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“Ren, someone is here to see you,” Hux said. “Says she’s from that women’s rag, Galactic Magazine. Shall I dismiss her myself?”
“Ah, excellent,” Ren said, rising. “Your services are no longer required, General. Send her in.”
Hux shrugged, and beckoned to Lt. Mitaka. “Send the lady in, Lieutenant. Evidently Snoke’s disciple is an ardent fan of Galactic.”
“Yes, sir.”
The woman shown in was of average height, with large glasses and standard civilian attire. She hardly looked like the sort of woman who worked for Galactic, a magazine with a reputation for the cosmopolitan, the frivolous, and the sexual. “Kylo Ren?” she said, stepping forward and offering a hand. She had a firm grip. “Dehra Zayd, associate editor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“You’re here to discuss our first few steps towards better publicity, correct?” Ren said, gesturing to a seat. “The Supreme Leader is presently unavailable for an interview, but I can ask him if he would be interested in rescheduling.”
“No, there’s no problem at all,” Dehra said easily. “I already set up the whole thing with the commander. He won’t be interviewed for Galactic. We just need you.”
Ren blinked. “I see. I will do my best to represent the Supreme Leader, then.”
Dehra smiled understandingly. “You didn’t get the memo? You won’t be representing Snoke, Ren. There is no interview. This isn’t a publicity campaign, this is a photoshoot.”
“A photoshoot…?” There was a beat of silence before realization dawned on him, and Ren fought to keep the discomfort from his voice. “…What sort of photoshoot?”
“Have you never seen a copy of Galactic, Ren?” Dehra was doing a poor job of holding back a smirk at this point, and her camera man was openly snickering. “You’re going to be our cover man, and our centerfold. Snoke arranged the whole thing with us. A lot of people read Galactic, so we know better than anyone else that a sexy model is often all an organization needs to boost its image.”
“A sexy model…?”
“Here.” Dehra tossed him a robe, and beckoned to the camera man. “Bob and I will give you directions as we go. All you have to do is look fabulous.”
Kylo Ren’s face paled behind the mask. Surely this wasn’t what the Supreme Leader had meant when he arranged for the magazine reps to visit the base. This was cheap, degrading work. There was no need to pose for thousands of people, just to improve public perception of the First Order. Ren preferred to instill awe and fear to garner support, not bare his abs for the cameras.
“I will be contacting Leader Snoke,” he said at last. “You both may wait here.”
“Sure,” Dehra said, grinning broadly. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”
Ren nodded, throwing the robe from himself with a violent flick of the arm. As the door to the reception room slid shut, Denra and Bob could hear the sounds of enraged bellowing, slashing, and general demolition.
“He seems nice,” Dehra observed. “Sort of a dark, mysterious type. Angsty. The ladies will love him.”
Bob snorted. “He seems like a prick.”
o0o
“Supreme Leader,” Ren said, kneeling before the hologram and struggling to keep his tone respectful, “I demand to know what these… orderlies from some cheap rag are doing at the base.”
“They are here to photograph you.” Snoke’s voice had a quiet intimacy to it, with a note of finality that did not escape Ren’s notice. “As a loyal member of the First Order, you will fulfill your obligation to me and the party by performing to the best of your ability.”
“But—sir—“
“This is an order, Kylo Ren,” Snoke said, steely anger in his piercing blue gaze. “Do you not desire the success of our campaign?”
Your campaign, Ren thought, but he held his tongue. “Supreme Leader, I fail to understand how my… disrobing… helps the First Order.”
“No one is capable of hating a handsome man,” Snoke said smoothly. “As the official face of the First Order, you will obtain support that we otherwise will never acquire. Every woman between 14 and 40 reads Galactic Magazine, and more men read it than you would believe. This is your debut, Kylo Ren. Make the most of it. Show the people why they must support the First Order.”
Ren grew increasingly desperate. “Why can’t Hux do it?”
“Hux lacks an eight pack. Hux is not shredded.”
Ren swore. “Sir—“
“If you are unable to do this, how can you think yourself strong enough to do what the Order will later require of you?”
Kylo Ren had originally interpreted such admonishment to mean assassination missions, or even cutting ties with his family. Now, it chilled him to think of what Snoke must mean. “By the grace of your training, I will not fail, Supreme Leader.”
“Good. Go to wardrobe and makeup. Consider this another part of your training.” Snoke’s final orders echoed through the chamber as the hologram faded away, and Ren let loose an anguished howl as he destroyed the communication system with furious strokes from the sputtering lightsaber blade.
oOo
The shoot was held in the assembly hall. Large flood lamps lit up the center of the room, with white and black backdrops each half unrolled. Dehra was standing in the middle of it all with a clipboard and pen, with Bob on her right. “Wonderful,” she said, proffering a hand. “I assume you sorted out that little confusion with Snoke?”
Ren ignored her.
“Well, let’s get you to wardrobe… there’s not a whole lot to wear, but that just means fewer costume changes, right?” she said brightly, leading the way to a curtained area. “We’ll do makeup next—“
“Makeup?”
“Nothing major,” Bob said. “The flashes are bright, so even the most shredded abs won’t show up without a bit of a contour and spray tan. You want to look hot for this shoot, trust me."
Ren covered the front of his mask with his hand. “I am questioning the wisdom of doing this shoot at all.”
“You’re going to love the pictures when we’re through,” Dehra said reassuringly. “Bob does great work.”
The first outfit wasn’t horrible. It consisted of trousers in a stylish cut, a belt, boots, and a single arm sleeve. The lack of a shirt was disconcerting, as was Dehra‘s request that he unmask himself for the shoot.
“The headline is ‘Unmasked,’” she said. “You need to take it off.”
“Because everything else isn’t enough?” Ren snapped. “The mask stays.” So no one can see my shame, he added inwardly.
“It could work,” Bob agreed. “Sort of a sexy-droid vibe. I like it.”
“We’ll do some pictures with it and some without,” Dehra compromised. “Now let’s see what you’ve got.”
The first few minutes were practically traumatizing. Ren was not a professional model, and posing provocatively proved much harder than his usual menacing stance. One shot depicted him with an ignited lightsaber, masked face turned away from the camera. Another was posed at the head of a console and shot from behind, hands interlocked behind his back, his hair loose and free without the mask. The next few poses were infinitely more provocative, and the centerfold demanded a more creative use of the mask to preserve some semblance of modesty. Though Ren was resentful of the situation he had been thrust into, he found himself grudgingly enjoying the shoot. The constant yells of “YAAAS QUEEN” and “WERK, KYLO! YAAAS sith SLAYYY” were consistently amusing, and there was something strangely fun about posing for the camera. Hux tried to intrude to use the assembly hall for military maneuver practice, and the look of horror on the traumatized general’s face made the shoot almost worth it.
Almost.
“These look great,” Dehra said, looking through the photographs on a monitor Bob had set up. “We can brighten up the color on this one, do a little bit of blemish correction, amplify some of those scars—“
“Why?”
“Women seem to find tasteful scarring incredibly sexy,” Dehra said matter-of-factly. “For maximum support, we need to really capitalize on your hotness. How do you feel about photoshop to enhance your facial features?”
Ren pulled on the dressing robe and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have no preference.”
“Great, we’ll keep it all very subtle and natural,” she said. “It’s been a pleasure to work with you, sir. By the way, do you know if Snoke wants his personal copies bound, or in calendar format?”
“WHAT?!”
“Oh.” Dehra winced as she was hauled off the ground by the throat. “You… didn’t know about that either? Oh dear… This is very awkward. Perhaps I’ll hold off on the prints--”
“Yes.” Ren’s fingers tightened, and though he had not laid hands on the woman it was clear that she was choking due to his interference. “Yes,” he repeated, releasing her, “that will be appreciated. Anything else?”
“Have a good evening,” she said, and she trotted off with Bob trailing behind.
Hux sidled over. “If I ever see so much of your posterior again—“
“Get out of my sight. That is an order, General.”
Hux nodded curtly. For once, he was happy to oblige.
oOo
“Leia?” Han’s voice was typically quite steady, but it shook this time. His hands shook too, as he returned the copy of Galactic Magazine to the coffee table.
“What is it?”
“Why is our son the centerfold for Galactic?”
Leia was there in an instant. “What are you talking about?”
Han jabbed a finger at the magazine cover. Kylo Ren was pictured from a three-quarter view, wearing a mask and no shirt. A bit of hair was visible, poking out from underneath his trademark helmet, and much of his bare torso was covered in magazine text. Master of the Knights of Ren UNMASKED, it read. See Kylo Ren, First Order darling, like you’ve never seen him before!
“There’s a centerfold too,” Han added. “Want to—"
“No,” Leia said emphatically. “This is disgusting, Han. I can’t believe you think this is funny.”
“I don’t!” Han insisted. “If we ever get him back…” He trailed off, and the old sadness passed between them. Even though Han had miraculously survived the attempt Ben had made on his life, both he and Leia were saddened by the knowledge that their son was forever lost to them.
“Say ‘when,’” Leia suggested gently.
“When we get him back,” Han said, “I’m never going to let him live this down.”
Leia smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and hugged him before leaving. Han stood, tucking the rolled-up magazine into his back pocket, smirking despite his sadness. He was thinking of a different shoot for Galactic of a different young man, several decades ago, that Leia had evidently forgotten.
“That’s my boy.”
FIN