Account: LT. Rolan Droge
Entries:
Story: #1
The air in the Imperial compound was cold, metallic, and sterile—just the way it was meant to be. Alana Calloway stood at attention, her red eyes fixed forward, her posture rigid with the discipline drilled into her very bones. A loyal soldier of the Sith Empire, unquestioning, unwavering. And yet, something always felt off. Some small, nagging sensation at the edges of her mind that she could never quite grasp.
Lirka Ka noticed it, of course. She noticed everything. The Once-Sephi had long since learned to see past what people thought they were and into the cracks beneath. And Alana had cracks, deep ones.
The first time they crossed paths, Lirka had barely given her a second glance. Another grunt, another faceless soldier in a machine that ground people down into nothing. But it was during a routine training session that she saw something intriguing—something that made her pause.
Alana moved with precision, but sometimes, for the briefest moment, it was as if she hesitated. As if muscle memory was fighting against the new mind forced upon her. Lirka, ever the predator lurking in the shadows, saw an opportunity.
"You fight like someone else," Lirka had said after effortlessly throwing Alana to the ground during a sparring match. The words were not meant as an insult, but as an observation. One that made Alana falter just long enough for Lirka to press a boot to her chest.
Alana looked up at her, eyes unreadable, jaw tightening. "I fight as I was trained."
Lirka tilted her head, the cold artificial lights glinting off her deathly pale skin. "Mm. No, you fight like someone who was trained twice."
That was the beginning.
Lirka sought her out after that. Little encounters at first—observing her, pushing her. Alana didn't question it. Why would she? A soldier did not question. And yet, whenever Lirka was near, that strange feeling inside her only grew worse.
It was during a mission that everything shifted. The two were deployed to quell an insurrection on a distant Outer Rim world. The fighting was brutal, the air thick with smoke and the scent of burning flesh. Alana moved as she had been conditioned to—efficient, ruthless. But something about it made her stomach twist.
Lirka, ever the shadow at her side, watched as Alana hesitated before pulling the trigger on an unarmed rebel. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
Later that night, when the fires still smoldered and the stars looked down upon a world soaked in blood, Lirka found her alone.
"You are not what they made you," she murmured, voice like a blade sliding from its sheath."
Alana turned to face her, confusion warring with the absolute certainty that she was what they made her. "I am a soldier of the Empire."
Lirka stepped closer, predatory, her presence suffocating. "Then why do you look at me like you recognize me?"
Alana swallowed hard. She didn't recognize Lirka. She couldn't. And yet, in the dark, in the quiet moments between orders and obedience, she felt something like familiarity.
Lirka smirked, tilting Alana's chin up with a gloved finger. "You've been rewritten, but the old you is still in there. Burying things doesn't erase them."
Alana's breath hitched. Something about Lirka's touch sent a shiver through her—not of fear, but of something she could not name.
Lirka leaned in, lips brushing against her ear. "I could help you remember. But the question is—do you want to?"
The silence stretched between them, thick with something unnamed. Alana's breath was steady, but inside, something trembled. A soldier did not hesitate. A soldier did not question. And yet, Lirka's presence—her voice, her touch—made certainty feel like a fragile, manufactured thing.
The words were out before she could stop them. "Why do you care?"
Lirka's smirk deepened. "Who says I do?"
Alana hated that answer. Hated the way it made her want to press further. She should have let it go, turned away, walked back into the clean, simple path the Empire had carved for her. Instead, she stood her ground, eyes searching Lirka's.
Lirka let the silence drag just long enough to be cruel before she answered. "You remind me of someone."
It wasn't an admission. Not really. It was something Lirka had let slip on purpose, just enough to make Alana chase the rest of it.
Alana clenched her jaw. "Who?"
Lirka lifted a brow, clearly pleased. "Someone who had their mind stolen from them. Someone who fought to take it back."
The weight of those words settled on Alana's chest, cold and heavy.
"I am who I was meant to be," she said, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Lirka tilted her head, her amusement shifting into something sharper. "Then why are you shaking?"
Alana stepped back, retreating from the fire Lirka was stoking inside her. She turned, ready to leave, ready to shut the door on this dangerous thread Lirka kept pulling—
"Alana."
Her name on Lirka's lips stopped her cold.
She didn't know why.
She didn't know why it sounded like something familiar. Like something she had lost.
Lirka's voice was quieter now, just a murmur in the dark. "When they erase a person, they don't just take memories. They take choice." A pause. "But choice is never really gone. It's just buried."
Alana swallowed hard. She didn't turn back. Couldn't.
She kept walking.
But the words followed her into the night, and would carry on into the day.
Entries:
Story: #1
The air in the Imperial compound was cold, metallic, and sterile—just the way it was meant to be. Alana Calloway stood at attention, her red eyes fixed forward, her posture rigid with the discipline drilled into her very bones. A loyal soldier of the Sith Empire, unquestioning, unwavering. And yet, something always felt off. Some small, nagging sensation at the edges of her mind that she could never quite grasp.
Lirka Ka noticed it, of course. She noticed everything. The Once-Sephi had long since learned to see past what people thought they were and into the cracks beneath. And Alana had cracks, deep ones.
The first time they crossed paths, Lirka had barely given her a second glance. Another grunt, another faceless soldier in a machine that ground people down into nothing. But it was during a routine training session that she saw something intriguing—something that made her pause.
Alana moved with precision, but sometimes, for the briefest moment, it was as if she hesitated. As if muscle memory was fighting against the new mind forced upon her. Lirka, ever the predator lurking in the shadows, saw an opportunity.
"You fight like someone else," Lirka had said after effortlessly throwing Alana to the ground during a sparring match. The words were not meant as an insult, but as an observation. One that made Alana falter just long enough for Lirka to press a boot to her chest.
Alana looked up at her, eyes unreadable, jaw tightening. "I fight as I was trained."
Lirka tilted her head, the cold artificial lights glinting off her deathly pale skin. "Mm. No, you fight like someone who was trained twice."
That was the beginning.
Lirka sought her out after that. Little encounters at first—observing her, pushing her. Alana didn't question it. Why would she? A soldier did not question. And yet, whenever Lirka was near, that strange feeling inside her only grew worse.
It was during a mission that everything shifted. The two were deployed to quell an insurrection on a distant Outer Rim world. The fighting was brutal, the air thick with smoke and the scent of burning flesh. Alana moved as she had been conditioned to—efficient, ruthless. But something about it made her stomach twist.
Lirka, ever the shadow at her side, watched as Alana hesitated before pulling the trigger on an unarmed rebel. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
Later that night, when the fires still smoldered and the stars looked down upon a world soaked in blood, Lirka found her alone.
"You are not what they made you," she murmured, voice like a blade sliding from its sheath."
Alana turned to face her, confusion warring with the absolute certainty that she was what they made her. "I am a soldier of the Empire."
Lirka stepped closer, predatory, her presence suffocating. "Then why do you look at me like you recognize me?"
Alana swallowed hard. She didn't recognize Lirka. She couldn't. And yet, in the dark, in the quiet moments between orders and obedience, she felt something like familiarity.
Lirka smirked, tilting Alana's chin up with a gloved finger. "You've been rewritten, but the old you is still in there. Burying things doesn't erase them."
Alana's breath hitched. Something about Lirka's touch sent a shiver through her—not of fear, but of something she could not name.
Lirka leaned in, lips brushing against her ear. "I could help you remember. But the question is—do you want to?"
The silence stretched between them, thick with something unnamed. Alana's breath was steady, but inside, something trembled. A soldier did not hesitate. A soldier did not question. And yet, Lirka's presence—her voice, her touch—made certainty feel like a fragile, manufactured thing.
The words were out before she could stop them. "Why do you care?"
Lirka's smirk deepened. "Who says I do?"
Alana hated that answer. Hated the way it made her want to press further. She should have let it go, turned away, walked back into the clean, simple path the Empire had carved for her. Instead, she stood her ground, eyes searching Lirka's.
Lirka let the silence drag just long enough to be cruel before she answered. "You remind me of someone."
It wasn't an admission. Not really. It was something Lirka had let slip on purpose, just enough to make Alana chase the rest of it.
Alana clenched her jaw. "Who?"
Lirka lifted a brow, clearly pleased. "Someone who had their mind stolen from them. Someone who fought to take it back."
The weight of those words settled on Alana's chest, cold and heavy.
"I am who I was meant to be," she said, forcing the words through clenched teeth.
Lirka tilted her head, her amusement shifting into something sharper. "Then why are you shaking?"
Alana stepped back, retreating from the fire Lirka was stoking inside her. She turned, ready to leave, ready to shut the door on this dangerous thread Lirka kept pulling—
"Alana."
Her name on Lirka's lips stopped her cold.
She didn't know why.
She didn't know why it sounded like something familiar. Like something she had lost.
Lirka's voice was quieter now, just a murmur in the dark. "When they erase a person, they don't just take memories. They take choice." A pause. "But choice is never really gone. It's just buried."
Alana swallowed hard. She didn't turn back. Couldn't.
She kept walking.
But the words followed her into the night, and would carry on into the day.
