Kylo Ren (terriblewrong) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-03-03 14:37:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !locale: outer rim, kylo ren |
you wanna get it right
Who: Kylo Ren.
What: Kylo gets some news and comes to a realization.
When: A week or two following the fight with Rey on the Starkiller.
Where: A medical base in the outer rim territories.
Rating: A FOR ANGST.
Kylo stalked the hallways of the medical center; he was without mask, glove or any other scrap of black clothing. The pants he wore were a blank white; the scar on his face pulsed, a garish pink. He was meant to be off training, once he was fully healed; the fact that he refused to remain in bed, resting, only served to prolong his recovery.
He shouldn't have had access to his messages, but he'd hijacked one of the medical datapads and worked around the few firewalls they'd had in place that were meant to keep him sealed in this room, removed from the universe at large and ignorant of its goings-on. He'd always been loyal to Snoke in all regards, but ever since the fight with that girl... He found it difficult to sit still.
Several messages had been waiting for him, but he'd focused firstly on those from his knights. Not all of them had been handpicked by him -- Snoke forever had final say in all decisions related to the First Order in any fashion -- but they served their purpose. That was the way of the First Order; supply what people wanted and get their best, at least until it was no longer feasible or necessary to string them along. There were other ways to gain people's loyalty, fear being the main asset for the First Order, but he'd never had to bully the knights into acceptance. They could see power as its own reward, and that the First Order had in spades.
And now here was a message he hadn't quite been expecting; the rift was a phenomenon that had existed for years, but it had produced so little over such a long span of time that it had been labeled unimportant in the larger scheme. But Snoke had had the foresight to leave someone watching, though Kylo was sure whoever had drawn that short straw had bemoaned the task; at least, until now.
Skywalkers on Naboo. Other relations possible. New baby just born to them; send further instructions.
Perhaps it was the sedatives still coursing through his veins, the drugs meant to keep him calm that were so inefficient, but Kylo had never considered the idea that another Skywalker (his uncle? Others? His mother?) could simply walk through and take up residence in this universe. The thought was galling. He'd destroyed the datapad after seeing that message, his careless rage moving his arm without consent and hurling the device at the wall. The noise of it rupturing into a thousand tiny pieces (so much like the Hosnian system; had anyone heard the screams? Did planets fracturing in the dead of space have a sound?) had brought medical staff running, and it had taken five orderlies to put him back down with another course of sedatives.
And here he was, an hour later, already up and about and unable to be still. Skywalkers. They were coming through the rift. As though he hadn't worked hard enough already to find his uncle, hadn't searched long enough to discover other potential jedi and weigh their addition to either the knights or the First Order, hadn't killed enough to slake this hole growing inside of him. It would never be enough.
And then there was the last thought that had sashayed through his brain, once he'd emptied it of the possibility of more Skywalkers (the name becoming ash in his mouth, the very thought of them turning his stomach), the other person that he was both giddily angry at conceiving of and explicitly afraid to consider...
His father.
If there could be more Luke Skywalkers, more Leia Organas... Could there not also be another Han Solo? Two, three? Kylo's hands flew to his head, and he nearly dropped to his knees. The one act that he'd believed would free him from his turmoil had only increased it tenfold. Would he be able to kill him again? He'd done it once; would it not be easier the second time, the third, a fourth?
Fingers curled through his long locks of hair; it had grown since the battle aboard the Starkiller. He traced downward, over the scar that split his face diagonally, following it down to his collarbone. He'd wondered why she hadn't finished him then; not in the moment when he'd been writhing in pain on the ground, in the snow, deeply embarrassed and vividly rageful as he tried to find his saber, tried to find her, tried to make sense of any of it as the pain blinded him; but after, when medical teams were working to save his life, to preserve his face. He'd fought them off, keeping the scar. It was a memento, one he expected to repay in full to the one who'd gifted it to him.
He'd kill his father again, if pressed. He'd kill him a thousand times over, if it meant he'd have a single chance to find her and teach her and show her the power of the dark side. He would convince her to join him -- them, he reminded himself, suddenly remembering Snoke but forgetting him just as quickly -- and then he would feel complete. It wasn't his father holding him back from fully embracing the dark side.
It was her.