Chapter Text
You’ve messed up numerous times in your life. Stolen stuff you probably shouldn’t have, made deals with people who didn’t take “because it was funny” as a good excuse, and had a one-night stand on some remote backwater planet, and then were surprised when they stole your ship—in hindsight, you should’ve seen that one coming light-years away. It’s honestly surprising that you’ve managed to survive this long, given your track record of doing things that would’ve gotten most people severely injured, if not killed.
Unfortunately, your luck may have just run out, for you have stolen a ship from some rather uptight rebels. Hotwiring it to unlock all the doors so you could eat their rations, and dressing up in a rebel uniform because their clothes were made from much nicer materials, you were caught by the First Order. As it turns out, jumping through hyperspace with no clue about your surroundings or the ship you’re piloting doesn’t lead to great outcomes. Who would’ve guessed that?
You had been looking through one of the lockers aboard your stolen ship when a loud bang echoed through the hull quickly, followed by shaking that knocked you off your feet. You scrambled to the cockpit only to find three TIE-fighters zooming past you, two of them circling back while the first—probably the leader—turned their ship to face you.
Over the intercom, you heard a loud, rather static-y voice announce:
“You are now in First Order territory. Come with us, or we will use force. We will not ask again.”
Your immediate instinct was to make a run for it, but you quickly decided against it since you had no knowledge of how to pilot this particular ship very well and had absolutely zero chance of being able to fight back. Sitting down in the pilot’s chair, you press the comlink connecting the ship’s microphone to the speakers in the TIE-fighter.
“Seriously? I wasn’t even doing anything!” You tried to reason, hoping that maybe this person would have even the slightest bit of understanding, or sense of bad humour. “Come on, I’m just trying to find some planet with a decent restaurant! The rations on this thing are garbage.”
After a few minutes of back-and-forth with the other pilot, it became clear that it was either go with them or be blown to pieces. You chose the first option. The three TIE-fighters led you back to the Finalizer, a massive mega-ship that could take down a dozen fleets on its own and had a slight resemblance to a few triangle-shaped cheese chips stacked on top of one another. The thought only reminded you of how much you wanted some decent food, a dream that was slowly becoming more and more difficult to achieve.
When you were escorted inside one of the Finalizer’s docking bays, the shield was put up to stop you from leaving. That was followed up by your ship being surrounded by stormtroopers with their blasters pointed towards it. It seemed like an awful lot of fanfare for one rebel ship, but maybe there was something important about it. You didn’t know; you were a thief for force’s sake.
An officer called out for everyone aboard to exit the ship with their hands up, which you did once you managed to figure out how to open the main hatch —this ship had too many damn buttons. You couldn’t have been more than three steps off the ship before an officer kicked you in the back of your knees, forcing you to the ground as he cuffed your hands behind your back.
“Hey, what the fuck was that for?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to glare at the man who was manhandling you. “Now my knees are gonna be bruised. Rude…”
The man didn’t respond to your complaint; instead, he began to bark orders to search the ship. While groups of stormtroopers rushed into the ship, blasters raised and ready to fire, the officer who had cuffed you started emptying your pockets and checking for anything of interest. What he found was a couple of credits, a half-eaten granola bar, your slightly rusted blaster, and some shiny trinkets you had discovered in some of the rooms on your stolen ship. He gave everything to another officer, telling them to take it to inspection.
“Funny seeing such a high-ranking resistance member all alone. I would’ve thought you would’ve at least had some guards or something.” He sneered, a look of superiority on his face. “You rebels really are stupid, aren’t you?”
You were just about to open your mouth when the sound of a door’s hiss caught your attention, and in stepped a man with his hands clasped behind his back, followed by two stormtroopers. His ginger hair was combed back with enough gel to make him waterproof, and his eyes were sharp enough to cut through dura-steel. He looked like the epitome of a military man, his posture ramrod stiff with years of training, although your first thought was “the stick up his ass must be massive if he stands like that all the time”.
“General Hux,” the officer saluted, standing at attention as the orange-haired man made his way towards you. “The stormtroopers are searching the ship as we speak. This rebel was the only one to come out, but if there are more, we will know soon.”
General Hux didn’t reply to the officer; his attention instead fixed only on you. Without warning, he roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He tilted your head side to side, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at you with a critical gaze.
“Pathetic.” He hissed, releasing your chin and turning to the officer once again. “Take them to my office. I intend to have a small… chat with the rebel.”
Once again, you were about to tell them that you were, in fact, not a rebel, but all thoughts of being even roughly truthful went out the airlock when the officer hauled you to your feet and began to half-drag, half-walk you out of the docking bay. The litany of curses and insults you spewed would’ve made even the hardiest of sailors blush. Eventually, your never-ending stream of words pissed off the officer enough to gag you, but even that somehow didn’t stop you from annoying the hell out of them.
By the time you finally arrived at what you assumed was the General’s office, the officer in charge of bringing you there had resorted to carrying you over his shoulder and tying your legs together after you had kicked him in the shin and attempted to book it—needless to say, you got several very confused looks from the officers that passed you. The man all but threw you onto the chair in front of the General’s desk once you made it through the doors, not even bothering to tie you to it since all your limbs were bound anyway. It wasn’t all that comfortable, but the gag in your mouth made it difficult to voice your complaints to the officer who was intent on getting far away from you.
Now all alone in the General’s office, you had time to reflect on just how well and truly fucked you were. Most people who got captured by the First Order didn’t make it out alive, and while you could be a pretty good escape artist, most of the places you had escaped from were not military fortresses in the middle of space.
As you looked around the room for something to help you escape, you noticed just how dreadfully dull the room was: black-and-white furniture, no paintings or pictures, and not a single decoration in sight.
Great. You were going to die in the most boring office known to man. And the worst part? You were still hungry.