Allegiance | Kylo Ren

III

I awoke to the sound of beeping. Almost hesitantly, I opened my eyes, but was pleasantly surprised that the room I was in was dark. No blinding lights, no loud noises. Just me and the beeping.

The beeping turned out to be a heart monitor. The needle in my arm was still there, but it was accompanied by more wires that ran through the neck of my shirt to a strap that went around my chest, detecting the contractions of my heart.

The room was smaller than the hospital wing. Another bed was locked in place next to me, but it was empty, untouched. I stared at the ceiling, trying to locate any pain in my torso. There was none.

I was startled by the sudden opening of the door. Mason stood in the doorway, looking tired. He flicked on the lights and I blinked.

"You love to keep us busy, don't you?" He shook his head as he entered the room, checking my monitor and slightly adjusting my medication drip. "You've just got to be the center of attention."

Resentment sparked in my chest despite the fact that he was joking.

"Sorry." I muttered.

"We reinforced all of your internal stitches, so it should be harder to reopen them a second time." He informed me, his green eyes piercing. "Though you'll probably manage to anyway."

"Where am I now?" I inquired, lying extra still so as to prove him wrong.

"You're in a private medical facility just outside the public wing." His face was serious, all traces of jokes gone. "Here, we'll be able to keep a closer eye on you, and you'll be away from the craziness of the wing."

"How long was I out this time?" I almost dreaded hearing the answer.

"Only about thirty-six hours." He chuckled lightly. "You're a sleeper, that's for sure."

"How did the mission go? The one I missed? When can I return to my post?" The questions were starting to come faster and faster, and I was mildly impressed by Mason's composure as he answered each of them.

"It was a successful mission." He tucked his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Another city taken, another victory for the First Order."

I smiled, and heaved a sigh of relief. "Good. When is the next mission?"

"They leave again tomorrow morning." I felt a rush of disappointment at missing another mission so soon. "As for your return, due to your little," he paused, searching for the right word, "incident in the medical wing, we've decided to keep you a little longer, just so we can monitor your internal healing more closely."

I groaned. "How much longer is 'a little longer'?"

He chewed his lip before answering. "It shouldn't be more than three weeks."

"Three weeks?!" The beeping accelerated as I almost shouted. "I can't miss three weeks!"

"You also can't be in active duty with extensive and erratic internal damage." Mason retorted. "You won't only be a threat to yourself, but you could also put others in danger."

"So, what?" I was fuming, fighting to find the words. "I just sit here while the other troopers go into combat, risking their lives day in and day out? While they complete missions for the Order, without me?"

"Yes." He shrugged, not fazed by my outburst.

My head fell back in an expression of exasperation. "Mason," my voice was quiet now. "Why am I alive? Why are you fighting so hard to keep me alive? How could I, a single trooper, possibly be worth all this?"

Mason let out a sigh. "Honestly, I don't know." He ran his fingers through his sandy-colored hair. "All I know is that you were brought home from battle, which means you mean enough to somebody to be kept alive."

"And who is somebody?"

"I don't know." He sounded defeated. "General Hux? Lord Ren? I don't know. Either way, if you were important enough to be brought back, then you're important enough to be kept alive, no matter the cost." He gave me a teasing nudge, trying to lighten the mood. "Even if it means keeping the entire medical staff awake for more than twenty hours straight."

I laughed lightly, feeling a rush of gratitude. "Thank you. For everything."

He gave my leg a gentle pat. "Just doing my job. Get some rest, kid, and you'll be out of here before you know it." With that, he flicked off the lights and left the room, leaving me to myself.

The moment the lights went off, I was filled with a restless energy. I was tired of being confined to a bed, not allowed to even sit up. I wanted to walk, to run, to move. But I knew I could not, unless I wanted to risk another rupture, and Mason's wrath.

I stared at the ceiling, desperately searching for a way to fill my mind with some kind of activity. Sleep was not an option at this point; sleeping for seventy-two and then thirty-six hours straight has a way of making tiredness seem impossible. My mind was awake, alive, and while my body was busy repairing itself, my thoughts were in full throttle.

Why was I alive? No one seemed to have an answer. The only thing anyone could think of was that I held some kind of importance, something of enough magnitude to make me worth a full day's surgery, primary care, and a private facility. I was a Stormtrooper, nothing else. I had never been anything else. My earliest memories took place in the early trooper training program, where I was assigned a number and a bunk to sleep in. I was CL-1823. I wasn't important; I was a face in a crowd, one of thousands of troopers designed to be dispensable and deployed into countless missions where death was a constant risk. The moment I decided to take the shot from that blaster, I had sealed my own fate to be abandoned and left to bleed out, another casualty for the statistics.

So why was I still alive?