M E A T B A G
He lives.
With those two words, I'm roused from my pain induced slumber. For a fleeting moment, I knew little of where I was and what had brought me to this place, but then, as if they sought to scrape themselves back into the forefront of my mind, I remembered. Images of the past few hours flooded my senses, causing me to cry out in agony as they hammered their way into my consciousness. My eyes were aflame with sorrow's cruel embrace, and when all the pieces came crumbling down - I knew what had happened. Alone and trapped in the dark, I - a lone pilot fought against Death's cold embrace and sought to crawl my way to freedom. However, my wounds were too great, and I collapsed into the darkness that stole my sight. Time no longer had meant to me there, and after a lengthy measure had passed, the sounds of life had drawn me back into the land of the living. Furiously blinking the weariness that tugged at my eyes, and spitting out a gobbet of bloody phlegm, my gaze slowly turned to those that had found me within my duracrete tomb.
Their armor, though hazy, was polished alabaster - ruined by the soot and smog of a battle hard fought. Through my bleary eyes, I couldn't tell if they were friend or foe, but accepting that I was stranded on an enemy world, my hands trailed across my wounded form towards the holstered sidearm strapped to my thigh. As I felt it's boiled nerf-hide exterior brush against my fingertips, a metallic boot slammed into my sundered chest. Lances of fire surged their way through my nerves, knifing into my mind and forcing the body to convulse in earthly torment.
"Just end it," I growled, spitting flecks of blood with every forced syllable. Laughter. The reply I was bequeathed was a laugh, hoarse and distorted by a damaged vocabulator. Even if my eyes were not able to see the detail clearly through the haze, I could hear just fine. The clouded figure bent closer and withdrew the holstered weapon, my fingers able to do little more than protectively clutch at the inflicted wounds. I felt naked now. Helpless. Upon hearing the clatter of metal on stone, I knew that my weapon was carelessly discarded. It was evidently clear that they desired to toy with me before the end, and my body had recoiled - knowing all too well the cruelties of a sadist.
"No," I whimpered, "Please. Just end it!"
Tears began to stream from my eyes as the conditioned soldier was replaced by a mewling wretch. It was a pathetic sight, one to this day fills me with disgust. Yet, what was I to do? Alone and taken from the bosom of my Squadron and cast into the unknowable depths of Coruscant. I had no way of getting off this world, and in this condition, it was a miracle that I had survived this long. Even if I had somehow tapped into the awesome powers that had butchered those Stormtroopers in the room, I doubted that my body would get far. The crash and subsequent displays had taken everything from me, and the crushing depths of sorrow and loneliness were all too eager to take what was left.
"End it?" The distorted voice had said. "No, little bird, we're just getting started."
The boot came again, and this time with greater force than the last. It suddenly became hard to breathe, and I felt as if a forge's anvil was graciously slammed onto my chest. Gasping for air, and clawing at the rubble-strewn ground - I sought to escape this torment. No man deserved such a fate, and even if the roles were reserved, it took someone pretty small to kick a man while he was down. With the sensation of rage filling my liquid-shrouded eyes, I barked at my attackers, prodding with barbed words in the hopes they'd end my agony. In return, my head bounced off the duracrete surface as an armored fist connected with my skull; sending my vision swimming between the realms of life and death.
Gagging on my own bile, I fought for life. There was still a chan- What was I thinking? My fellow Pilots wouldn't come looking for me. They had their own problems to deal with, that or they too had met the same grisly fate as Rogue Four. I had to accept it, yet despite it all my mind had fought to hold onto the notion that they were alive and well - not suffering as I was. How pitiful the sensation felt. Swiped away by the impact of another powered fist, my mind blanked. Overloaded and unable to feel the pain they sought to inflict, my lips began to curl into a wounded smile. Finally. Death had come to embrace me. It would take me into its arms and give me the mercy I longed for. That was until I had opened my eyes, casting aside all thoughts of a sweet release. More figures in filthy armor had arrived, each bearing blurred weapons and pointing them in my direction.
Clearly, I was not worthy of such a gathering. One man was all it would've taken. One man with an itchy trigger finger could've ended it all. But, they had other plans for me. Death was not their aim, despite their bodies foretelling another story. They wanted to kill me, but something far greater than them all had stayed their wroth. Thus, as armored hands slipped around my shoulders and legs, I began to feel the icy sensation of fear knife its way into my heart. Whoever sent these Soldier's to collect me, had desired something from my person - and it was doubtful they wished to add me to their collection. I was to be their captive, and with the clear victor of the Invasion uncertain - it was possible they sought to use me as a bargaining chip. No. That wasn't it. My head aches, and it's getting harder and harder to think. A concussion, maybe? I couldn't tell.
It was getting harder and harder to stay awake.
It's getting harder... awake...
Awake...
