Chapter Text
Hux was contemplating his life. As he did every cycle, precisely at 22:00. For an hour, just before sleeping, he meditated while floating naked in a zero-gravity chamber.
The chamber was large enough for him to spread his arms and legs and almost touch the soundproof walls. In here, he was deprived of all senses. No touch (no clothes, no surfaces). No sight (pitch black). No skin sensation (the chamber temperature matched his body). No scent (the ship’s recycled air endlessly circulating).
It was the perfect place to relax and organize his thoughts, far from everyone and everything. During these meditations, he analyzed his day, made mental notes for improvement, crafted plans for tomorrow. All of it in service of his ultimate goal: conquering the galaxy as Supreme Leader of the First Order.
But tonight, there was only one thing on his mind.
Kylo Ren.
The Knight of Ren had become his co-commander a month ago. Their first meeting had been… bizarre. Kylo had stomped off his ship in a dramatic swirl of robes, ignored every officer’s greeting, including Hux’s, and stormed into the depths of the Finalizer. Which was odd, considering he had no way of knowing the ship’s layout. Was this the Force at work?
Of course not. Later, Hux learned Kylo had gotten utterly lost, barged into the medbay, and demanded to be escorted to his quarters. The poor medic who had the misfortune of guiding him still visited a psychiatrist over the incident.
So the first impression stood: intimidating, self-absorbed, no respect for anything, no foresight. In short: an overgrown, dangerous, dramatic toddler.
And time had only proven that impression correct.
The crew of the Finalizer were terrified of him, not out of respect, but sheer fear. In his tantrums, Kylo destroyed whatever was within reach, collateral damage be damned, even if it was a crewmate. Phasma reported that troopers were uneasy being near him, let alone joining him on missions. Hux had tried reasoning with him, but it was useless. Ren would simply spout nonsense about “the will of the Force” and storm off.
The helmet didn’t help. He never removed that awful bucket, and nobody knew what he looked like. It made him more monster than man. A hulking, unknown beast that stalked the halls, leaving terror in his wake.
In truth, casualties had been minimal (only four stormtroopers injured) but rumors exaggerated everything. His presence alone set the atmosphere aboard the Finalizer on edge, as though everyone was afraid to breathe.
And that simply would not do.
This was Hux’s ship. He would not allow it.
Eliminating the Knight wasn’t an option, not if Hux wanted to rule the galaxy. Kylo Ren could be a powerful asset. A Force-user was rare these days, and his skills could be harnessed. If the tantrums were truly “the will of the Force,” then all Hux could do was predict and contain them.
The problem was image. Kylo Ren was feared. And a feared man was useless unless people liked him. Its like he had a corrupt politician under his thumb that nobody liked. So the politician would be useless, unless he deploys one hell of a PR campaign to alter his image.
Wait… Would it even be possible? To make Kylo Ren… likable? Maybe even adored?
(But not too adored. Certainly not more adored than Hux. Never that. If Kylo was built up, it would be only so that he could shoot Hux’s supremacy into the galaxy.)
Still, if Hux could pull it off, he would take a significant step toward his ultimate destiny: Supreme Leader of All Galaxies. He pictured it already:
Supreme Leader Armitage Hux, clad in white and gold robes, ruler of countless stars. Crowds chanting his name. Peace and harmony imposed by military oppression, and the galaxy loving him for it. He would wear a stoic, confident face as he addressed his adoring masses. And behind him (not beside him, never beside, but far enough back that nobody mistook him for an equal) would stand his attack dog: Kylo Ren.
Hux shook his head. Focus. No time for daydreaming. There was a problem to solve. He had to make that toddler likable through a PR campaign.
But it couldn’t look forced. If it came directly from him, it would fail. No, the propaganda had to come from someone “on their level.” That meant he would need to pretend to be of lower rank. In-person campaigning was impossible. Which left only one option: the HoloNet.
In the dark chamber, his eyes snapped open, an idea forming. His mind raced, connecting dots, sketching plans. He gave the project a name.
For the Morale.
He would create a fansite. On the Finalizer’s HoloNet. Dedicated to Kylo Ren.
It would work perfectly. It had to. For the sake of the First Order’s morale. For the sake of his future and therefore for the sake of the galaxy.