Ouroboros

Nine

Nine:

They managed to get down four levels before they ran into a pair of Stormtroopers who were marching through the passageway. The three fugitives and droid skidded to a halt and there was an awkward moment where the Stormtroopers realised there was something very wrong with the picture-but in that moment, Ben advanced, his brow furrowed and gloved hand flung forward, causing the men to recoil in memory of his reputation. And in that moment, he lunged forward, an accurate blow slamming the first stormtrooper back as he wrenched the blaster from his grasp. His fellow had no time to even react before he was blasted and he hadn't hit the deck before the weapon finished off the first man.

Poe and Finn stared at him in shock before practicality set in and they harvested the remaining trooper's weapon. Ben was already heading off to the nearest turbolift, the gun grasped in his hands as Poe shared a concerned look with Finn.

"Wait up," he called as they accelerated after him. He paused as they ducked back, avoiding a squad of troopers who were walking briskly in the direction of the detention block.

"What?" he asked as soon as they had passed.

"I-we-didn't expect that," Poe explained.

"What-you thought I would just hand you in-or stand there and get shot? You really didn't have much of an opinion of me, did you?"

"Never gave us any reason to," Finn pointed out as Ben took a shaky breath.

"I was a monster," he murmured, echoing Rey's words-the words that had rolled around his memory every day since. "Everything I did was for my Master-for Snoke-and for the First Order. Any sentiment was weakness, any past was a canker that had to be destroyed. But Rey never gave up on me. She believed that I could be saved. So did my mother. And when I felt Mom die...I felt her love and her faith in me. Even when she died, she still loved me as a son." He peered at the next group of stormtroopers marching past and found it provided the instant he needed to push down those emotions once more. He would be damned before he exposed them before these men. "Rey saved me. Mom saved me. I made the choice-to reject everything I had been. To become the boy I had tried to destroy." He glanced over. "You need to get that part to the Falcon."

"We need to get it to Chewie," Finn corrected him. "How are we getting off here?"

BB8 beeped and rolled to the nearest data port. Poe nodded.

"We won't all fit in a TIE fighter this time," he pointed out. Ben gave a small smile as they trotted to the port overlooking the main hanger.

"No-we can take that," he said and pointed. The impressive shape of a Command Shuttle was parked, its wings folded up for landing and the ramp down. "It's fast, armed and big enough."

"Unless they send TIE fighters after us," Finn pointed out.

"Are you always this positive?" Ben asked him, his eyes narrowing. He pointed to the left. "You two-go that way. I'll cover you from there." And then he dashed off in the opposite direction. Poe frowned.

"I see what you mean," he murmured. "You could really swear that he is genuine." Then he nodded to Finn. "Now let's get a ride out of here. BB8-stay close!"

Knowing his way around the Finalizer was different to striding around without a care and with everyone cringing away from him in fear but Ben had no time to ponder on the change in his fortunes. The next group of guards he met had clearly heard of the escape and that Peavey had moved against him: they fired on him without hesitation. Turning, he returned fire and picked them off swiftly, his aim unerring. The Force had always helped him hit what he aimed for and he was relieved that, despite the chemical wall that had blunted his ability to access his higher order Force abilities, some of his instincts were still functional. And he had been trained for battle from before he had destroyed the Jedi Temple. Luke had taught him Jedi techniques and Snoke had hammered in lessons on using his strength and anger, never eschewing the lethal stroke or any advantage. He had honed his Force powers to deflect blaster bolts, slam any item he could get his hands on into an enemy and, of course, he had used his lightsaber to terrible effect. Battle had inflamed his blood, heightening his senses so he could taste their fear, smear the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of seared saber wounds, hear their pants of terror and the desperate huffs as they tried to escape his hungry blade. And he saw it all, every image branded on the inside of his eyelids, to haunt him every night until the day he died.