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He stared at the helmet – his helmet – in his hands. It was heavy, heavier than it had been specced at during training. It seemed to get heavier with every mission, too. Nar Shadda, Felucia, Tatooine. One after another they battered at him. They weighed him down. He felt as though he had no choice but to hold onto this helmet now though, otherwise it would simply fall and fall and fall...
He was jolted out of his thoughts when the man sitting next to him on the bench nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, Leonis. You alright?”
Leonis' head popped up and he looked at his comrade... his friend. “Oh. Yeah... I'm fine. Just thinking.”
His friend laughed. “Thinking! Didn't know you had it in you Leonis. What're you thinking 'bout? What is worth your infinite wisdom?” He elbowed Leonis in the side again, “Have the secrets of the Jedi finally revealed themselves to you?” Leonis shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat at that. “Have you oh so cleverly deduced where the Resistance is holed up?”
“No,” Leonis started, because I've known where their main base was since I was old enough to keep a secret, he didn't finish. “just... just thinking.” The two just sat for a couple of seconds before Leonis started up the conversation again, “Ronson... what do you think is down there? I mean... another Resistance cell. Or... or...” he left the rest unsaid because as bad as a Resistance presence would be, it would be infinitely preferable to anything else they'd be deployed to take care of.
They were the 501 st . The Best of the Best. The personal attack force of Lord Kylo himself. They went where he ordered. Killed who he ordered. And as much as Leonis grew nauseous at the thought of shooting at his brothers, they had at least signed up knowing combat was an inevitability. He'd heard of the times that Kylo Ren had gone after civilian targets though, and... that was not something he looked forward to.
Ronson slung his arm over Leonis' shoulders, “What, Leonis? Worried you won't get to blast some of those 'Pub' bastards? Don't be,” And here he leaned in conspiratorially close, “I hear from Verdak that we're going to some hodunk planet way out in the Outer Rim – Jadoo or something – perfect place for the Resistance to have a base. Twenty to one says we'll be storming the place and be back on the Pursuit before sleep-cycle's over.”
But this didn't do much to calm Leonis down. Ronson's no-doubt mangled naming of the planet aside, he was sure there was no Resistance base anywhere even remotely similarly named. He sighed, best case – Lord Kylo thinks there's a cell here, finds nothing, and they turn around back to Dantooine, which... wasn't likely, he admitted.
The descent light popped on. Twenty minutes to go. He sighed again and slipped his helmet on. Time to go.
He could barely see, the tears were dripping into his mask and pooling in the goggles.
“Come on, Ronson. You'll be fine. Just...” the sobs almost overtook him, “Just stay awake. Just...” his friend's eyes glazed over for a second before refocusing back on him “Ronson! Look at me!”
He grasped Ronson's hand in his own, pointedly not looking at the wound in his stomach. Pointedly not thinking about the gaping hole the grenade had torn in his stomach.
“Ronson... Luke. It'll be alright. Just...” he pulled Ronson closer into himself. Hugging his friend close.
Leonis heard a slight hum behind him, and made to turn and see what it was when suddenly Ronson sprung back to life. His limbs flailing wildly, the hand he'd been pressing to his mangled stomach smacking Leonis solidly across the head. And the dying man's strength was enough to fling him down to the chill night-sand.
It only took a second for Leonis to recover and prop himself up enough on his elbows to see what was happening, but he knew in his gut that he was too late. He was right. The red trident of light the sound behind him emanated from, swung swiftly down and cleaved straight through Ronson's torn armor.
Leonis screamed. He doesn't even remember what he said now, but he remembers the pain. The pain in his throat, but moreso the pain in his stomach. Before he knew what he was doing, he was picking up the rifle he'd tossed aside when he'd dropped to his knees to tend to Ronson, and he was aiming at the heavily cloaked figure carrying the lightsaber.
Without even turning around, Kylo Ren spoke. “Put the blaster down Leonis. He was no longer useful. You still are; I do not wish to kill you.”
His breaths came heavy, he'd barely heard what the man had said. He rifle stayed steady but he didn't fire, not yet his instincts told him. The two stood like that for several minutes, silently. And that gave him time to think.
What was he thinking? How was he supposed to stay in the First Order after this? After all the coaching his grandfather had given him. All the reminders on how he should behave in a high-stress situation. And he'd folded as soon as someone had gotten hurt. Grandpa Zare had kept up his cover through physical torture from Grand Moff Tarkin himself, but him? He was a failure, a dishonor, a shame...
Somehow, without his noticing during his self-flagellation, a woman sheathed in shining chrome armor had come up upon them. She quickly raised her blaster and pointed it at Leonis.
“Trooper Leonis, you will cease and desist! Stand down!” she barked.
He swore under his breath for what he was about to say, but he in a light year already, might as well go for a parsec, “I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that.”
“Leonis! Lower your weapon!” And somehow he knew that she wanted him to. Didn't want to shoot him, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't just let Ronson lie there. Had to do something.
“I'm sorry, Captain. What he's doing is wrong. This isn't...” he quickly cast around for something that wouldn't completely blow his cover, “this isn't what the Order stands for,” he finally settled on. Except it's exactly what the Order stands for. It stands for pain and misery in all forms. Ronson's death just cut closer than anything else.
The woman in chrome spoke up again, “Trooper, I am in command here, and you will follow my orders! Now. Stand! Down!”
His finger twitched on the trigger. But still something told him not to fire, in fact.... his gut told him something else entirely. Something much more specific than ever before, something he was pretty sure was what his great-aunt Dhara had called the “precognitions” and the Jedi of the Old Republic had called the Force. He'd suspected – or perhaps he'd known – for a while now, but it had never spoken so clearly to him until this moment. Perhaps before it had been whispers on the edge of his hearing, but now it was screaming with everything it had.
Lower your blaster!
And he listened.
And almost as soon as he did, the chrome woman drove the stock of her blaster into his head and he crumpled down to the ground.