Chapter Text
Another gunshot, another broken neck and another day in paradise.
Benjamin Solo hastily hooks back both firearms into his shoulder holster, pushing back his sweat-damp hair from his face. He wheezes as he hunches over, his palms gripping his knees as his eyes skim the abandoned warehouse that’s now littered with bodies. No stray survivors.
He watches his cohort, Armitage Hux, point a gun at the final opponent’s forehead to finish him off, but when the weapon only clicks—signalling it’s empty—Hux violently smashes a wooden pole to crack the male’s skull.
“Hux—” Ben roars, slinging three large bags of spice over his broad shoulders. “We gotta go now!”
“We could've been out of here earlier, if you didn’t pull a bloody tantrum and started shooting everyone!” Hux barks back, scrambling for the final two bags.
“He was being a little shit about the credits,” Ben grumbled. “And he fucking deserved it.”
“If you keep taking out everyone you disagreed with, there’s going to be no one left to do business with, you dumb cunt!”
Suddenly, flashes of lights flicker through the dirty window panes. Hux throws a stunned glare at Ben—likely just as startled at how quickly the enforcers showed up on their tail this time. Someone from the supplier’s side must’ve tipped them off, Ben thinks, gesturing towards the entrance they came in earlier.
They bolt straight out of the main hangar, running down the corridor.
“Mitaka, where the hell are you?” Ben yells into his earpiece.
“On the way, Commander. Just loaded the last of the rifle crates. ETA five minutes.”
“We might not be here in five minutes. Step on it!” Hux exclaims, his voice starting to show cracks of panic. He sprints hard, overtaking Ben and reaches for one of exit handles—
—before the metal doors crash wide open, slamming Hux backwards into the ground.
Ben’s instincts kick in like clockwork, dropping his spice bags and immediately throwing himself into a nearby storage room. He rolls away behind a tall stack of containers, pressing his back against it. Hot-headed as he may be, he’ll always do a preliminary assessment on the number of enforcers he’ll need to deal with.
“Don’t move, asshole,” a male voice growls. “Where’s your boss?”
Hux spits out, “Go screw yourself—” before he grunts in pain, evidently from being kicked in the chest.
Another pair of footsteps come in and the first enforcer hastily instructs, “Rey—cuff this guy and bind his legs too. With a spice and weapon shipment like this, the First Order wouldn’t have sent him alone.”
Crouching carefully, Ben peers over the top. Through the doorway, Hux is face down in the corridor, cursing as a female enforcer restrains his hands behind his back. He can’t make out her face, but he notices her petite frame and brown hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Ben’s nostrils flare in disgust. Has the quality of their soldiers started to weaken? He could literally snap that girl in half if he wanted to.
“Captain Dameron—” the male enforcer speaks into his earpiece. “We need backup. We're holding one of them, but we don’t know how many more there are in the vicinity. I don’t wanna take any chances.”
Fuck, Ben swears under his breath.
He had to act now before they brought their entire fucking brigade down here. No aid from the First Order would arrive on time at this point. There are zero divisions nearby this zone—an isolated neutral sector that was strategically selected for this transaction. He’ll burn in hell before allowing Snoke to chastise him for requesting backup at the eleventh hour.
“Do we have Kylo Ren in custody?” the voice responds back.
“Negative, but from the First Order's public holograms, we have his number two. If Kylo Ren is here, he’ll be close by.”
“It's imperative we capture him. We cannot allow him to escape.”
“Yes, Captain. But we'd appreciate some reinforcements. I don’t know how heavily armed he’ll be.”
Kylo Ren is the eponymous underworld identity that Ben is widely known as. The Resistance has been hunting him for years, and he couldn’t help but gloat at how terrified they are to face him in small numbers.
“Copy that, Finn. The second squad is on their way. ETA ten minutes.”
Officer Finn gestures down the corridor to his partner. “Scope the two storage rooms at twelve o’clock. I’ll do a sweep of this one. Meet back here in five, and we’ll take the main hangar together.”
“Stay down!” Officer Rey orders Hux.
Ben raises an eyebrow with interest. Such a pretty voice, he muses.
As Finn enters the room, surveying the place with a gun aimed, Ben whips out his army knife. Stooping as low as he possibly can—a downside of his monstrous build—Ben waits until the proximity is advantageous before he springs up, elbowing the Resistance officer hard in the nose to disorient him.
In a frightening speed, Ben violently twists Finn’s arm, jamming the blade into the officer’s back while narrowly missing the spine and vital organs. He holds his opponent in a choke-hold until the struggling stops, watching the officer finally go limp and motionless. But just as he slides the knife back out, Finn's earpiece buzzes—
“All clear at my position. Making my way towards you. What’s your status?”
Ben closes his eyes to deliberate. Mitaka must be at the rendezvous point by now, just around the corner through the exit doors the enforcers came from.
There’s little value for him to finish off this low-ranking nobody. However, if this officer had been that insufferable Resistance Captain Poe Dameron, that would have been a different story. He’s had many run-ins with Dameron, who more recently succeeded in destroying some of the First Order’s crucial supply vehicles a couple of months back, killing many of their comrades that day. They have yet to even the score since.
And Ben has always been a vindictive bastard anyway.
Or maybe—he didn’t want to upset that cute little officer by killing her partner. He releases Finn, allowing the unconscious male to drop onto the floor.
Ben clicks his earpiece. “Hux's been compromised. I need you to move the vehicle to Exit C. The Resistance backup will be on site in less than five minutes.”
“Affirmative. On my way,” Mitaka replies.
Ben skids out of the room and picks up his gagged cohort, flinging Hux over his shoulder while the other hand grabs three of the spice bags. His brute strength remains unopposed and no subordinate has ever dared to challenge his authority since he rose through the ranks. Kicking open the doors, he sees Mitaka slamming the brakes on their armoured hummer.
“Grab the last two bags!” Ben thunders, throwing Hux and the spice into the backseat before leaping to the front, switching the gears in preparation.
After loading the remaining cargo in, gunshot sounds burst from behind, the bullets already flying off the vehicle’s side door. “Let’s go!” Mitaka yells, slamming the door shut. He leans out of the window with his weapon, wildly firing back. Ben floors the engine and proficiently swerves it out of range.
The flashes of lights in the distance grow as Resistance units race to the site, just in time to find that the mighty Kylo Ren—Commander to the First Order terrorist organisation and right-hand man of its criminal warlord Supreme Leader Snoke—has eluded them again.
*****
“Some asshole from the network must’ve tipped off the Resistance about today's meet,” Hux hoarsely points out, icing his bruised chest. “How else could the first two arrive that quickly?”
Ben leans back against his chair with a smug expression. "Oh yeah?"
Hux shoots him a deadly scowl. “I still stand by my earlier comment. If you keep fucking them up, there’s gonna be limited places to source ammunitions. ”
“They questioned the First Order’s ability to compensate him!”
The door to the control room bursts open. The tall, elderly Snoke trudges inside with two security officers flanking him. Ben and Hux fall silent, immediately rising from their seats, folding their arms behind their backs as their regent takes a seat at the head of the table.
“Very good, Ren. Our power should never be challenged. No matter how insignificant the fools are,” Snoke rumbles deeply. “None should have the flexibility to question anything about us.”
“Yes, Supreme Leader,” they respond back in unison.
“But it is troubling—” and Snoke fists his hands together on the table. “We seem to have a rat delivering the Resistance intelligence about our moves. They must be offering payment or protection to our suppliers that we're not privy to. We cannot let this continue. A message needs to be sent. Today it may just be our resource lines, but tomorrow it’ll be something else. Something far more critical to our empire.”
“I don’t suggest another full-scale attack on their headquarters yet,” Hux says. “We’ve got a number of divisions in the outer zones right now—clearing off blockades set by the Resistance. It may be at least another week before they return to base.”
Snoke waves his hand dismissively. “Can we pull them back now?”
“With respect—” Ben advises. “I don’t think it’s wise to stop the incursion into the outer zones. I hear the outcome is mostly victorious in seizing various Resistance sectors. We shouldn’t kill that momentum.”
“What is the proposed alternative?”
“Our own ranks are heavily vetted on a daily basis. If there’s someone extracting information, they must’ve infiltrated through our criminal connections. I’ll just need to investigate and ensure the scum is weeded out.”
Hux nods. “I concur.”
“Very well, Ren. You will lead this.” Snoke turns to Hux with a frown. “Captain—I need you to start looking into new recruits to build up our troops. We cannot afford non-expansion when our enemies are leading attempts to incapacitate my top officers and bungle my operations.”
For a moment, the conversation seemed to be over.
Soon, an infuriated expression forms on Snoke’s face. Looking back and forth between the two men standing before him, lifting a bony finger towards Ben. “You deliberately disobeyed me again. I ordered you not to get involved in these menial tasks anymore. You are the Commander of the First Order, are you not? Or have you decided to return to the life of a grunt?”
Hux hastily intervenes. “Supreme Leader—the fault is mine. I confided in Commander Ren on our deficiency in specialist squadrons for today's job. Existing units have been deployed to the outer zones, so this was a strategic decision assessed by me to allocate manpower elsewhere.” He continues further with a hint of bitterness. “It is because of his presence that we're able to lead it as a three-man operation instead of the standard ten.”
Snoke seems to contemplate this. “Regardless, my protege is not to join any more assignments that needlessly exposes him. If their goal is to target him, he’s only required for critical field operations.” He inclines back into his seat. “Let Sergeant Mitaka manage supply runs, and he may take as many backup troops as he wishes. But this is exactly why I need the recruitment process, Armitage. It angers me beyond belief that we do not have enough manpower for a simple assignment—till you require your Commander to be the cushion for slip ups.”
Ben's fist tightens. “Surely you don’t mean for me to hide while I let the ground team take the hits? Those Resistance trash will never be able to—”
“My word is final, my young Kylo Ren. They're replaceable, but you however, are not. Am I clear?”
*****
Later that night, Ben stretches back into a booth with Hux at a sordid hotel bar. After many years of careful strategy, the First Order now commands an iron stronghold across the underworld system. Ben does a quick scan to see at least seven First Order security officers patrolling outside the bar, with five sitting inside. Those who recognise him and Hux, salute as they pass by.
“How painful was it?” Ben asks, lighting a cigarette. “To admit to the Supreme Leader that I'm the equivalent of a small division of troops?”
“Fuck you,” Hux hisses in annoyance. “It's my duty to give impartial tactical assessments to him.” He shakes his head as he huffs, “On to more important topics—regarding the spy. If it’s someone from the Resistance, it could basically be anyone, then? So you needn’t kill those Weequays earlier today!"
“Just let this fucking go—” Ben groans, sliding a glass of whisky into Hux’s waiting hands.
“Do you know how hard it is to find suppliers lately?” Hux sneers. “It’s bad for commerce if nobody wants to supply us with firearms. For fear of getting blown away by the volatile Kylo Ren—simply because he didn’t like something they said!”
Ben exhales out a puff of smoke. “Oops.”
Hux rolls his eyes. “What’s the plan? Where would you even start?”
“I’m working on it. Got a pretty good idea where the source might be.” Ben chews on a piece of ice. “You remember those Rodians we brought onboard to supply us with grenades some months ago?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, they had to hold off supplies to us for a few weeks. Said they were raided by some Resistance cunts and had to recruit replacements for the guys they lost.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So, you ignorant shit—” Ben shakes his head in disbelief at the sluggish-minded Hux. “We’ve not had any issues with our operations until they came in. Since then, we’ve had four narrow misses with our shipments. Not even counting today’s fuck-up.”
“You think the mole is there?”
“Maybe.” Ben finishes his drink. “I’m quite sure they knew about today’s transaction with the Weequays. They were looking to do a supply drop with us around the same time.”
“Well, Godspeed. I’m moving out at the crack of dawn to start recruiting in Zones Four and Five.” Hux swirls his glass before sighing. “And I’d like to knock myself out cold so I can get some sleep in this dump, thank you very much.”
“What’s stopping you from returning to the command centre’s quarters to crash there? I’m only lodging here because the Rodians’ facility is around the corner.”
Hux wrinkles his nose. “I’m avoiding shit-eating grins from those that Mitaka ratted his fucking mouth to."
"About what?"
"That I was tied up by a girl."
Ben sniggers at his reply.
It wasn’t long before Hux passed out, weakened from intoxicants. Ben directs two patrolling officers to drag a wasted Captain Armitage Hux up the stairs and towards the dimly lit guest rooms. “Station yourself outside our quarters tonight,” Ben tells them. “And get someone to send up another bottle of whisky and some grapes to mine.”
He shuts the door, unhooking his shoulder holster and tossing it aside. He checks his watch. There’s still some time, he decides.
After lighting another cigarette, he enjoys a fleeting moment of peace. He strips off his clothing—still the same from the earlier showdown and takes a shower. His hands drag over the foggy mirror, meticulously trimming his facial hair before drying off.
Rummaging through a bag carrying his personal equipment, he puts on a fresh black shirt and buckles up his pants before the tactical vest is pulled over his shoulders. Laying out multiple firearms on the desk, he contemplates on his weapon of choice. He'll need to assess if the Rodians hadn’t known about the Resistance spy—or if they were blatantly feeding information out. This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve been betrayed by those who pledged allegiance to the First Order.
And the Supreme Leader will always ensure that any traitors are dealt with accordingly.
Ben pulls back his gun slide to check the ammo levels. Tsk, always having to clean up other people’s fuckups, he thinks, exhaling irately while slamming in a reload magazine.
A knock on the door comes.
“Commander, there’s someone here delivering your request,” the officer informs him. “Should I let her in?”
“Go ahead,” Ben responds without turning.
The door opens and subsequently shuts. A rattling of a tray is heard when it’s placed upon the glass table by the couch.
Still deep in concentration, he shoves one of his guns into a separate holster by the waist before pulling out his army knife from its leather sheath. Not many knew, but the object holds a bitter, emotional value for him: it once belonged to a decorated Resistance hero named Han Solo. An agonising memory that Ben will take to his grave.
“Damn—” he mutters, noticing some crusty stains on the tip. He places the handle carefully between his teeth, searching his bag for a polisher.
Suddenly, there’s a click of a door latch from the inside.
On instinct, he realises the server hasn’t left the room. This person had lingered for far too long for it to be an accident, daring to lock themselves in here with him. He wasn’t unaccustomed with assassination attempts by the Resistance, so he whips around sharply, prepared to wrench the knife out of his mouth to strike a fatal throw—
—but his body goes completely still.
It’s a girl.
Standing before him and clutching the whisky bottle in her hands.
He studies her dolled up appearance in a long, glittery gown with a risqué slit running up her left thigh. Soft, brown locks curl around her shoulders together with a fierce swipe of eyeliner around her doe-eyes. Sparkling jewellery decorates her hands and ears. She’s paler than most girls he takes notice of, but she has fascinating specks of freckles dotted along her nose, forehead and cheeks. She doesn't look like any cocktail waitress he's seen before, and he’s definitely seen plenty.
She bites her lower lip as she watches him back.
Oh my, he muses, feeling an unmistakable twitch in his pants.
Resistance Officer Rey Johnson takes in the sight of the notorious Commander Kylo Ren of the First Order looming ahead with a blade clenched between his teeth. He’s a magnificent killing machine; impossibly large chest, broad shoulders and—even with her heels—he towers over her by at least a full head and shoulders. She swallows at the size of his biceps, perfectly fitted in a shirt beneath his vest.
Uh huh, she thinks. This definitely confirms she has a thing for size.
He arches an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping her up and down. That gives her the confidence she needs. He likes what he’s seeing, and she's counting on that to her advantage. His dark eyes narrow at her—which, a little shamefully, brings a traitorous thump between her legs. Remember your duty, she warns herself.
She breaks out into her most dazzling smile. “Sir—shall I open the bottle for you and serve a glass?”
Something odd creeps into his expression for a mere second, fear spiralling through her. But that look disappears just as quickly, and he nods. He removes the knife from his mouth, firmly stabbing it into the wooden desk to display it along with the rest of his obscene arsenal.
“Ice?” she asks him sweetly.
With his eyes still glued to her, Kylo continues to move his head leisurely at her questions. She starts to worry if he’s suspecting her, but she's certain he's never seen her before.
That’s what she assured Captain Poe Dameron back at their headquarters.
During their disgraceful failure today to apprehend Kylo in the warehouse, she was fortunate enough not to encounter him in combat. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for her partner, Officer Finn Storm, who's now shackled to their medical bay with a near-paralysed body from the stab wound in his back. The medical officer declares he'll recover as critical areas were undamaged, but he’ll remain in a coma for an unforeseen period.
No doubt from the brutal work of the villainous man before her.
She, on the other hand, would see holograms of Kylo standing at the forefront of frightening propaganda messages, scattered everywhere throughout the city and First Order controlled zones. Even while his vicious nature and aggressive tactics are renowned, she found herself drawn to the unusually striking man. To be lost in his passionate focus and the mischievous flicker in his eyes.
She knew this game plan was fucked-up, but she's never been a nice girl. Not when there’s a job to be done.
His voice abruptly cuts through her thoughts. “Why don’t you pour yourself a glass as well?”
Kylo’s bass tone comes out silkily. Magnetic. It startles her and she’s starting to panic. This shouldn’t be any different from other assignments. She’s one of the best enforcers in the Resistance, or Poe wouldn’t have agreed to this suicide mission.
“Can’t drink on my shift,” she shoots back assertively. “The boss will fuck me up. If we let clients think they can bang wasted cocktail girls, no one would get served.”
“I’ll take care of that for you.” His mouth curls into an unnerving smile. “My, my, my—you have quite a nasty little mouth, don’t you? I’d love to hear what else I can make you say.”
Her blood heats up, chastising herself to maintain the charade until she can launch her attack. He’s a long way off from being in a vulnerable position—not to mention his bulletproof vest with a gun at his disposal won’t make this any easier. If the rumours about his lightning reflexes are true, she wouldn’t stand a chance.
Not yet.
Once he’s immobilised, she'll radio in for reinforcements that are waiting for the signal at least five zones away. This area has always been under First Order occupation, so dragging him out of here alive, on her own, is near impossible. Backup will need to sneak into the sector to move Kylo through the sewage systems and transport him back to Resistance safe zones.
An unmanageable feat no less, now that she’s thinking about it again.
But this is a rare opportunity to catch Kylo Ren outside of the heavily guarded First Order command centre. Even with a full-scale attack, previous attempts to penetrate that stronghold have ended with appalling results.
“Well,” she starts to say. “If you’re sure—”
“I’m sure.”
She gives in, dropping ice into two glasses and pours the whisky. As he crosses the room, settling at one end of the couch in front of her, she thinks of subtly dissolving a micro neutraliser pill into his drink that’s hidden in one of her bracelets.
But he’s watching her too closely.
When she reaches over the table to hand him the drink, he shakes his head. “No—come here. I want you to join me.” His voice is dangerously low, patting the space beside him while idly popping a few grapes into his mouth.
God, his lips are so—
Rey fidgets not to complete that thought. It’s like he’s hypnotising her, because her body reacts before her mind can.
She shamelessly sits close to him, gingerly crossing her left thigh over her right. The gown’s slit precariously falls open, exposing more of her skin as her knees clumsily bump into his, sending invisible currents up her spine. Kylo’s eyes flick to her visible thigh for a second, slowly resting a knuckle below his chin. He's dangerously unpredictable, and she's close to failing.
You’re dead, Rey, she whines internally. And this is how you’re going to die; an amorous idiot.
He finishes his first glass, throwing her look as the cue to follow. He’s cunning, she admits, to keep track of their intake. She needs to be quick, knowing what a complete light-weight she is, and becoming inebriated is the easiest way to jeopardize this mission.
“Tell me your name,” he asks with a false tenderness as she gives him a refill.
“What do you want it to be?” she mumbles, but when he gives her an ominous smirk, she sighs. “My name is Kira.” She'd rather burn in hell than share her real name. A little lie now wouldn’t hurt.
“And how old are you?”
Rey slants her head. “Does it matter?”
His response is blunt. “I just want to know, when I’m finally inside you by the end of our little game, that I’m not fucking some child.”
Rey flinches from his brazen words. This man has some kind of unnatural grasp on her. Watching him tip back his liquor with ease, she confesses, “I just turned twenty.”
“I assume you have an implant?” He licks his lips, pulling back the now empty glass from his mouth. “You should be aware that all First Order zones offer contraceptive measures for any females who need it.”
While her face burns from the implication of his query, that knowledge comes as a surprise to her. It wasn’t something the Resistance sectors had in place. Implants are generally costly and are only free to Resistance troops and other working females. Anyone else would’ve to pay up credits to gain access.
“Well?” he pushes.
“Yes, I do.”
He nods, motioning his head to her fresh drink. “Finish it.”
She's turning numb. Warmth spreads through her body after the fifth round—and yet, Kylo seems nowhere near as unsteady as her. How is he doing it? she wonders. She’s been following the trail since she caught wind of him entering this zone. After taking the place of an absent cocktail waitress for the night, she observed him, watching him consume an entire bottle with the redhead she gagged back at the warehouse.
No matter, she thinks, hazy. If anything, she'll use this chance to seek out any weaknesses of his. She'll live to fight another day, finding a small comfort in hoping she may survive this after all.
“Feeling okay?” he asks softly.
“Uh-huh…”
“What’re you thinking about?”
The heat pools at her cheeks. She closes her eyes, tilting her head backwards with a hand curled around her neck. Taking a deep breath before sighing, she runs her fingers up and down her throat to ease the intensity of the liquor. “Um—” she mumbles, slightly disoriented. Giving him a coy smile. “Hungry?”
Without warning, she squeaks as Kylo drags her onto his lap. Her legs are pushed apart, straddling him while he locks her in place with a strong arm around her waist and the other at her back. She mewls as he leans in to nuzzle against her neckline, his perfectly trimmed moustache and goatee tickling her skin.
“I want to feed you,” he tells her, almost purring.
The low rumble from his chest drags out every single lecherous craving she’s ever dreamed of. Placing a grape between his teeth, he leans in. As if they're natural lovers—before she can even think straight—she wraps her lips around his. There’s a few swipes of his tongue to nudge the grape into her mouth, biting her lower lip as he pulls back.
It's one of the most stimulating experiences she’s ever had, and he wasn’t even fucking her yet. She figures it must be the alcohol.
After she swallows the fruit, his lips are on her again. It’s a fervent kiss, surprising her when she feels how full his lips are—so comfortably plush. He kisses her like no one ever had before, inhaling every gasp and each sigh. She feels giddy from his taste; a mixture of mild tobacco, whisky and honey. His large fingers trace over her breasts, and just as she’s arching towards him—
—he moves a hand to slide up her left leg, plummeting her back into reality.
There’s a tiny, hidden revolver pistol strapped to her thigh holster, far up her right leg that isn't exposed by the gown’s slit. If he finds it, it's all over. There’s no story she can conjure that’ll justify a harmless cocktail girl requiring a concealed gun.
In her fuzzy state, she reaches down to distract him, her fingers gently touching his crotch. He gives out a pleasing growl, letting her know he’s just as overwhelmed. Moving back to her neck now, he licks a trail up her skin and she fumbles against him in response, her body desperate for friction—until his hands playfully grab her ass, rocking her atop him.
So close, so close, she groans.
It’s spiralling out of control. She’s livid. Furious at herself for being so weak for something as trivial as physical needs. But the animalistic yearning Kylo stirs within her is excruciating.
As he mouths at her throat, she laces one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, moving her other hand down his vest. She’s going for the gun she spotted by his waist earlier. Her fingers brush against the grip that pokes out from the holster. Very carefully, she starts to pull, her heart pounds in her ears as it inches out.
It's almost there—
But she’s still far too slow.
A hand firmly clamps down on her wrist. While she halts in dread, Kylo does not. Fear crashes into her like bricks as his lips continue to graze her skin. He’s unnaturally calm despite the sudden turn of events. “So feisty,” he murmurs. “But that’s how we survive in this world isn’t it, Officer Rey?”
Her blood runs cold.
He knew.
And yet he played along, toying with her all this while. How he found out, she couldn’t fathom, but her enforcer-trained survival gears are kicking in now. “Get your hands off me,” Rey whispers, the anxiety in her tone betraying her.
“Why would I do that?” He draws her into a deep kiss, flustering her. “We’re not done yet.”
She shudders as his lips brush down her jaw, her mind racing to escape. Running through all potential backup plans. “I’m here to bring you in, Kylo Ren. You’re coming with me.”
“Oh yes, I’ll definitely come with you,” and he nibbles her earlobe. “Just not in the way you're asking.”
“You’re going to pay for what you did,” she gasps, trying to squirm out of his grip. “For all the deaths and destruction you caused in the name of the First Order. For what you did to my partner.”
“I thought I was a pretty nice guy, actually. I didn’t kill him when I normally would’ve.”
“You’re a fucking monster,” she curses. “Committing violent crimes against the Resistance and the free people since you assassinated our leaders!”
“Sure,” he idly hums against her throat.
“And you and your armies will fall.” She stifled a moan against his moving tongue. “I swear to God—I'll rip out every last piece of information from your associates to hunt you down.”
Finally, that seems to make Kylo pause. He lifts his gaze towards her. “So—you’re the Resistance spy I’ve been looking for. Thank you for making this easy for me.” He nuzzles the tip of her nose. “I’m curious to know how you’re moving through our sectors. Aren’t you just a walking security breach, hmm?”
“I’ll die before I tell you.”
He sighs with a tinge of boredom. “You won’t escape this zone. If you scream, it'll merely alert my troops. The entire precinct will lock down faster than you can exit this door.”
And just like that, the trapped animal within her stretches out her claws. Using every strength she has on her, she elbows him squarely against his chest. His grip on her falters, allowing her to fall backwards and tumble onto the floor. But as she scrambles to get to her feet, Kylo grabs her ankles.
“Don’t—” he spits out.
But she swiftly kicks back at him and her heels scratch his temple, causing him to recoil angrily.
Her adrenaline thunders, and she's already pulling up her dress to get her revolver. But again, he’s too quick—and he snatches her by the waist. She's pulled off her knees and slammed backwards, knocking her breathless. None of her efforts are slowing him down. It’s only making him angrier. His forearm firmly digs into her throat, restraining her against the wall. All attempts by her to knee him in the groin is blocked with ease. In terms of raw strength, she couldn’t win, and losing the element of surprise was a grave mistake.
He’s enraged now. “Rey, I’m warning you—”
She hates that he calls her by her name. As if they already mean something to each other and he has every right to address her so intimately. But Rey never concedes that easily. It wasn’t how she was trained.
That isn't in her nature.
She bites down on his exposed arm and he stumbles back, astonished by this unsophisticated tactic. Seizing him by his shoulders, she headbutts him hard to disorient him, launching a flying dropkick against his chest to smash him backwards. Collapsing back on the ground, she yanks up her dress again to seize her weapon, rapidly lifting to aim.
A shot rings out.
A bullet bounces off her revolver, causing the weapon to be wrenched from her grip. Rey cries out, the sheer force of the collision twisting her wrist. But she freezes, noticing he’s finally pulled his own gun at her.
“I’m done being gentle,” he huffs, completely vicious by now. “Stand the fuck down—”
Wheezing, she props herself up on elbows to meet his glare. She's never going to give up without a fight. If this is the way she's meant to die, she’ll go down throwing the punches.
The guards outside must have heard the gunshot as they started knocking on the door. “Commander—is everything all right?” one of them queries.
“Everything is fine—” Kylo hisses tersely, scowling at Rey. “Just having a friendly tussle with the lady. You may take an absence from being stationed at my room.”
“Yes, sir,” the officer answers.
Once the shuffling of feet fades into the distance, Kylo leans back against the wall. Swiping a knuckle at his temple, he sees a smear of blood from where she kicked him. “That actually hurts,” he remarks, sounding wickedly entertained. “Very impressive.”
“Good,” Rey retorts, rubbing her wrists.
Within minutes, he pulls out heavy-duty cuffs from his bag, throwing them at her feet. He gestures with his head wordlessly, signalling her to put it on. Pure dread creeps back up into her. She was prepared to die if she failed, but these shackles would trap her. Something she wasn’t ready for.
When she doesn't move, he barks, “Now—I won’t say it again.”
She lifts herself up onto her knees, fits her hands through the rings before snapping the cuffs shut. Facing him, her expression is sulky and he returns it with an equally sullen glower.
Finally, after shoving his gun back into his holster, he moves across the room to pick up her revolver, tucking it behind him. His impressive height covers her in shadow when he bends to cup her chin, forcing her to look at him. “These charged restraints will only unlock with a specific fingerprint of mine. The only way you’re getting out of those is through me or by slicing off those pretty little hands. Both are rather unpleasant, I'm afraid.”
She tugs away from him, choosing to stare at his feet instead.
“So, how do we sort this little mess?” He clicks his tongue, dragging the chair from the desk and twists it backwards, sitting astride it. Crossing his muscular arms atop the rail, he rests his chin above, observing her.
Rey grits her teeth. “If you want to kill me, just do it already. You don't need to fuck with me, all right? I get it!"
Kylo lets out a stony chuckle. “I don’t want to kill you.” His tone shifts into something sinister. “And trust me—I’ll do more than just fuck with you. I can see you like playing games, Rey. Let’s play another one, shall we?”
“No!”
“Relax,” he snorts, raking his fingers through his hair. “It’s a simple gun roulette using your revolver. Who knows—you may even enjoy the outcomes.”
“You make me sick,” Rey exclaims.
Kylo’s eyes hardened. “Why? Because I don’t follow the sainted Resistance’s advocacy? They have their own agenda as well, they just conceal it better than we do. And I suppose it’s fair—given the First Order controls the black market. Doesn’t really paint our organisation well.” He quirks an eyebrow at her. “But you don’t seem like part of the flock. You’re a wolf like me.”
"I'm nothing like you. You’re a murderer and a—”
“Did they tell you what happened? The night I killed your precious leaders—did they tell you why?”
“I know everything I need to know about you!”
“You do?” He’s amused, tilting his head downwards. His eyes remind her of nothing but a bottomless void. “Ah—you do.”
His tone mocks her. As if she's a pitiful, sheltered child and unknowing about life’s savagery. She’s speechless for once, unable to counter his curious taunt.
He stands up, pulling her to her feet and leads them back to the couch. After shoving her onto the upholstery, he sits beside her. “As I was saying, the game is simple. One bullet into the chamber, the cylinder spins and you aim the trigger at wherever you want to disable the other party. If the ammo didn’t reach the barrel, then the next round is you. And on it goes until someone gets blown away.” He shrugs languidly. “Or if one of us voluntarily backs out.”
“What’s the upside for me in this stupid game?”
“If you win, arrest me so you can be hailed a hero by your fanatical Resistance forces,” he sneers. “I’ll tell my men to back off while we make our way out of the sector.” He rolls his eyes, scoffing, “I assume you have a petty group of reinforcements on standby somewhere?”
Rey studies him, doubtful. This feels like a dangerous trick. “The First Order won’t let their commander-in-chief just walk outta here and forfeit to the Resistance.”
He dismisses her. “You just let me worry about that.”
“What’s in it for you?”
“If I win?” Kylo breaks into a slow, chilling smile. “Well—then I win.”
An eerie silence falls between them as she grasps the euphemism behind those words. “Why do you want me that way?” Rey whispers, perplexed by his desire for her. “Why can’t you just kill me? You pay that same respect to others.”
“You’re not like the others,” and he inclines forward, his long arm stretching to trail a finger down her jawline. “And I have my ways to make you submit.”
“Assuming I’m still alive by the end of this deranged ploy of yours.”
“You’ll survive.”
She shudders as he sweeps back her stray hairs, tucking it behind her ears. Now that her adrenaline is waning, her body's beginning to react to his touch once more. His thumb swipes across her bottom lip and she oddly wants to kiss him again. It's tearing her apart; the tenderness he shows which starkly contrasts to the violence they shared earlier.
His fingers cup her chin again. “Shall we?”
His hand picks up the revolver. Popping out the cylinder, he empties all the bullets from the chamber except one, before spinning and snapping it back into place.
“Ladies first,” he says, sliding the weapon over to her. “Be kind to where you aim, or I promise you this will be a lot more difficult.”
Slowly lifting the revolver to target his arm, her hands shiver against the weighty cuffs. She could still shoot accurately enough despite the restraints. Poe didn’t give two shits if Kylo Ren was brought in dead or alive—perhaps this is the very opportunity needed to rid the world of this villain.
But the Resistance’s most prominent High Command officer, Commander Luke Skywalker, is insistent on Kylo being held as a Resistance asset. Believes they can interrogate First Order base schematics and tactical movements out of him.
She takes a deep breath before pulling the trigger.
Click. Empty.
“Good,” he says in an absurdly praising tone as he takes back the revolver. “Shall I spin it again?”
“I don’t care."
As he raises the gun towards her shoulder, her mouth goes dry. Braces herself for the probability of losing while her muscles seize up. She’s not sure if she imagined it, but a tentative look appears on his face that's normally devoid of emotions. Suddenly, he points the gun at an empty space instead, near the sole window in the room. She recoils in surprise as the gun fires, punching the bullet into the wall.
How did he know? she stares, incredulous. Did he just spare me?
The revolver is back on the table now. She watches his fingers move to his chest, undoing his vest and holster off him, setting them down beside the gun.
“And now you’re mine.”
*****
Dragging her by the waist, he breathes her in again between her breasts. Tangles his fingers into her hair to draw back her neck, giving himself better access to her throat. Her cuffed hands awkwardly press in between them when they kiss.
She attempts to hold him back. Tries to break away from his demanding mouth.
But he is relentless.
And yet, she finds herself wanting him too. Something she attributes to a culmination of being alive, fighting a never-ending conflict and the intensity he makes her feel.
Her thigh holster is the first to come off. After unhooking her dress and allowing the straps to fall to her elbows, he moves back to study her. She doesn’t have the most voluptuous of bodies—though, she’s been comparing it with the women that attracted the whimsical fancies of her fellow Resistance comrades.
But when Kylo looks at her with dark, burning eyes, it’s easy to imagine that she’s special to him.
Her head drops back, her spine curving when his mouth finds her breasts. The experience in his movements tells her that he’s no stranger to debauching. She’s mortified when he abruptly glances down at his pants to see a pooling stain. Unbeknownst to Rey, her warm slick has been seeping through her underwear.
He groans, his hefty palm pushing her legs apart to grasp her centre. “You feel that? How much you want me to fuck you right now?”
She shakes her head, almost a desperate plea to him. To allow her to keep whatever pride she has left before she succumbs to this—to him.
“Say it, Rey and I’ll take care of the rest.”
It’s a strange feeling to hear someone say those words. That they’ll take care of it.
Growing up as a lonely orphan, she’s always fended for herself. Accepted that she came into this life alone and she'll leave on her own too. The Resistance honed in on her independence and resourcefulness, so it wasn’t long before she became a rather skilled soldier. But his assurance is stirring a profound sense of longing within her. She suppressed her isolation. Smothering it with the numbing military routine of this senseless struggle between two factions of power.
“I’m waiting.”
“Please—” Her voice is practically inaudible. “I need it.”
“Need what?”
“Need you to m-make me feel good,” she stammers.
“Say it again—and use the right word.”
She despises him now. Forcing her into such desperation. Finding herself almost bawling from the agonising pressure amid her legs. “I—I need you to fuck me.”
Lost in a blur of his touch, she finds herself akin to blacking out.
Tugging aside her underwear, his fingers sharply enter her. She shuts her eyes, not wanting to see him watch her shamelessly roll her hips against his hands to bring herself higher. But that’s exactly what Kylo does. Observes every part of her while he draws out waves after waves of pleasure. With his fingers still inside her, he kneels down to nip along the insides of her thighs. Her head lolls backwards as his tongue laps against her warm centre, his fingers continuing to curl. Frantic to wrap her legs around him, she whines—but he only spreads her wider, keeping her in place.
She's had others go down on her before, but not like this.
Not in the way Kylo is doing for her.
The way his lips drag against her sensitive folds. The manner his tongue consumes her inner walls. Like he’s never found anything quite like her.
“Gonna come?” he growls.
She hears her own incoherent babbles. “Yes—please—I’m close, so close." But she snarls at him in rage when he rears back instead with a roguish smirk, withdrawing his fingers.
Gathering her into his arms, he carries her to the bed. Within seconds of hitting the mattress, his powerful arms tear through her gown straps, wrenching the dress down her legs. His eyes darken at the long trail of her slick sticking to the fabric of the underwear he's discarding, amused by her body’s inability to defy him.
He keeps staring. Like he can’t get enough of her flushed skin against the white sheets. Watching her breasts rise and fall. She’s red everywhere. All over her cheeks, neckline and down to her chest where he discoloured only moments ago.
She scowls. “Stop looking at me that way.”
He shakes his head, starting to undress, but he doesn’t look away. She could only stare back, transfixed by his muscles and chiselled torso. She’s close to ogling, resigning to the forbidden fact that Kylo Ren of the First Order is actually, very—
She refuses to finish the thought.
“Why is that still there?” she snaps, referencing his boxers that stayed on.
He actually chuckles, goosebumps flaring all over her skin as he hovers over her. “I want to enjoy you, Rey. Hasn’t anyone ever made you feel like they're enjoying you?” His tall nose nudges against her own. “Didn’t they tell you how good your body feels? How incredible you taste?” His hand slips under her waist. “Or how fuckable you are?”
The questions seem rhetorical because he doesn’t wait for an answer, instantly flipping her on her front. She shudders when his breath tickles her cheeks.
“Or I could just teach you some manners,” and his tongue licks a hot stripe along her ear. “Make you scream a little.” She groans, feeling the size of his erection that’s pressing against her spine, her imagination telling her he'll split her in half. “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Rey," he demands, his palm circling around her curved haunches. "I like hearing you say it."
“I—I want all of it.” She’s out of her mind. "Just do it. Take it all—”
He’s on her within seconds, discarding his final piece of clothing. It’s just sex, she stubbornly tells herself. It doesn’t mean anything. I can fuck him and it says nothing about my allegiance. He wrenches her onto her knees, his fingers digging into her hips to position her. It’s nothing but a fleeting biological reaction—
—and finally, he enters her from behind in one slow, punishing stroke.
She cries out, but he doesn’t give her time to adjust to the discomfort, pushing all the way in as her walls yield to accommodate his excruciating size. “It won’t fit—” she winces, trying to ease the discomfort.
“It will,” he rasps. “Stop moving.”
But he somehow does fit—eventually bottoming out. Her body is begging to keel forward from the intensity, but he doesn’t allow it, holding her firmly in place as her body trembles to familiarise with him. She wriggles and whines against his grip, her fingers fisting into the bedsheets with anticipation. For a moment, he stays extremely still. Nothing but the sound of her own mewling and his deep, shaky breaths. Like he’s on the brink of his own composure with their bodies joined to the hilt.
At last, he leans close. “Ready?”
When he starts fucking her into the mattress, she thinks she’ll never be ready.
She’s almost shrieking. Feeling so complete—so filled—so perfect. He moves as ruthlessly as she expected. The way he pulls out and slams back into her with a certain kind of dominance she thought she’d be repulsed by, but strangely isn’t. That her body is eventually pushed forward on the bed till the cuffs finally clink against the headboard.
“Shit—” he huffs, his sweat trickles onto her back. “Just look at you. Fuck—you’re so sensitive.”
She won’t tell him that isn’t true. That she’s not usually this responsive, and she doesn’t know why he’s making her feel the way she does right now. The way he roughly squeezes her breasts, from when he grunts the nastiest things in her ear. How he’ll make her never walk again. How he’ll fuck her so hard that she’ll rip apart.
While she rocks her hips back against him, desperate to meet his movements in an attempt to reach her climax, his hand presses down on her back.
“Don’t do that,” he chides, panting unevenly. “I won’t last long.”
Shifting her onto her back again, he pushes her knees to her chest. This new angle hits deeper and she twists her face against the pillow. The crude slapping sounds of their skin has surprisingly quite an effect on her. God, he feels too good, this is—her thoughts swim. I can’t stop—
“H-harder—” she hears herself moan through the explicit creaking of the bed that follows his rough pacing.
“Open your eyes,” he snarls. “I want you to watch me fuck you. So you’ll remember I made you feel like this.”
There's something about his obscenity which burns a feverish demand inside of her for more. Her own experiences with sex are rather perfunctory. Something she surmised as a hastened activity she caves into for numbing the horrors of death and bitter victories.
She's never needed anyone like this.
But here she was now, needing more of him.
As if he could sense her thoughts, he slows just enough to unhitch her calves from resting around his collarbone, settling himself back between her thighs. His voice comes out oddly strained. “You make me want to keep you, Rey—” and he interposes each word with a deep thrust that leaves her winded. “Every. Single. Piece.”
Her eyes flutter close when he gives her a long, messy kiss, and her toes curl from how intimate it is.
He pushes her cuffed hands over her head, holding it down with one palm while the other bruises into her waist. After burying his face into her neck—when he starts to move again—he crashes into her with such aggression that it doesn’t take long for him to hit the spot she's been needing.
And finally, Rey feels her orgasm slam into her so intensely that her entire body feels like it's soaring. Her legs fasten around his ass, pushing him down onto her. She has no inhibitions any longer when she screams—which is the hardest she’s ever had in sex—as her walls clamp fiercely around his cock. There’s a few more erratic thrusts before he spills inside her, responding with an equally muffled, primal roar of vulgarities into her shoulder.
Their hearts race. The sweat and slick all over them seeps into the surrounding sheets. She looks at him in a dazed bewilderment as he peppers kisses all over her face.
Still delirious, her mind doesn’t register when his finger touches the cuffs. There's a short beeping noise before the metal rings fall open.
You have to get the fuck out of here, Rey, her mind cautions. But she’s confused when he pulls the covers over them, and his thumb kneads against the abrasions on her wrists. Anxious at this sudden display of affection, she freezes up.
“Does it still hurt?” he questions after a brief moment.
“Yes. No thanks to you.”
“Can’t say much about the soreness,” he responds, shrugging his shoulders. “But I won’t use the restraints next time.” He brushes his lips at her cheek, strangely apologetic. “Was just a little pissed off.”
Next time? she hazily catches.
Her chest tightens with conflicting sentiments for him, tensing when he lifts her into his arms. The bones in her body haven’t regrown, her limbs still pliant as he continues to kiss her for what seems to be an infinite period of time—till she melts into nothing but a dream that only wants him.
His knuckle caresses her jawline soothingly, murmuring between their lips, “Rest now.”
She usually recoils after sex, immediately feeling the need to leave after the libido wears off. But that nature is strangely absent with Kylo. She shakes her head obstinately, her survival instincts fighting to stay alert so she can bolt out the room now.
And yet, he feels too comfortable.
Too warm.
Finally, Rey loses the battle with herself, floating into an exhausted slumber within his embrace.
Generally, Ben doesn’t need proper sleep to function.
He can’t remember the last time he needed much of it to recuperate. His subconscious is always running, scratching at the edges of his inner tranquillity. Working through command data, tactical reports and governance updates from the sector leads. Piecing them together to see their success and failures.
And each time he looks into the darkness of his mind, he sees Han Solo as well.
“Kid—” Han would say with his hands on his hips. “What the hell are you doing?”
Ben never responds. He doesn’t have it in him to acknowledge the memory of his late father. The fear he felt for what Han Solo would think of him—if Han saw what he had become—it's a weakness that Snoke ensured was stamped out. Instead, the First Order taught Ben how to channel the rage, the betrayal and the taste for vengeance.
Despite his blinding fury, Ben always feels cold.
Even when he roused from a nightmare of his father, a chill would run down his spine. It drives him to make his body burn through anger. To get his blood pumping from vigorous training sessions and brutal combat methods. To feel the inferno within his veins when he’s victorious in growing the Supreme Leader’s dominion.
But unexpectedly, in the midst of his wretched, violent life, he finds someone who lures that warmth from him without the greed of warfare.
This tactless, wild and beautiful Resistance fighter who kicked him in the head—something surely his own mother still desires the honour of doing—ignited every cell within him, coaxing something dark and wicked to crawl out and play with her.
He wanted to see the Resistance scums bleed.
For daring to break into the First Order’s carefully constructed network of allies. To arrogantly attempt another assassination on his life because of their failure to beat him and his troops out on the battlefield, and sending her to seduce him and finish the job. While he’d admit she held her own against him, if he had to kill her to defend himself, then so be it.
He must confess that it began as a primitive need of her flesh. That he was going to fuck her no matter her defiance. Wrecking her as much as he needed.
But somewhere along the way, it twisted into something else.
He prides himself for being able to fuck for hours—so it’s alarming when she makes him lose control too easily. He came hard at the end—probably the hardest he’s had in his life, but he can’t seem to remember how the ones before felt like. She’s stunning, and watching her eyes trickle cathartic tears when she looks back at him, he concedes to an urge in nursing her back with a tenderness that should have been long forgotten.
So, when Ben does drift off into the unfamiliar act of falling asleep—first time in a long time, he might be forgiven for not stirring awake when she does. But he didn’t emerge as the undisputed Commander of the First Order without reason. Reflexes that have been perfected for years will eventually kick in—
—and he finally cracks an eye open, sensing something amiss.
Slumped against the headboard, he looks up to see Rey, straddling his waist with her revolver pointing at him. His shirt drapes over her agile frame and he concludes he's never seen anyone look so enticing in his clothes. Comprehending she must have snuck around while he was still knocked out, he clicks his tongue. And this is exactly why you should never fucking sleep, he chastises himself.
“I thought we’re past this already?” he says, yawning groggily.
Her expression falls back to the same, feral soldier he attempted to subdue when she realised that he knew her identity. And of course he would. He'd recognise that pretty voice of hers even through a storm.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you right now,” she bites out, but there’s a delicate reluctance in her tone. “I’d be doing the Resistance and everyone else a favour.”
“Really? I highly doubt that.”
“You’re delusional.”
“If you wanted to kill me, you would've already.” His eyes sear into hers. “It’s no secret that the Resistance wants me alive.”
“Not everyone feels the same way.”
He tilts his head. “Did they tell you what happened that night?”
“Yes!”
“No—” He could feel his mouth lifting into a sneer. “And why would they? Why tell the Resistance's grunts and the public the truth about what really occurred, only for it to taint their very foundations of the age-old good versus evil. Your valued leaders have many buried secrets, Rey.” His eyes glint with a quiet fury. “And I am one of them.”
There’s a deathly silence that follows. Neither move for the longest time.
At last, Rey utters softly, “Liar.”
“I’ve never lied to you. Even when you presented yourself with a fabricated identity to deceive me, I’ve always made my intentions known.”
She cocks back the revolver's hammer angrily. “I’m fucking sick of your games, Kylo Ren. Decide now if you’re going to follow me!”
Ben keeps still for a moment, contemplating on his next move. He knew he had her on edge, but he wasn’t going to take the risk—in case she really did try to shoot him. He may be quick, but he wasn’t invincible. “No,” he decides, his own hubris winning out.
There’s a sharp exhale of breath from her, almost as if she’s disappointed with his answer. Finally, she uses her thumb to twist against one of the jewellery on her gun-free hand. The ring reveals a small needle, which he suspects is likely laced with neutralising solution.
He glares at her. “Is that really necessary? It won’t hold me back long enough for your reinforcements—assuming they don’t get gunned down by my boys first.”
“I’m not bringing you with me," she explains. “I’ve failed my task, but I won't stay with you, either.”
Ben’s skin starts to prickle. “You can’t hide, Rey. Not from me.”
“I know,” she agrees. “But it’s my nature to never surrender.”
“As it is mine.”
But she catches him off-guard when she leans forward, pressing the cold metal barrel of the revolver against his bare chest. His eyes shut, surprised by her slow, impassioned kiss. “This changes nothing,” she murmurs into the kiss. “But I won’t deny the way you make me feel.”
Suddenly, there's a vivid stab of something sharp in his neck. The solution works quickly, spreading like wildfire through his veins. He starts to glide in and out of consciousness, his muscles turning numb and his vision blurring. He knows his level of endurance for toxins such as this. The maximum length of the paralysis is only a few minutes tops—
—but by the time he breaks into his senses again, he’s alone.
*****
Ben hunches over an examination chair in the command centre’s medical bay.
The personnel extracts a sample of his blood while a robotic arm patches up the crusty wound on his temple. He initially snarls when they attempt to place a healing patch for the bruise on his chest; a parting gift bestowed from Rey’s concise assaults. But he thinks it’s because he quite likes the idea of displaying the contusions she gave.
“The dose I’ve administered will flush out the neutraliser from your system. You’ll be fully functional and ready for field duty by the next hour." The medical officer looks up from his clipboard. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Commander Ren?”
Ben waves his hand dismissively. “No—are you finished then?”
“Yes, sir.”
Within seconds, Ben storms through the colossal hallways of their headquarters, a dark cloud looming over his head. His troops immediately sense their commanding officer’s menacing mood and promptly scamper out of the way, or for those who weren’t fortunate to be distant enough, hastily stand at attention to salute.
He doesn’t take heed to any of them.
There's only one thing on his mind.
Bursting into his private quarters, he pulls up his datapad, opening up multiple panels of information to project around him. He scans at a lightning pace through various old records and decades of historical events. In the background, the mainframe scrolls past thousands of identity registrations under the First Order zones.
His mind impressively pieces together answers to his questions, pressing a knuckle to his mouth while squinting at the screens.
Even if Rey wanted to fake her identity, there’s one particular marker she wouldn’t be able to. The fact that she could move between Resistance and First Order sectors without getting detected, or how easily she was able to track him down on his own territory could only mean very few things.
“Run a search for registered female births in every First Order zone,” he orders the AI mechanism. “Past and present. Subject is estimated to currently be between the ages of twenty to twenty-five.”
Kindly state any known physical traits to narrow search results.
“Brown hair, hazel eyes.”
Kindly state all possible aliases to narrow search results.
He frowns. “Assumed first name; Rey.”
The screen brightens, generating up a list of potentials that fit the description and inputted variables. As his finger slides the display downwards, he catches the indicator flashing on a match with the highest probability.
There’s no photo on the profile, but he knows he's found her.
[SUBJECT IDENTIFICATION] – REY JOHNSON
[SUBJECT ESTIMATED PRESENT AGE] – 20
[SUBJECT REGISTRATION] – INITIAL BIRTH LODGEMENT FILED UNDER FORMERLY HELD ZONE 15. JAKKU SECTOR. SCRAP METAL DIVISION. THIS SPECIFIED ZONE IS NOW KNOWN AS RESISTANCE ZONE 35
[SUBJECT KNOWN FAMILY OR ASSOCIATES] – REPORTED AS DECEASED DURING THE PURGE OF JAKKU
[SUBJECT CURRENT STATUS] – UNKNOWN. LIKELY DECEASED
He probes further. “Commence diagnostics on the subject's identifier chip model.”
Registered identifier chip for the subject is Model ABY with Batch No. 10-04-1992.
“Confirm the current status of the subject's chip.”
Status confirmed. Active.
"So—that’s how she’s doing it,’ Ben muses to himself aloud. “A Resistance spy has an old First Order chip. That'll likely hold security clearance codes that are still accepted at our checkpoints.” He taps his finger against his lips. “Very, very clever, little Rey.”
His eyes flick towards the last line in her profile, declaring her possible demise. “I wonder—does everyone in the Resistance know who you really are?”
In the control room of the Resistance’s headquarters, Captain Poe Dameron slams his hands on the table. “What the hell happened out there? I gave you less than six hours to get the division to extract Kylo Ren and yourself out, but you went fucking MIA for almost twelve. We thought you were dead!”
Rey swallows, keeping her face steady. “I was compromised. Needed to disengage and lay low. Once they locked down the zone, I had to wait till it was clear to move.”
“What went wrong?”
So many things, she admits in frustration. “I—I think I underestimated his deduction skills.”
“Meaning?”
“He knew who I was.”
“The hell? You gave me your assurance he didn’t see you at the warehouse!”
“I’m not clear on how it happened, but somehow he discovered my identity as a Resistance enforcer.”
“How'd you bolt?”
It’s a true test for herself to remain calm while she lied her way through. The debrief with Poe was a complete disaster. There’s no way she could explain what had happened. How she basically spent hours in Kylo Ren’s bed instead of detaining him—finally escaping with only her heels, revolver and his shirt. Not to mention how quickly she needed to duck back into the Rodians’ facility to clear out her belongings and run. Now that Kylo has seen her, her cover is blown.
“I—” she paused. “I used a neutraliser pill in his drink.”
Poe’s face darkens. “You guys were getting drunk together?”
Rey fidgets. “No—I went undercover as a cocktail server at the hotel premise they were at. Got put in charge of serving his group for the night.”
“And the rest of his party?”
“He was alone when I made my move.”
Poe straightens up, his hands dropping by his side. “I knew it was too dangerous. Should’ve just listened to my gut.” He grumbles further, “Since you’ve been compromised, you’re to be removed from all incognito initiatives. We’ll send in others to pick up where you’ve left off.”
Rey grits her teeth. “No offence, Captain—but it’s not that simple. They don’t know their way around the First Order sectors like I do.”
“Yeah, about that,” and Poe frowns. “Why is that, exactly? What’s so special about you that you’re able to maneuver through their zones? Most of the team can infiltrate through the sewage system for covert operations—just as the First Order can penetrate into our zones the same way. That’s just the way the original metropolis foundations were built before the conflict. But we can never get past checkpoints and patrols. So how are you managing to stay undetected within their turf?”
Here we go, Rey sighs, pinching her nose bridge.
Poe has always been this way. Trigger-happy, apprehensive and intrusive of everything and everyone, and sometimes, that included being suspicious of his own people.
Before Rey could quip back something witty, the door bursts open and Sergeant Zorii Bliss barges in, her gleaming red and gold uniform sparkles against the harsh fluorescent lighting of the room. “Captain, my apologies for intruding, but we’ve just received a transmission from one of our outer zones,” she informs. “It’s Wexley—they’ve been pinned down and won’t hold out for much longer.”
“Pull in all the troops we have in this sector,” and Poe hastily clicks on his earpiece to fire up some calls. “I want everyone in the strategy room in half an hour.”
*****
Rey yawns, rubbing her neck as she pushes past the medical bay doors.
She's exhausted—both mentally and physically. When she returned to base in the morning, Poe was out for inspections. It wasn’t until nightfall before she was requested to report back to him.
After stripping down into an evaluation gown, she sits on one of the empty beds, waiting to be attended. She glances to the connecting doors that led to the critical care units where Finn would be.
Her stomach twists with guilt, and she coughs awkwardly to ease it. She knew she had been driven by rage. Always jumping the gun based on her impulses, but she was so devastated by failing to come to Finn’s aid at the warehouse that she was ravenous for payback. A reflex that the Resistance would look at disapprovingly. The taste for vengeance. That’s a First Order trait, they would say.
As the medical officer conducts the check-up, the woman raises an eyebrow at the odd discolorations all over Rey’s body; the grazes around her wrists, the mauve bruises and red bite marks that are distinctly from someone’s mouth. Rey turns a shade of pink, shaking her head irritably when she’s asked if further examinations are required.
Truthfully, she’s furious at herself.
What had she accomplished in the last twenty-four hours, other than indulging in her worst desires with Kylo Ren?
She knew she had unhealthy coping mechanisms, but sleeping with the enemy really is the unnecessary accolade she needed to top her stellar Resistance service. And what hurts the most is what she lost. With Poe withholding her capacity to undertake mole assignments—something she particularly excelled at—she felt inadequate. Never having a penchant for working with the wider troops, she liked being alone.
Sure, she could banter and smack talk with her cohorts. She wasn’t a complete social disaster. But she doesn’t gravitate to form any meaningful relationships. Why bother when tomorrow we could all be dead from a routine raid anyway? she reasons.
Finn may have been the one exception. He’s kinder than most, always looking out for others. They share a great camaraderie as partners, and she could see him becoming a great leader one day.
There’s another—Jessika Pava, an old acquaintance from her orphanage days who used to take care of her. She’s seven years older than Rey, and often visited the shelter to lend a hand to the caretakers. Once a skilled field operative, a well-placed gunshot injury she sustained during a prisoner transfer a few years ago forced her to retire under the tech division.
Rey thinks her own instincts emanates from growing up without a family.
Not having anyone who cares.
No obligation to answer to anyone.
It’s no secret the Resistance’s biggest source of manpower comes from orphans and homeless children. They are given a chance for justice. To protect the innocents and put meaning to their life. But for Rey, she just wanted someone to be sorry. To be held accountable for all the lives they’ve lost. To bear the burden of the disillusionment in this ongoing war between the Resistance and the First Order. Everyone is tired of the hostility. She could see it, even if Poe couldn’t.
But Poe has been suspecting for a long time now that one of his top officers has something to hide.
And it is true.
Rey has been harbouring a secret of her own.
She could move between the two factions’ zones with ease because a malfunction in her identifier chip allows her to be erroneously cleared at both checkpoints. At least, that’s what her silent guardian, Resistance Commander Luke Skywalker, the man who found her and gave her shelter, told her. With spies everywhere, he made sure this flaw in her chip remains hidden. Insisted it’s a rare defect, but not impossible.
She has very little recollections of her childhood, but there are dreams from the past.
It was a night where fire lit across the sky. Warning sirens blare through the public speakers, confirming their worst fears that the zone was under attack. She remembers a woman’s voice telling her to stay quiet and hidden behind sacks of grains. Gunfire and terrifying screams ring through the darkness.
“I’ll come back for you sweetheart,” the woman whispers to her. “I promise.”
Each time the dream ends, Rey is still alone.
No one comes back for her.
Luke said it's all fragments of memories. He was just a young sergeant with a small team of officers when the incident happened. Rey was only five when he found her being assailed by First Order troops who were part of a violent ground assault that stormed a neutral zone. By the time a Resistance response team arrived, the carnage on the inhabitants was irrevocable—including Rey’s parents.
As the zone was completely invaded by the First Order, she could never return home. Never to uncover any information about her family. Until a sector falls under their administration, neutral zone data won’t automatically feed into their headquarter's mainframes.
And so, they too eventually passed on to shadows. As faceless ghosts in a bloodshed history.
In some ways, Rey's path was already chosen. Was there any other way, except to serve a group who fights to uphold righteousness, law and protecting the free-will of the people against the terror-driven First Order?
But there was something about what Kylo said to her that’s been troubling her mind.
Was he truly a secret hidden by the Resistance’s leadership?
*****
Poe clicks his prompter and an enormous screen fills the front of the strategy room from wall-to-wall.
A surveillance video plays out, showing burning buildings, gunfire and troops from both sides of the conflict clashing among the open rubble. Above the background noises, device communicators bellow to the Resistance division to retreat back to safer ground.
“This feed was taken exactly two hours ago today at Wexley’s division. The last I heard, it’s almost fully occupied by the First Order.” Poe takes a deep inhale before insisting, “I cannot stress further how essential it is not to lose this outpost.” He points against a projected map of the various sectors. “This is a strategic waypoint between six neutral zones and one of our resource stations. If this garrison falls to the enemy, they'll take control of that resource, leaving those six zones vulnerable to an invasion."
The display flashes to a surveillance photo of a towering Kylo Ren.
At more than six feet tall with powerful arms and legs, the atmosphere surrounding her comrades as they take in his intimidating exterior is only one thing—
Fear.
He has his black tactical vest on again, flanked by at least ten other First Order officers in a rooftop premise from where he’s gauging the battleground. A large, automatic rifle is hoisted over his shoulder while his intense eyes focuses on something off-camera.
The very same eyes that razed her to her knees last night.
While Rey instinctively glowers at what he represents, she feels her heart starting to race. A familiar warm pressure starts to spread between her legs while her mind drifts back into the memories of him ripping both pain and pleasure through her body. She’s still very much sore between her thighs—something she’ll never admit to.
“As observed,” Poe’s voice cuts through the uneasy silence. “The First Order has sent their commander to personally lead this assault, so we can assume they're coming at us with full force.” He lifts up his hands, attempting to placate everyone. “We all know what’s at stake here. We must use this opportunity to capture him at all costs. Smaller operations in the background have been attempting to nab this guy when he’s vulnerable—but clearly, we haven’t been successful.”
Rey feels the slight sting of his words.
Poe exhales, and there’s a tinge of poignancy this time. “Everyone in this room has lost someone in this conflict—some even by the very hands of this asshole.”
She follows Poe’s gaze that rests on a petite girl sitting in the middle row with jet-black hair tied up into a ponytail. Rey has never been introduced before, but she knows from Jessika that the female is Rose Tico—Finn’s fiancé from the tech division. Her stomach churns with remorse, recalling the announcement of the marriage being postponed indefinitely due to Finn’s vegetative state.
Poe rubs his neck, contemplating. “Before we discuss the recent upgrades on our ammo, let’s have a bit of a history refresh. As Commander Skywalker always tells us, it's important to know our opponent. So, what do we know about this genocidal fucker?”
The prompter beeps again, moving the display to an old video feed taken of Commander Gial Ackbar, Commander Amilyn Holdo and Commander Mon Mothma entering an armoured vehicle.
“I’ve gotten High Command’s approval to show this. For those newer cadets, know your basics. The First Order is a major criminal-terrorist organisation founded by a small-time crime boss only known as Snoke. What initially began as a relatively obscure disruptor to our system, has now become a formidable empire of the underworld. They have gained significant allies across the territory. Many zones seized by them are now loyal to their cause, likely due to fanatical brainwashing.”
Rey finds herself thinking back to something Kylo told her—about providing free contraceptive implants to all females in the First Order zones. She shakes her head, brushing off the uneasiness that Poe’s words give her.
“This nutjob was first discovered ten years ago in the security footage, carrying out the assassination at a public rally. We still don’t know how he managed to get past our security lines, but we lost three courageous leaders that day.”
The video bursts into a violent flash of light as the armoured vehicle explodes. The security feed flickers once again—zooming in at two figures. As the camera starts to focus, they could see that Ackbar had initially survived the blast. Severely injured with his broken body sprawled by the sidewalk, there’s a looming figure standing over him—
—and Rey will recognise that menacing shadow anywhere.
A gun is pointed at Ackbar’s head before he’s shot dead. As a demonstration to the perpetrator's infamous cruelty, he continues to punch a couple more bullets into Ackbar’s lifeless body before halting. The entire room goes deadly still as the attacker slowly turns—now looking directly at the camera, his face still partially covered by a black camouflage mask. Within seconds, he aims his weapon towards the camera before it cuts out.
“Back then, we had zero intel on who he was. Only that he undertook the mission alone and is extremely dangerous. Moving forward to five years ago.” The screen switches to an image of a much older man with orange-grey hair and blue eyes. “When our tactical squads were successful in reclaiming some of the inner zones, we were told that Moden Canady, the First Order’s then Commander, was killed in the assault. We thought victory was near.”
Poe suddenly shifts, his posture looking slightly drawn.
“You should know the rest. Shortly after, thousands of illegal broadcasts jammed up the network. A new First Order leader was elected, and we finally had a name for that lunatic.” Poe’s eyes hardened, his lips pressed into a grim line before spitting out, “Kylo Ren.”
The screen had froze to the notorious First Order propaganda hologram that everyone knew.
Rey’s mouth parts a little, watching how terrifying and stately Kylo seemed in it.
“The enemy's methods have changed to something far more aggressive. They take no prisoners and they give no quarters. Under Kylo Ren, they've managed to expand their claws—more so in the last five years than they did in the last ten. We have to put a stop to this.”
As Captain Poe Dameron stands before his Resistance troops, his handsome face flares with a certain vicious resolution.
“We have to end this rabid animal that the First Order created.”