johana. Manipulate the Resistance.” One hand wagged your scalp, the other holding your hip as you wiggled under him. “You’re willing to watch others die. You’re even willing to kill.”

“Stop.” You panted, hating the rush of excitement to your thighs, hating that his words were making sense. “That’s not--that’s not how it is.” 

“But this is how it works.” A slow exhale left him. “Neither of us have ever had choices. You realize that, now. This is who we’re meant to be.”

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not.” Kylo’s fingers dug into your hip. “You’re meant to be mine. And I’m meant to own you, to own all of this.” He inhaled, the noise hollow in his helmet. “You’re never escaping me.” His weight compressed you along the cabinet, shortened your breath. “And I’m never letting you leave.” 

Terror exploded into wrath. It couldn’t be true. “No!” You writhed underneath him, but he weighed on you like a boulder. “Fuck! Get off of me!”

A low, quiet noise of amusement knocked in his throat. “Poor thing. You want to avoid it. But this is what you want.”

“No, it’s not!” 

“It is.” He nuzzled his helmet against your head. “You’re as much me as you ever were. The only difference…” He hummed, hand at your hip massaging the flesh. “I admit who I am.” 

Desire thickened your throat, your heart crumpled in despair. How dare he, how dare he make you believe he cared for you--then reveal it was a ploy to land you exactly where he’d wanted. And nothing he said had been wrong. Despite your best intentions, your earnest efforts, there was still no one’s life you cared to save--outside of your own--other than his. You tried to steady your lungs, ignoring the rising urge to have him even closer.

“I know who you are,” you said. “I know you’re better than this.”

“You do?” Kylo Ren snickered. “You’re mistaken, angel. Didn’t you hear what he said?” His muzzle, cold carbon, met your ear. “I’m the devil.”

A surge of lust swirled in your belly, and you screamed, thrashing, trying to throw him off. He ceded an inch, and you shouldered him back, only for him to wrap his hand around your throat and spin you, back smacking the cabinet. One arm framed your head, the other driving into your chest, and you swallowed against him. Scowling, you stared into the empty facade of his mask. 

Even in his assuredness, you would never tell him how deep you’d fallen--it was the final thing he couldn’t take. After all, every other line you’d meant to draw had long been washed by the waves of your selfish hunger. Hunger that, even in this moment, barked with greed. 

His mask tilted, dipping over your figure--your robe was askew, revealing half of your breast, your stomach peeking through the gap--and his grip on your neck tightened, fuzzing your pulse. Your knees weakened, even as you hoped to raze him to the floor with your eyes. Kylo huffed with restrained excitement.

“Mm. You’re trembling.” His thumb stroked your wild heartbeat. “You’re hot.” 

“Fuck you,” you said. “You’re disgusting.”

“Perhaps I am.” The hand above your head slipped under your robe, leather skimming your skin. “But we both know how you love to revel in filth.”

Air caught in your chest--this bastard--you rolled your tongue in your mouth, jaw tense, and you sucked in a breath, spitting a fat glob straight onto his mask. 

Kylo hissed, lifting you by the neck until your feet dangled, slamming your skull into the cabinet. You grunted, digging the heels of your palms into his shoulders, kicking his stomach--but he was a mountain, immune to your timid storm. His sheer size neutralized your effort, and he leaned close, flattening you along the pantry, paralyzing your limbs.

“If you know what’s good for you,” he purred, deadly soft in the mask, “you’ll clean that up.”

Hunger wasn’t barking, now. It was howling. And you wanted to stoke its appetite. 

“You’re right,” you replied. “How rude of me.” 

Smirking, you gathered another wad of spit at the top of your palate--and after a long, obvious scrape of your throat, you hocked it at his eyes.

Hurled through the air, you crashed into the aisle, feeling footsteps quake the floor. You spun onto your ass, scurrying backwards on your palms, Kylo chasing you in long, livid strides. You heaved, heart pounding, crawling until your back connected with a metal frame. One of the beds. Before you could think to dodge, he ripped you up by your hair and onto your knees, slapping you hard across the face. 

“Nasty little bitch.” His grip curled at your scalp, his other hand groping his now-obvious arousal. “You must have forgotten what your mouth is for.”

You sneered. “I’m fairly certain it’s for cursing you.”

White pain whacked your cheek, and he shook you back to reality, your vision swimming. He’d undone his belt, and pulled free his angry, erect cock. “Drop your jaw, little bird,” he murmured. “Before I break it off.”

When you hesitated, Kylo drove his thumb into your mouth and hooked it behind your teeth, tugging it down to receive his length. You stared at him, contempt simmering in your eyes, exhilaration careening through your blood. Of course you were infuriated with him, but this only seemed to incense your passion, rather than dampen it--perhaps, in that way, you were like him, too. As his cock slipped over your tongue, you let loose a soft moan, and he released you, allowing you to seal your lips around his thick, heavy shaft. 

Both hands shot into your hair, holding you still while he rocked into your mouth, and you hummed, gazing into his visor, wondering what he looked like behind the mask. Your tongue pressed to the underside of his dick, earning a growl from his chest, and he jerked your neck back, sliding in deeper. 

“Use your hands,” he said. “Unless you want me to fuck your throat.”

You rolled your eyes--but encircled the base anyway, struggling to fully wrap around his girth. Groaning, your lids fluttered while you drooled onto him, slicking your saliva down his length, bobbing your head while you struggled to keep your attention trained on his face. His cock filled your mouth, the tip poking your soft palate, and you sucked, revealing in his sharp intake of air as you tightened your grip. Even if you never did this again, having him in your mouth was a feeling you’d take to your grave--the hot silk skin at your lips, the pulsing on your tongue, the sore stretch to your jaw--all of it made you throb, made you ache for more.

“Mm, that’s right.” He adjusted his grasp, urging you back and forth on his cock, making you gag. “Much better than hearing you speak.”

Narrowing your lids, you pulled your lips back, letting your teeth catch on his shaft--Kylo grunted and jerked out of you, backhanding you in the jaw. You wailed, your sight spun with pain, but your cunt was soaked, dripping and clenching with your escalating need. 

“Fuck y--” you began, before he yanked your head back and shoved his dick down your throat. 

You retched, choked, vision flooding with tears, but with him handling your hair like reins, he trapped you there, your mouth a helpless hole for him to fuck. He snapped his hips, his dick bulging in your neck, his breath labored with the pace of his thrusts. Sweat spilled down your back, and you retched again as his cock twitched on your tongue, cranked your jaw wide, plunged in and out of your throat. 

“You pretend to fight.” The words were husky under modulation. “But you love it. You’re a slut for my cock.”

Under the noise of your groaned assent, you heard it: beyond the perimeter of the Buzzard, an unmuffled motor, advancing fast. The Knights had arrived. A thrill lit up your spine; perhaps it was the anger with your Commander--a spiteful need to make him jealous--or the fact you were more aroused than you’d been in weeks, but the thought of being caught by them, just like this, flashed fire at your neck and between your legs. You whimpered with anticipation. 

But if Kylo had noticed, he didn’t seem to care--he clutched your head, reveling in the wet warmth of your throat as you swallowed around him. Voices echoed in the stark night air outside of the bus, growing closer, and you imagined them seeing you as they walked in fresh from battle: a moaning, wanton whore on her knees, sucking their leader’s cock. 

It was too much--your fingers dipped between your legs, and you teased your clit, sobbing in pleasure. Your Commander growled and pulled out, tucking himself away, and you sputtered, both hands bracing the floor while you gulped down oxygen. 

“Dirty fucking slut.” He crouched, elbows on his knees, and grabbed your face. “You want them to watch me fuck you.” His thumb traced your swollen lower lip. “Don’t you?” 

The doors to the bus opened. And your smirk drew up in a sneer. 

“If you think you can handle other men looking at your property.”

Kylo Ren seized you by your hair again. “I can do more than handle it.” Standing, he hoisted you to your feet. “I’ll order it.” He tossed you into the aisle with such force that you stumbled, knees scraping the floor. 

The Knights ascended the steps, stopping mid-board. Humiliation scorched your nerves, you strangled a moan at the thought of how you must appear--robe splayed open to reveal your underwear, your face moist, hair mussed--and how obvious it would be to them what you’d just been doing. You swallowed your desire as the half that had climbed onto the bus now stood in silence observing you, a broken-wing bird, at the mercy of her ravenous Commander.

“Get on. Sit down.” Kylo’s voice was eerily calm behind you--the Knights filed in, stuffing themselves together around the tiny table and couch. “This is your entertainment, tonight.” His boots resonated with his approach. “If there’s even an inch of movement toward her, I will bleed you dry on the Buzzard and leave your body for worms.”

They nodded, but did not reply. 

“Now.” He wove his fingers through your hair again, and you winced, scalp tender. But he whirled you around anyway, shoving your nose into his crotch. His cock strained against his pants. “Where were we?”

You bit your lip, sliding your hands up his strong thighs. “I don’t remember, Commander.” What you were doing was incredibly devious, and certifiably insane. But the thought of embarrassing him in front of his men was a small salve on your fury. And the temptation of the consequences had your body demanding more. “It must not have been very... impressive.”

Kylo snarled and slammed your back to the weapon cabinet, grinding his covered cock into your face. “What was that?” he said. “Answer carefully.”

Heartbeat in your ears, you mouthed at the fabric of his pants, gazing at him. “I said,” you replied, nuzzling the bulge with your cheek, “that it must not have been very--” you dragged your tongue along the length, “--impressive.”

“Hm.” His hand drifted from your head to your throat. “That’s what I thought.” He clamped down, knocking your skull on the cabinet and compressing your artery, and you wheezed, pressing your thighs together. “Strip.”

You stared into his mask, blood beating at your temples--you wanted to speak, but found no words.

“Hurry,” he said, “before you pass out.” The pressure increased. “Or I’ll have to do it for you.”

Now woozy, the back of your brain dared you to let him do it, but you figured passing out wouldn’t be smart to do while pregnant (getting slapped, thrown, and choked, however, apparently fine). You shuffled your robe down your shoulders, vision blurring while you unlatched the hooks on your bra and shimmied it onto the floor. The last articles were your boots and underwear, which required you to wriggle in his hold, the movement eating the edges of your sight--and then they were gone, and he released you, waiting as you collapsed, naked, against the storage.

The Knights’ heads were aimed toward you--and to your surprise, at least two were already rubbing themselves through their pants. Your cunt pulsed. 

“Now.” A gloved hand slid into your hair again, leather tugging at the strands, while his other hand wrestled free his hard cock, the tip gleaming with pre-cum. “Where were we?”

He rammed into your mouth, and you shuddered, ignoring the urge to vomit, your delighted moans hiccuped by the vigor of his strokes. Drool doused your chin, coated your lips, and your bleary focus wandered to his soldiers, one of whom had leaned back, his chest rising, another palming himself faster. They were watching you, watching you get throat-fucked by the man who owned you, watching as you bloomed a film of sweat, watching as you loved it, your pleading, wretched face begging to be abused.

“See how badly they want you,” he muttered. “But you’re mine. It’s all--fuck--all for me…”

Another reminder--Kylo Ren was going to keep you, he did not want to let you go, and would never, ever see you as you saw him--but you ignored it, choosing to suffocate yourself in desire instead, to stave off this stupid fucking reality where you were a stupid fucking slave in stupid fucking love with her stupid fucking Commander.

Eager to dust away the cobwebs of your misery, your hand snuck between your legs, ghosting over your folds to tease your clit, and you groaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Kylo snickered.

“Look at you,” he said. “Such a whore for me. Willing to--to make yourself cum in front of a group of masked men.” He jammed his dick deep, pressing your nose to his pubic bone, and you flailed, choking on him. “Is that what you want, slut? For everyone to know what you look like when you cum?” 

You tried to nod, or to agree in any way--because yes, fuck yes, you wanted his men to watch you cum for him, to have them envy you and him and have them stroke their cocks and spill their seed while they dreamed of fucking your pussy and--

Perhaps pregnancy hormones were more powerful than you’d initially thought.

Kylo slipped out of you again, and you gasped, panting, wiping the sheen of sweat from your forehead, smearing the spit from your mouth. It had already dribbled onto your tits. Every part of your body felt swollen, and every part of your body wanted release. A leather finger tilted your chin toward his visor.

“Then we’ll make you cum.” 

He laid you out on the aisle and spread your legs, and you craned your neck back, meeting a wall of the Knights, seated in a half-circle, all focused on you. You licked your lips, hoping to entice them--and then two gloved fingers pried open your folds, and before you could brace, they drove in, filling your pussy. Crying out, you shivered, clenching around him, hips gyrating to seek more of his touch. 

Kylo’s breath quickened, his thumb circled your stiff clit, pleasure sweeping over you, and you twisted your neck, wanting a better view of the front of the bus. One of the Knights was guiding two digits up and down his shaft, another working himself free, the rest now prepping themselves, waiting to touch their cocks. The sight shuddered you, made you writhe, made your core throb and your flesh burn.

“Desperate whore.” He swirled your nub faster--you throttled a moan. “See what I do to you.” His fingers curled and twisted inside of you, petting your walls. “You’re ready to cum for faces you’ve never even seen.” 

“Jesus.” Three of the Knights were stroking themselves, now, one of them fully fisting his shaft, pumping it in rhythm with Kylo’s hand. Heat blazed your thighs, forcing you toward ecstasy. “Fuck. Commander…”

Kylo grunted, a needy noise in his throat. “There we go,” he said. “Who else can make you cum like this?” He snapped his wrist, a third gloved finger pushing inside of you, his thumb tracing your clit, and you whined, back arching, air cycling faster in your lungs. “Tell me you want to stay.” You heard a soft shuffle beyond your waist--you knew he was jerking off. “Tell me, and I’ll let you cum.”

Flames flicked your neck, ire popping your bubble of bliss. Did he think he was winning? You swiveled to meet his vacant gaze. “I can cum whenever I want.” 

Switching motions, he scissored you wide, drawing zig-zags on your throbbing clit. “Don’t test me.”

You snarled and rolled, his hand pulling out when you staggered to your feet. It didn’t matter, in that moment, that you were naked and he had the capability to pulverize you under his heel--you wanted to piss him off, wanted him to feel even a fraction of the frustration that you felt, wanted him to destroy you as desperately as you wanted to destroy him. 

Kylo stood, his arm shooting toward you, and you slapped him away, spitting at him again--he snagged your wrist and thwacked your cheek, and you howled, daggering your knee into his thigh. A feral noise tore through the mask; he clasped the back of your neck, lifting and smashing you into the weapons cabinet, massive chest pinning you there.

“Get off!” You pounded your fist into the helmet, pain echoing to your elbow. “Fuck!”

He grunted, collected your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head, the other shoving two fingers into your mouth until he reached the back of your tongue. “Be good,” he said, “or I’ll do whatever I need to do to make you.”

You leered at him, steeled your jaw, and bit down on his hand. 

Before you could breathe, that hand crushed your throat, and he knocked your thighs apart with his knee, impaling your cunt on his cock. He drove into the hilt with a growl, and you sobbed in pleasure-pain against his grip, a sharp sting, your pussy stretching for his thick, hard length. Kylo pumped into you, ruthless, primal, his chest swelling with rapid air, as if he was possessed, every thrust pushing shaky noise from your lungs.

“That’s right.” His hips collided with yours, thumb toying with your pulse, his voice ragged with desire. “Now you’ll behave, won’t you?”

Whimpering, you gasped, the unsteady bloodflow buzzing your lips and cheeks. He flattened your wrists to the cabinet, grinding your joints to the aluminum, his weight compressing your ribcage, his strength holding you still. The drag of his dick inside of you was enough to make you wail, but the ferocity, the animalistic savagery in his thrusts had your cunt throbbing, spasming, ready to cum without him touching your clit. In seconds, he’d tamed you, drenched you in sweat, submerged you in ecstasy, dangling you at the edge of submitting to his authority. 

Kylo eased off your neck. “Look at them.” 

Straining, trembling, you did--and met six men, all huffing, all enraptured. Two had stood, hunched as they stroked their cocks, others leaned back, fucking into their fists, another one trailing his palm up and down his shaft. You ruptured with lust and groaned in satisfaction, throwing your legs around Kylo’s waist, taking the brunt of his fast, vicious thrusts.

“Fuck, yes.” He brutalized your cunt, hammering into it. “They want you. They want what I have.” Like a spark, you felt it--his gaze meeting yours from behind the mask. "They envy me. Am I not enough?”

You wheezed, drawing in quickened air. “N-no,” you said. “And you--you alone n-never will be.”

His fingers bit your flesh--he lifted you from the wall, supporting your ass and cradling your skull before he crushed you onto the aisle, sliding his cock deep into your wet cunt. Kylo hissed in pleasure as you sheathed him to the base, gliding out and driving in, skin smacking while he tugged you into his heaving, rabid frame. 

“Fucking whore,” he muttered, burying the muzzle of his mask in your neck. “Why do you want to leave?” The words were pins through his teeth. “Why do you always want to leave?”

You wanted to respond, but the pace of his hips stole your breath, your words, your jaw dropped with pathetic whines. All you could do was let him fuck you into the floor, body bouncing with his force, elated to exist as a loyal, greedy hole. 

“I’m going to destroy you,” he growled. “I’m going to split this pussy wide, and I’m going to pump you full of cum.” He groaned, shivering from his own words. “And when I’m done, my men will cover you in it, bathe you in it--fuck--like the filthy, vile slut you are.” The hand at your head grasped your hair, scraped your scalp, the other slipping between your legs, expertly rubbing the engorged bundle of nerves. “Now beg to cum.”

“God!” You squirmed in delight, orgasm swelling inside of you, begging to gush out over your flesh. But you wanted, needed just a little, tiny bit more. “Fuck you!”

Kylo leaned up, bolted one hand to your waist, while the other reeled back and cracked you like lightning across the face--your mind went black, your eyes went white, and inside of your mouth, your teeth went red. 

“Beg for it!” He pummeled your pussy, stroking your clit, jerking you into each snap of his hips. “Fucking beg!”

“Christ!” At the edge of your sight, you could see the Knights, their cocks pink and throbbing, all ready to cum, all ready to shower you with it. “Please, please Commander, please make me cum!”

His hand shifted, a gloved seam skated your nub--you shattered, back lifting from the aisle, limbs trembling as euphoria burst into your blood. The pain, the violence, the passion, all of it needled into your climax, stretching it through your skin, crumbling into powerful aftershocks as Kylo pounded you through it. Then his hips stuttered, a low, bellowing sound escaping his mask; he thrust once, twice, three times, cock twitching at your core as he came, spilling his seed inside. 

Through his panting breath, he pulled out, barked an order. “Cum on her face. Paint her like a whore deserves.”

Still floating to reality, your gaze strayed from the floor, only to be met with six men tromping to encircle you, jerking their dicks with feverish focus. You blinked, whined, biting your lip--and they broke, cursing and choking in bliss as they splattered your face with load after load of cum. Hot, sticky streams roped over your forehead, your nose, your mouth, a particularly hard shot splashing down your neck and across your tits. They gasped as their climaxes left them, cocks bobbing with the tail-ends of pleasure, viscous drops dripping onto your skin.

With the final adornment of seed, they collected themselves, muttering under their masks--likely for their own benefit, rather than yours--as they tucked themselves away and meandered back to the front. In the death throes of your exhibition, you were quaking, overcome with a sudden, desperate need to sleep. Your mind plummeted into a hole, exhaustion overcoming you, actual, real-life ramifications trickling into your consciousness.

Your scalp throbbed, your face burned, you ached at every exposed joint. You swallowed--your mouth had bled, too, a bit. Making to move, you winced, finding it too difficult, resigning yourself to curl up on the Buzzard’s floor. To any observer--and perhaps, in a way, even to you--Kylo Ren had just beaten and fucked the shit out of you. And yet you couldn’t imagine, in just this single moment, being any more sated or satisfied.

Large leather hands lifting you up tore you from your reverie, and you grunted out a sigh, adjusting as your Commander gathered you in his arms. The latent pain in your heart rejected this--you didn’t want his faux-affection, didn’t want him to pretend he cared. Not when you knew he refused to let you go.

Yet you could barely summon the energy to move yourself, and the drying globs of cum were wearing out their novelty. So you relaxed, plopping your head onto his shoulder. 

Kylo carried you to one of the beds and sat, supporting you on his lap, shifting until his back was along the wall and your legs splayed over the mattress. He grabbed a towel that was folded over the bunk divider and wiped you clean, guiding the thin cloth over your semen-stained face. The movements were slow, tentative, swiping away the drool, sweat and cum, pausing when he passed a tender point of tissue. His breath was steady and even, the mask offering you nothing but an empty, vacant, stare.

Kylo Ren’s eyes had been the only way you had been able to know, or begin to guess, what was rolling through his mind. Now they were shielded, a barrier cleaving your connection in half. And denied his eyes, you were blinded, blinded from hope and joy and the open door to shared escape, left with a mockery of the man you knew. 

You were going to fight the tears--there would be no crying now, not tonight or in future nights, for someone who did not want to see you free. But his strength was soothing, his hands a comfort, his presence more intoxicating than any other substance you’d known. He maddened you, pitted you, shimmered in your mind like a faraway star; he was your monster and your warrior, the eye of his own typhoon. 

Every thread of your being was sewn irrevocably into his skin. And you when you shredded them clean, the both of you would bleed, pouring from patterned holes until you drowned in the pools of your own foolish dream.

Once he was finished, he sighed, that knife-stare slitting through you a final time before he rolled you off of his lap, leaving the bed while he guided you onto the mattress. You laid there, gazing at him in the dim bus light, one thousand heartbeats in your flesh. Kylo stepped away to grab your robe, and then returned, draping it over your tired frame before stopping to stare again. You wished he would hold you. You knew that he couldn’t.

“You’re not keeping me,” you whispered, “or our child.” You met his invisible eyes, unafraid. “I’m going to find a way to leave.”

Kylo tilted his head and crouched low, tucking away a lock of hair that had stuck to your forehead. He studied you, cupped your cheek in his palm, thumb caressing the bone, before releasing you, rising to his feet.

“We’ll see, little bird.” His voice was quiet, wickedly certain. “We’ll see.”

As he returned to the front, your lids fluttered shut, the night sweeping you into its embrace. Your cheek tingled, glittering with the ghost of his affection, your mouth fighting the smile that was sneaking onto your face.

[nanakibh]

Final Fantasy Agito: First Cycle, Chapter 4, Act 1 Characters: Lean, Nimbus, Cid, Machina, Ace Summary: Lean greets Nimbus upon his return and tells him about their new strategy to halt Rubrum’s advance. Victory is within the Empire’s reach.

Chapter 4, Act 1 The Marshal's Ideals, His Will

[Setting: Milites weapons manufacturing facility]

Lean: --You've returned, Nimbus? So you were able to demolish one whole Dominion battalion without assistance? Nimbus: The Empire was not on my mind. It was the will of the White Tiger Crystal. Nimbus: The Crystal said to me, "Assail the Dominion." And so, that is what I did. Lean: The "voice of the Crystal" that only l'Cie can hear... Although it disturbs me, I have to be grateful this time. Lean: Due to your inclusion, the situation has seen a great upheaval. The war is once against leaning heavily in our favor. Nimbus: If I enter the battlefield, the Vermilion Bird l'Cie, Zhuyu, will also make a move. His strength is on par with my own. What do you intend to do? Lean, smiling: I've already prepared a way to deal with that. At the behest of the Marshal. Lean, serious: The Crystal Jammer which can seal the Dominion's magic -- with the collaborative effort of the engineers, mass production has been achieved. Lean: If you were to take them with you and put them to use, Rubrum would lose their means of offense. Nimbus: Technology that neutralizes the powers granted by the Crystal... So the Empire's intelligence has evolved this far. Nimbus: However. I ask you, child of man. Towards what are you aiming by wielding such power? Lean: I already know the answer. It's to fulfill the Marshal's ideals -- to tame Orience with the hand of the Empire. Lean: Many of our companions have already been lost for that end. My role is to inherit his will and bring us to victory. Nimbus: So that is your will... Very well. According to my own role (Focus), I will crush Rubrum.

[Setting: Milites]

Cid: --Men! Thanks to the participation of the l'Cie Nimbus, our victory is nearly assured! Cid: Seize this opportunity to launch an all-out attack and take control of the battlefield! With the power of a l'Cie and the intelligence of humans, there is no battle that cannot be won! Cid: From here on, the war will be heading toward checkmate! Gathering all of the Crystals under our control and dominating Orience-- Cid: It won't be long until that ideal is made real! Use all the strength you have and become the champions of the world!

[Setting: Fountain courtyard]

Machina: Did you hear, Player...?! The White Tiger l'Cie, Nimbus... Machina: Apparently he was able to single-handedly annihilate an entire Dominion battalion. He's even more of a monster than I could've imagined...! Ace: What about the Vermilion Bird l'Cie, Lord Zhuyu? He's the only one who can compete with him, isn't he? Machina: Right. Lord Zhuyu should also certainly join the action. He possesses the greatest strength in all of Rubrum. Machina: However, it sounds like Milites have mass produced the Crystal Jammers and are moving them to the frontline with Nimbus. Machina: If even Lord Zhuyu has his magic sealed, then I'm not sure if he'll be able to compete with Nimbus. Ace: In that case, am I going to have to use my Anti-Crystal Jammer magic again? Machina: That might be difficult... If you head out to the frontlines to use it, you’ll definitely be targeted by Nimbus. Machina: Besides, Milites has probably already taken that into consideration and come up with a plan. Ace: We've found ourselves in yet another dilemma. If only there were something else we could do...!

[futuristicstrangerinfluencer]

Die storie oorvertel

Waar begin mens?

Ja dit is lank,maar dit verduidelik baie,lees tot die einde eendag asb...Dit is die laaste ding wat ek jou in my lewe sal vra...Nadat ek send gedruk het,gaan ek weer die kasdeure toemaak..HIedie is die eerlikke waarheid in plein afrikaans.

22 Desember 2018...Toe ek n ander kant v jou ontmoet het,waarheid is ek het in die begin weggebly want my oupa het altyd gese die manier hoe 2 mense ontmoet is die manier wat dinge gaan bly...En ek wil nie op verneek word nie.(Alhoewel ek weet jy is nie regtig daardie tipe persoon nie,lees net tot die einde, laaste ding wat ek jou ooit sal vra in my lewe)

23 Desember,my pa kom by my woonstel aan, so hoog op meth mens sweer hy sweet die kak,hy en sumarie het baklei en nou is ek sy toevlug...

24 Desember, ek moet saam met my pa huistoe gaan,want wie wil kersfees alleen spandeer?

25 Desember...Kersfees by Sumarie se ma-hulle...Kon net sowel alleen wees,Oh het ek gemention my pa en sumarie is nogsteeds dik getik?

26 desember tot 14 Januarie,verveeldheid en drk van my pa-hulle af het my laat meth try en lsd en ek rook weer dagga,dinge is so deurmekaar ek weet nie watdevok gaan aan nie.

15 Januarie, Anette kom haal my, tyd om teologie te swot!Ek wou nooit nie,maar die jaar voor dit was dit my enigsste opsie,voordat ek my 2de beurs gekry het.

16 - 20 Januarie, Ek doen alles in my vermoe om van studie rigting te verander,maar dit is onmoontlik.Ek kry nie vriende gemaak nie,maar ek weet mos cuben bly in pta, kom ek bel hom.

21 Januarie tot 11 JUlie...Ek en Cuben is goeie tjommies,ek gaan nie meer campus toe nie want ek haat my studierigting,ek moet wel mention ek hardloop nou 2 grade,teologie + fisiologie,genetikjka en sielkunde...Om die waarheid te se is ek oorweldig met die werk want ek moiet altwee grade deurkom anders kan ek nie volgende jaar anngaan nie.Moet ek mentiion ek en Cuben het gaan suip,toe dwelms gedoen....Van daar af was ek permanent op een of ander chemical sodat ek myself net kan numb...Staan 9 uur die aand op gaan slaap 5 uur, as ek nie meth opf kat of ecstasy of coke in het nie....Roook 24/7 dagga.Moet net my kop stil kry.o, my pa-hulle?Ek weet nie, meeste v d ie ttyd antwoord hy nie sy foon nie.....My 2de beurs het uitbetaal,R55 000 cash....

Blank van daar af, so hard onder die invloed van basies enigeiets dat ek ek ek weet nie eers nie, ek is verbaas ek lewe nog, maar meer ontsteld daaroor,ek haat myself....Woensdae aande lsd en cocaine in clubs tot 5 uur, morre oogend, maar vok slaaap pak nog n paar lyne gaan skryf jou sielkunde eksamen en gaan party weer!!!Jy weet mos, ons slaap net 8 ure n week....

11 Julie:

1ste semester is verby en dis tyd om huistoe te gaan,maar al my geld en verstand uitge-dwelm?So ek gaan maar my horlosie an my dealer verkoop sodat ek n taxi huistoe kan vat.Ek moet een of ander tyd vir my pa se ek het gedruip,maar hy en Sumarie is nie op speaking terms nie en al wat hom pla is dobbel en meth.

8 Augustus....Ek skryf n brief vir my pa wat se ek het gedruip en dat ek belowe dat ek n werk sal kry en nie te lank ini die huis sal wees nie..Ek gaan tapteek en tavern toe,sluk 10 adcodols en n brannewyn sodat wanneer ek by die huis kom ek my pa kan face...n secret as jy nie wil voel hoe dit voel as jou drug-addicted pa vir jou se hoe selfsugtige vokop jy is nie.

9 Augusts tot 21 November...Ek soek my gat af vir werk,my pa isen sumarie is dik op die crystal en ek moet elke keer as ek die lolly sien neee se....Na n maand se ernstige gesoek het ek nogsteeds geen werk nie,my gemoed is laag,ek,my pa en sumarie baklei heen en weer,hulle maak nie kos nie want hulle is bedwelm,ek is nooit honger nie want al wat ek doen is slaap,ek het energie vir niks, maar ek maak darem vir Esmarie kos en sorg dat sy by die skool kom,ek weet presies hoe sy voel, 10 jaar oud, en jy moet sulke kak bellef,fucks you up.My pa het eventually van die meth afgeklim,hy spuit nou steroids en gym,want hy het ongesond maar geword...Nous hy nog meer bevok,Sumarie steel geld by my pa want sy is nogsteeds besig met meth in die skadus,maar ek is mos haar “chomma” so ek hiou my mond,wil eintllik net nie my pa seer maak nie...Ek het so paar keer saam met haar gedoen,na dit is daar weer n week van total humilty en deprssie...Ek gaan suip so nou en dan om my kop rag te kry,Marchant en Rudi suip saam my,o,en hulle snuof kat,so wat doen ek?sniff snif? So nou en dan praat ek met Sjanti,dit voel vir my sys is die enigste persoon wat my verstaan...

22 November...Ek het Sumarie gevang meth doen alweer,sy offer my n bietjie,die dom poes wat ek is vat n bietjie,want ek het uiteindelik die moed bymekaar geskraap om uit die huis uit te gaan en na S toe tte gaan,maar ek strs,dis die eertse peroon wat ek mee gaan praat in 2 maande buiten my pa en sumarie...OP my plug besluit ek ek gaan nogsteed na S toe, ek moet haar sien,sy sal my kan help,sy sal my laat verstaan,sy sal my vir eens laat veilig voel,sy sal miskien n paar van my gebroke dele kan terugplak../Ek word verwelkom met n stompeldronk meisie van hoerskool,o ja,haar naam is J$#@

Daars n ander brah,maar waar is i?Waar is Si?4 groot slukke straw-rum en op by die trappe is ek...Daar le sy?IS dit sy?Wat gaan aan?My hart sink,alles is swaar,die trane sit vlak...Ek gaan le lanks haar,sy wonder ook of dit regtig ek is?OP daardie oomblik het ek besef ek sal myself kan gelukkig maak, as ek  weer S kan maak.Dit is my doel,vok engineering,my pa-hulle het inelkgeval al my spaargeld uitgesnuif...Maar hier is S,ek kan haar oppas,ek kan haar liefhe,ek moet,dit is my doel...”Mitchi,vat my”...”S ek wil he dit moet gebeur maar nie so nie”Sy momple nog n paar dinge,maar sy is siek dronk,ek besluit oe,miskien moet ek net vir haar n klein biethie laat snuif,dit maak n mens mos nugter?Het daai brah haar nie miskien iets ingevoer nie?Ek ken dronk maar sy lyk fucked...Sy gooi op,moenie vir J se nie...Wat het ek laat gebeur dink ek by meself...Seks drank dagga en ons twee wat probeer om so eerlik moontlik met mekaar te wees,maar dis moeilik,want ons is skelotons van die mense wat ons op n tyd was...

DESEMBER>>>>EK wil nie eers nie...Te grys vir wit en swart

2020

Na 19 Januarie en haar nuwe kerel probeer ek nog kontak te hou,begin spyt te wees dat ons n romantiese verhouding probeer het,wens alles kon normaal wees

Een of ander dag in februarie.....My dokter het vir my pille voorgeskryf,hy se dit sal halp met die stress van die werk en al die kak by ide huis...OP die stadium is ek die enigste een wat werk want my pa Is baie siek en op meth , wsumarie ook...Die lewe bestaan uit werk,gym(want dit is al wat my kkop skoon kry),en vir Esmari sorg...Ek dink elke liewe dag aan S.sy het my geblok want syt n nuwe ou en ons boodskappe iss blykbaar te intiem.....

LOCKDOWN

Sorry ou perd,hierdie kak werk wat jy nooit wou gehad het nie waar jy 11 ure n dag wegslaaf vir peanuts kan jou nie verder aanhou nie,o,en ons betaal nie die maand se salaris nie.Gelukkig is Sumarie en my pa baie kwaad vir mekaar,so sy was vir die eerste 2 weke nie hier nie,my pa is uit die hospitaal uit,hy het darem nie kaniker nie,hy rook nie,drink nie,100% skoon...Sumarie kom terug,sy aan die anderkant,is nogsteeds dik getik...Die huis raak te klein en alles is hostiel,S wil nie met my praat nie,slaap en huil maar my dae om....

3 maande later praat ek met niemand in die huis nie behalwe esmarie, ek ne sy slaap tot 6 uur se kant en gaan slaap weer wanneer hulle opstaan,wel,hulle altwee is weer op meth,so hulle slaap nie eintlik nie...Esmari is my hart...

My pa begin weer te werk,kom darem v die meth af,maar sumarie is elke aand weg sodra my pa ry...Ek en S begin weer te praat....Ek en Sumarie baklei soos kat en hond,want sy steel by my pa,en is elke aand in die strate sonder dat hy weet....Maar hy kies haar kant..Ek het eventuaally besluit om weer te begin code,my oupa geee vir my werk,ek sukkel maar dit is al wat ek het om te doen so ja,ek moet op een of ander manier genoeg geld maak sodat ek uit hierdie mense se plak kan uitkom...Ek en S praat weer baie,,sy dink ek is in Wellington want ek wil nie aan haar my realiteitr verduidelik nie...Esmari is by haar ouma so haar boodskappe is al wat my moed gee oim elke oggend op te staan,eventually kry sumarie dit reg om my pa weer op meth te kry,die frustrasies biou oop en ek en hulle baklei elke dag,pak elke 2 de dag my goed want ek word straat toe gestuur,omdat ek dit nie like dat hulle op meth is en dat Sumarie my pa lelik besteel noie,my kaart is ook leeggetrek,Maar ek moet my bek hou daaroor.Uiteindelik kom my pa van mmeth af en kom agter wat werklik aangaan,hy en sumarie het opgebreek,Yes!Ons kry Corna,Sumarie kom vat helfde v die meubels,so ek en my pa slaap op dieselfde bed al vir 2 maande,hy rook so baie dagga ek moet na hom kyk soos n toddler,Sy het sy finansiele posisie opgevok,so ek moet plan maak vir geld sodat ons kan eet, gelukkig kan ek pragrammerer en n paar rand maak,Dit is nou 3 september my pa het net helfde van sy salaris gekry omdat hy corona gehad het en klaar teveel af siek was die jaar,Sumarie het my kontaklense saam gevat sker net om my te spite,hy spite, so ek sit met een ou kontaklens in my linker oog tot die einde van die maand,en n konstante hooofpyn,my pa is n gebreekt manchild wat net werk,slaap en dagga rook.Darem sleep ek hom weer gym toe,ek weet nie hoe gaan ons die einde van die maand sien nie,maar ek weerk daaraan,ek rook nie meer dagga nie,daar is defnitief nie geld daarvoor nie.En ek moet werk as ek wil eet.

S,as jy tot hier gelees het,my lewe is baie kak op die oomblik,maar ek is sterk,en ek sal dit maak,ek hoop jy verstaan dinge is moeilik,en ek is jammer ek gebruik jou as n kruk,ek sal nie meer nie,kan ook nie meer nie...Weet net,ek is dankbaar dat ek jou geken het,as dit nie vir jou was nie sou ek nie nou asem gehaal het nie.Ek het nog nooit gedink jy is n slegte mens nie,ek weet jy het struggkes van jou eie,en op n manier was dit vir my soos medisyne om jou boodkappe te lees.Weet net ,ek het jou lief,nie op Desember se manier nie,maar die mens wat jy is,,,was al baie dae n rede om voor op te staan...Ek hoop jy kan eendag geluk vind en oorloop daarvan,want eerlikwaar as ek God was en ek kon net een persoon gelukkig maak,sou dit jy wees.Ek draai nie doekies om nie,en ek wil jou ook nie oorreed om my te unblock nie,van alle mense voel ek ek moet myself aan jou verduidelik...Ek hoop baie graag,dat eendag in die ver toekoms,ook nie te ver nie,kan ons mekaar raakloop,,,,en ons altwee kan glimlag en met alle eerlikheid se ons is gelukkig.

[ckth]

See the [XIIIG] link in bio to pre-order the new new Men’s & Women’s Speed Jammer from @tredecimg aka #xiiig: Engineered for the track, the weight-room or the swim lanes. Also a functional chaffe-free layer under board shorts for tropical surf sessions. The material technology is a quick-drying Italian compression fabric built from up-cycled plastics. Performance amenities include: Drawcord at the waist for an active fit and security. Ergonomic hip pocket designed for an iPhone 14 Pro Max. Internal pillow pocket (for keys or whatever stash is required). Back zipper pocket (for credit cards & ID). Available in all black. Cheers and enjoy #ckth #cantknockthehustle #akackth #ecosidesiomemena #admeliora #xiiig #tredecimg #credoquiaabsurdum #carpediem #futuresport #tracknation #bewater #thetaoofagain #holidaysinunitedstates #theintersectionisreal #beengoingonforyearsbill #agequodagis #tmc (at San Diego, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/CqQf-CwsdCj/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[sanerontheinside]

Call Sign (1 of 2, apparently)

Over a year ago I did a prompt run for titles. Now, it’s been over a year, and I’ve amassed over 30 titles. Obviously I’m never gonna fill them, eh? y’all thought. 

Actually, about a third of them have ideas attached, and a few more have ideas that I’m lukewarm about, so they’re still marinating. You should know, there are... 7 aus between them, and 2 short stories (that I’m relatively set on going with). 

Call Sign alone, however, happened to be a particularly active title, and spawned 3 stories. One buggered off and found another name to live under (and, incidentally, another au). One is a Rogue One au. 

That is not this one. 

“Captain,” Governor Arkin grated irritably, “you were tasked with subduing and eradicating the rebels, and yet the terrorist attacks on the Empire's citizens continue!”

Ty drew himself up taller, forcing down a misplaced pang of wounded pride and smoothing his face to a neutral mask for the Governor’s lecture. It wasn’t his first time. It wouldn’t be the last, either. He’d be thoroughly reamed, sent out to do the job “properly this time,” yet again without assistance, and criticised again for failure. Better him in the line of fire than his men.

They were doing their jobs! They were, truly, doing their best. Problem was, Onderon’s military hadn’t been much to boast of since the Clone Wars, when their most respected generals had abandoned their posts in the midst of the Separatist occupation and joined forces with the deposed King Dendup. For a time, they’d even won back their standing, all of them—until the arrival of the Empire’s forces. Now, their king was dead, former rebels declared outlaws once more, and the people of Onderon again utterly demoralised. This was nothing like the fire Ty remembered, when the Gerrera siblings began to show the first signs of a true, organised resistance force.

Despite his fairly young age, Ty had earned his rank as Captain of the Guard fair and square—he’d been the best in his class. But he harboured no illusions about how he might compare to his predecessors. His uncle General Tandin might well have been a walking legend in comparison.

Ty was just… doing his best. Besides, how could he ask his men, his brothers-in-arms, to fight their own family? Uncle Ari might still be out there, despite reports of his suspected death. Ty certainly wasn’t going to be the one to turn reports into reality.

So he fell back on the usual script; not enough people to comb the mountains, not enough equipment or weaponry to flush the caves. He wasn’t going to sell out his men either, after all. Ty had the feeling the Empire knew all about their familial connections among rebels, and also caught the feeling that they didn’t care enough, but that could change at any moment.

But, for once, things did not go according to plan. Apparently, Governor Arkin did have a limit to his patience.

“Backup, he says. You want backup?” Arkin snarled. “Fine. I’ll put in a request for an orbital strike.”

Ty barely held back a horrified noise. “Governor, sir, we’ve requested one before, the Empire—”

“The Empire will provide resources at my request,” Arkin replied scathingly, “as your people proved unequal to the task. You call this a military, boy? I ought to send you to the Imperial Academy, but I don’t expect to see you after that strike anyway. Dismissed, Captain,” Arkin added with an ugly sneer, and Ty, shell shocked, fell back on trained habits. He saluted—making it just barely passable, he was trying so hard to keep his hands from shaking—and turned on his heel, all but fleeing the Governor's office.

Office. He’d defiled the bloody throne room, but that was neither here nor there.

Fuck, Ty thought, fucking fuck fuck shit fuck arse. He needed a drink. And a Mandalorian. A drink to appease an annoyed Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian to help him find the right fucking swear words, and tell him what the fuck to do, because Ty honestly didn’t fucking know anymore.

Fortunately, he knew where to find both.

Imps could say what they liked about the Clone Wars vets still in their command structure, but Ty preferred working with Commander Naasade, and drinking with him. For one thing, Naasade was efficient, and could drink anyone under the table. For another, the vet could always make sense of things, like command decisions.

Particularly this latest slap in the face.

“They’re sending a squadron of troopers to wipe out the resistance fighters in the mountains,” Ty mumbled into his fourth drink, about two hours later. His head was floating and his ears were ringing, but Naasade looked completely unaffected. Luckily Ty wasn’t stupid enough to try a drinking game with him.

“They’ve been saying that since we got here.” Naasade shrugged. “They say it about every planet with a resistance cell, anyway.”

“Yeah?” There was just a hint of bleak sarcasm that Ty couldn’t keep out of his voice. “What happened to Lothal?”

Naasade pinned him with a too-sober look. “Onderon isn’t Lothal. You’re Inner Rim, kid. That’d be like the Emperor ordering a strike on Alderaan.”

That sounded fair enough, Ty supposed, staring into his glass again. Things made a lot more sense when alcohol was involved, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

He was sad. Why was he sad?

“I don’t wanna, kill ‘em all,” he slurred, then frowned with effort. The Empire wanted the rebels crushed, gone, forgotten, but… “S’not… right. They’re people.”

Naasade sighed. “Better be careful who you say that around, kiddo. You’re never the one who picks the booth with the jammer in it, what’re you gonna do when I’m not around to watch your sodden arse?”

Ty smiled. That sounded like a fond sort of grumble.

One thing the occupation kept reminding him of, was that there were stupid damn idealistic idiots everywhere, green and naive and itching for a way to get themselves killed. Drinks with Ty always left him in a foul mood and a sour taste in his mouth.

Naasade sighed irritably into his drink, then thought better of it and pushed the glass away. He had an appointment to keep as it was—and it just got much less pleasant. A night patrol, an out-of-the-way meeting. Now a warning to pass along.

People like that, naive and idealistic and stupid-young, they made his job easier, sometimes. Sometimes all he had to do was sit someone down for long enough that they’d lay out the plan for the next month in perfect order for him. Sometimes he got the chance to stretch out, talk rings around an officer until he could play them like a bes’bev, make them a Rebel sympathiser for a day to get the newest codes for transmission frequency encryption.

Ty was loyal, and devoted completely, to Onderon—not to the Empire. That was a crucial distinction; Naasade had no problem manipulating Imps to do whatever he needed them to. Disillusioned Imps were, in fact, the easiest to compromise. But Ty was less a target for recruitment than a source, and every time the kid walked away Naasade thought the Empire would swallow him whole, leave the body in a sewer somewhere.

Didn’t want to kill Rebels… Yeah, that kid wouldn’t last long.

Naasade was here shadowing an injured Fulcrum. He didn’t even know which one of them it was: some clever fucker in Command had once suggested tagging multiple people with that call sign, to have the Imps chasing their own tails for a bit. Based on the fact that Command had assigned him to babysit, and seemed to be keeping a very close eye on the situation, Naasade was almost convinced this was the real, original Fulcrum.

He was perversely grateful, still, that they hadn’t specified. For one thing, it gave him plausible deniability. For another, if the rumours from the early days were at all true, Fulcrum was likely to be a Jedi.

He wasn’t ready for that yet. The thought had him reaching for his glass again in a hurry, washing down a wave of bitterness before it could overtake him. Then, of course, Naasade grimaced at the empty tumbler, put it down, pushed himself up out of the seat and made his legs take him out of the bar. He certainly didn’t need that habit coming back.

He’d probably earned himself a headache for tomorrow morning anyway. Annoyingly, it tended to center on the faint scar on the right side of his head—evidence of careful brain surgery, an extraction he didn’t even want to think about. It seemed both appropriate and ironic, that he be reminded of the exact thing that drove him to drink in the first place every time he forgot himself and went a little bit too far again.

It was almost time to start his patrol, anyway, which meant that he had to be outside the city in five.

He made it in two, pulling out of the main gate like a man let loose. This was his favourite patrol route. The grey, weighted feeling of the city melted away from him and into the brisk air as he cut through the fields.

Somewhere in the middle of his patrol route, Naasade slowed down to a casual, coasting halt. It was a habit he’d established well enough during his posting that no one would think it strange. Some of his patrolling reports mentioned meeting the locals. Naasade reported meeting farmers, peaceful people, and either passing along the boundary of their land or having well-intentioned quiet arguments on where the boundary lay.

Naasade made sure to never capture a recording of one. He always left his swoop idling; his helmet, with its shitty voice pickup, never got anything over the rumble of the engine it was sitting right on top of; and in the dark, with companion in shadow or behind a large boulder, the video feed also caught nothing.

Their meetings also fell in seemingly random intervals. Actually it had more to do with which of Onderon’s moons had completed its cycle, but most Imps never bothered to learn the traditions of the planets they’d invaded. A great deal of local mythology was built on the phases of Onderon’s satellites.

Naasade just considered himself lucky that tonight was one of those predetermined meetings, and that he wouldn’t need to run the risk of requesting emergency contact.

He parked his swoop near a generously-sized boulder and got up to stretch, and stare at the stars. He was making good time, anyway—as always.

Radha was already waiting for him, but that wasn’t unusual either.

“Late, Commander,” a low voice said from behind the stone.

“Just fine,” he murmured. “How’s the patient?”

“Pain in everybody’s arse,” Radha shot back without a second’s hesitation. “Could be worse, though. Should’ve moved out a month ago, said they wanted to stay—to help out around the house.”

Naasade raised an eyebrow at the night sky. “And you don’t need the help,” he said flatly.

“Naw, we do,” Radha’s grin was audible, “but we’re not the only ones. There’s others they could assist. Not complaining, anyway. Not really.”

He knew the frustration in that voice—was intimately familiar with it. Definitely a Jedi, then, Naasade thought. ‘Helping about the house’ could mean anything, too, from training the troops to literally helping them explore the cave passageways. He suppressed a heavy sigh. “You’re gonna need all the help you can get, soon.”

“Shit.” He caught sight of the dull glow of a discarded tabac stick before it was viciously ground out. “Storm?”

Naasade nodded, mentally reviewing the last known fleet positions. “Big one.”

The Governor could be a right bastard, but Moff Sesirri Tanai had control over this sector at the moment. She was cold, calculating, and absolutely ruthless. At least she wasn’t also Tarkin-levels of destructive.

Sesirri was pragmatic, though, even in her overkill.

Radha swore fervently. “When?”

“Soon. Eight days,” at a minimum. Naasade thought about it a moment, wondering what to expect from Moff Tanai. “Expect nightcrawlers,” he added.

Death Commandos. From behind the stone, Naasade thought he heard a strangled curse as the realisation hit. They hadn’t exactly needed to use that particular shorthand phrase before. “Can your friend get out on their own?”

“I don’t know,” Radha said. “If I tell them, they won’t leave. They’ll want to help.”

Naasade snorted quietly. “Figures. Can you relocate?”

Radha was silent for a moment. “Do they know where our house is?”

An excellent question. Ty never said, but there had to be a record of sightings, suspected resistance outposts. “I’ll ask around.” He’d picked up a trick or two from slicers over the years, and with the right set of commands, computers didn’t mind questions nearly as much as people might. “When can you take delivery?”

“Fourth moon.”

Naasade grimaced. “City beat.”

“Then I’ll find you. At market?”

“Generator side. Prearranged drop-off site.”

“Done,” Radha agreed. “Now go home, Imp.”

Naasade smiled faintly. “You too, Rebel scum.

[downplaystore]

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