Allegiance | Kylo Ren

XII

I held my arms out to present my very-alive self. "Yeah. Very alive."

I wasn't sure where the voice had come from. It could have been any one of the many shocked faces throughout the room. Nobody had moved. Their eyes were all still fixed on me, and I suddenly felt very small underneath their stares.

"Where have you been?" Someone asked at last, shattering the silence.

"In the hospital wing." I replied, making my way to my bunk. It was left empty, untouched since I had left it the morning of the mission. All this sudden attention was putting me on edge; I just wanted them to finish getting ready and leave, the sooner the better.

"Are you coming with us?" Someone else inquired. The room was still quiet; their words seemed to echo off the ghostly walls.

"No." I pulled open the drawer of my bedside dresser, pulling out a set of base layer clothing. There was no purpose to my actions; I simply didn't want to stand and do nothing while facing their curious questioning.

"Why not?" Each inquiry was made by a new voice. It was like facing an interrogation blindfolded; I couldn't tell where the question was coming from, so I didn't know where to aim my response. Instead, I kept my eyes fixed on the small pile of clothing in front of me, fiddly slightly with the hem along the neckline of the shirt.

"I'm on bedrest for the rest of the day, and then I start two weeks of physical therapy tomorrow." I replied evenly, smoothing out nonexistent creases in the clothing. At this point I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I knew the other troopers would be surprised and most likely unhappy about the physical therapy; such thorough care was unheard of for troopers. We were disposable, and we knew it. If we broke, we were simply thrown away and replaced.

But not me, for some reason.

Someone scoffed. "Physical therapy?"

To my relief, the other troopers began to return to their preparations, strapping on their last pieces of armor and lacing up their boots. I could hear indignant mutterings from every side; just like me, they were wondering what I did to deserve such special and extensive treatment. Their resentment crackled in the air around me. I swallowed shakily, pretending not to hear their whispered judgments. Without speaking to me, they pulled on their helmets and filed out the door, some flashing me glances as they passed. I felt my cheeks burn, keeping my eyes fixed on the bed in front of me.

I heaved a sigh of relief as the final trooper left and the door slid shut behind them. I sat heavily on my bed, suddenly feeling desperately alone. I ran my fingers over the embroidery on the base layer shirt—my name. CL-1823. The number was my name, my identity. It defined me. It was who I was.

But as I stared down at it, my mind began to wander. Kylo Ren didn't have a code for a name. He wasn't two letters and four numbers. He was a two-part name. General Hux had a name, even though we only knew the last part of it. Captain Phasma had a name. Even Mason had a name, not a number.

I frowned. Why didn't I have a name? Suddenly I wanted nothing more than to have a name instead of a code. I didn't want to be CL-1823. I wanted to be a name. To have a name meant to be somebody—an individual, not a number or a faceless figure.

As I lay back on my bed, enjoying the familiarity of the sheets against my skin, I frowned. My fingers played absentmindedly with the end of one of my braids.

Maybe if I had a name I wouldn't be so lonely.

A small part of me wanted to be back in the hospital room. At least there I had the company of Kylo and Mason, and I wasn't surrounded by judgmental troopers or completely alone. Even in silence, Kylo's presence had been something. And Mason had always been reliably friendly. But here, now, I was entirely alone, and I wasn't sure how much I liked that.