The Ghost emerged from hyperspace, its engines rumbling quietly as it approached the hidden Rebel base. Nestled within the rocky caverns of an uninhabited planet, the base was one of the many scattered across the galaxy, a hub of activity for those fighting against the Empire. For the crew of the Ghost, it was a place of refuge. For Kallus, it was a daunting step into the unknown.
As the ship touched down, Kallus stood at the ramp, watching as the crew prepared to disembark. His heart raced, but outwardly, he kept his expression neutral, his posture rigid.
The ramp lowered, and as the crew stepped off the ship, Kallus followed, his movements precise and measured, the way he had been trained. Even though he was with the Rebels now, the ingrained habits of Imperial discipline hadn't left him. His back was straight, his eyes focused ahead, and he walked with the same clipped steps he always had.
But as they made their way through the bustling base, Kallus could feel the weight of the stares on him. Rebel soldiers and officers turned to look as he passed, some with open disgust, others with wary curiosity. He wasn't surprised—they knew who he was. The former ISB Agent who had hunted them down for years. Now, he was supposedly one of them.
But they didn't trust him yet. How could they?
Kallus didn't blame them. He had been an enemy for so long, and now he was walking among them like a wolf in sheep's clothing. He could see it in their eyes—the suspicion, the doubt, the fear. Some whispered as he passed, their voices low but just loud enough for him to hear snippets of their conversations.
"That's Kallus? The Imperial defector?"
"I don't trust him. What if he's still working for the Empire?"
"Should've locked him up instead of letting him walk around freely."
Kallus' jaw tightened, but he didn't let his face betray any emotion. He had expected this reaction. What he hadn't expected was the subtle unease creeping into his own mind. He wasn't sure how to act. He wasn't sure who he was supposed to be now. For so long, he had been ISB Agent Kallus, the loyal servant of the Empire. Now, in the heart of the Rebellion, that identity no longer fit.
The Ghost crew led him to a large briefing room where several senior Rebel officers were waiting. Hera had warned him that this would happen—before he could be fully accepted, he would have to answer for his past. He would have to prove that his conversion was genuine.
As he stepped inside, the room fell silent. The officers, sitting around a long table, looked at him with steely eyes. Mon Mothma, standing at the head of the table, gave him a nod but kept her expression neutral.
"Agent Kallus," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Thank you for coming. We understand you've made the decision to leave the Empire and join our cause. However, before we can welcome you into the Rebellion, we need to hear your full story. We need to be certain."
Kallus nodded stiffly. "I understand."
The next few hours were grueling. The officers asked him about everything—Imperial tactics, codes, fleet movements, and his own role within the ISB. Kallus answered each question with the same methodical precision he had always used as an Imperial agent, his voice flat and detached, reciting information as though it were a report. He told them about the atrocities he had witnessed, the orders he had carried out, the missions he had led against Rebel cells. He held nothing back.
But as the night wore on, Kallus found himself feeling increasingly... unsettled. Each answer he gave brought back memories he had tried to bury. The things he had done in the name of the Empire, the lives he had destroyed—all of it weighed heavier than ever before.
And the officers? They listened in silence, their faces unreadable, making notes as he spoke. He couldn't tell if they believed him, if they trusted him. Part of him wondered if they ever would.
After hours of interrogation, Kallus was finally dismissed. His throat was dry, his body stiff from sitting so long, but the exhaustion was more emotional than physical. The officers hadn't been hostile, but their scrutiny had been relentless, and Kallus felt exposed in a way he hadn't anticipated. He had laid bare his past, and now he had to wait to see if they would accept him.
As he left the room, Hera was waiting for him outside, her expression soft but concerned. "How did it go?"
Kallus shrugged, his face still tight with the mask of control he had worn throughout the interview. "As expected. They were thorough."
Hera nodded, but she didn't press him. "You'll be called back for more, I'm sure. But for now, you need to get checked out in the medbay. That's standard procedure."
Kallus gave a curt nod, following her through the base to the medical wing. It felt surreal, walking through a Rebel base like this, going through procedures that were so similar yet so different from the Imperial ones he had been used to. His body moved mechanically, his posture still rigid, still the Imperial officer despite everything.
When they reached the medbay, Kallus was greeted by a stern-looking medic who instructed him to sit while they ran diagnostics. The medical droid hovered nearby, scanning him with a cold, clinical efficiency. Kallus remained silent, staring ahead as the medic took his vitals, checked his wounds, and examined him for any lasting injuries.
The medic didn't speak to him beyond basic instructions, and Kallus didn't mind. He was used to this kind of treatment, but here, the tension felt different. He wasn't just another soldier—he was an outsider, a potential threat. And he could feel that mistrust seeping through every interaction.
After the physical exam, he was escorted to a small office where a Rebel psychologist awaited him. The psychologist was calm, soft-spoken, but Kallus could sense the underlying purpose of this meeting. It wasn't just about his physical health—they wanted to make sure he was mentally fit to join the Rebellion. They wanted to see if he could truly be trusted.
"How are you feeling, Kallus?" the psychologist asked, her tone neutral.
Kallus sat stiffly in the chair, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. "I'm fine."
The psychologist nodded, making a note. "I understand this transition must be difficult for you. You've been with the Empire for a long time. It's not easy to change sides."
Kallus stared straight ahead. "I made my choice."
"Yes, but that doesn't mean the process is easy," she said gently. "You've been through a lot. And the way you carry yourself—the way you speak, the way you walk—it's still very much tied to your Imperial training. That's normal. It's all you've known."
Kallus' jaw tightened. He hadn't realized how obvious it was, but of course, she was right. His entire life had been shaped by the Empire. Now, standing among the Rebels, he felt out of place, like a cog trying to fit into a machine that worked on entirely different principles.
"You don't have to prove yourself to everyone in one day," she continued, her voice soft. "This will take time."
Kallus wasn't sure how to respond. His mind was still trying to reconcile who he was with who he was becoming. The thought that he was no longer part of the Empire still felt alien to him, even though he had made the decision to leave. He had given them everything—codes, tactics, secrets—but it didn't erase the years of loyalty he had once given to the Empire.
As he left the psychologist's office, the weight of it all pressed down on him. The stares from other Rebels as he passed by still lingered, a mix of disgust, caution, and curiosity. They didn't know him—only the name, the reputation. The ISB Agent. The Imperial enforcer.
And even now, Kallus wasn't sure he knew himself either.
