After Crait, the Resistance is all but decimated. It will take time before they regain the strength and numbers to be anything more than an annoyance to the First Order. In the meanwhile, the Force bond between Rey and the new Supreme Leader not onl...
SUMMARY: Kylo Ren attempts to find a negotiator from the lower ranks of the First Order.
I'm introducing another OC character in this chapter. I imagine Dylan O'Brian in this role, a.k.a. Stiles from Teen Wolf.
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"S-sir?" The technician stutters.
Kylo Ren sighs inside his mask. He's standing at the end of the meeting room, facing a giant window that overlooks the port.
If he has to repeat himself one more time...
He whips around, so abruptly the technician jumps. The man is trembling, fighting to look directly at the blankness of the mask.
"What can you tell me about the Lords of Asphodel?"
"Ah." The technician says this he understands, but he's clearly confused. "The Lords of Asphodel, yes. They are..." His eyes drift up. "A gang? In the Outer Rim?"
Kylo stares coldly. "Where are you from again?"
"F-Fornax, sir," the technician stutters. "In the Mid Rim."
"Get out." Kylo turns to the port. A second passes, and he hears nothing. "Now."
Footsteps recede to the end of the room. A door whirs open, and they're gone.
Kylo gazes at the port, hands clasped behind him. Throngs of black-clad figures— technicians, engineers, supply workers— dart to and fro in a frenzy of motion that looks like chaos but is organized nonetheless.
He shakes his head.
Over a thousand. A thousand.
That's how many names were submitted when he sent the command every officer in the lower ranks of the First Order. The request was simple— Identify at least one person per unit who's overqualified for their current position, by education, skill, or intelligence, someone who's a strong communicator, who shows promise in leadership, and most importantly, is familiar with Outer Rim planets and politics.
A thousand names, a thousand possibilities.
A team of officers spent the last week vetting the pool, whittling it down to five hundred, then two hundred, then fifty, and finally fifteen.
Fifteen finalists, supposedly the best in all the lower ranks, gems in a sea of insignificant pebbles.
And he just spent the last hour watching twelve of them tremble like children as they stuttered out their histories and gave ignorant answers to his questions.
Kylo tightens his jaw.
Idiots. Small-minded fools.
He honestly didn't expect anything different. This past hour has only been a confirmation of what he already knew.
