Falling for the Order

The Homocide

The flight from the Supremacy to the Finalizer went by in a blur. You stood in the darkest corner of the ship, biting the inside of your cheeks until you tasted blood.

Hux was in your ear the whole way back to the ship.

"I am this close to loosing my mind with you," he said, pinching his thumb and index finger together leaving barely a millimetre of space. "You're actions were extremely foolish and frankly, if it were my decision I would have killed you the moment I saw you..."

You zoned out for the rest of his scolding. Anger rippling through you. Thoughts of your home planet. The village you grew up in, the people you knew, all gone in the span of ten seconds.

You replay Snoke's words. Slaughtered every citizen...burnt it to the ground.

You want to feel something.

Hurt something.

Kill something.

You want to feel the satisfaction of watching someone's life leave their body at the stake of your hands.

You hate that you feel this way. You hate that Snoke has caused you to feel this amount of anger. More than you've ever felt before.

You know sadness and grief, you know happiness and joy, but you've never known anger like this.

The moment the Command Shuttle reaches the hangar on the Finalizer, you push down the ramp of the ship, passing through the throng of Stormtroopers without hesitation.

You can hear Hux call after you, but you ignore him. You won't let anyone stand in your way. Not while your rage is the only thing fuelling you.

You stride down the corridors of the ship, aiming for your quarters since it's the only place you'd have the slightest bit of privacy. Every First Order worker, soldier or trooper that passes you doesn't dare give you a sideward glance. They can probably feel the wrath in you, and if they so much as looked at you the wrong way it'd be the last thing they do.

Charging down the residence floor, you slam your hand on the panel located beside your quarters sliding door. They open momentarily and you stride inside.

You run your hand through your hair, beginning to pace around the sitting room as your head continues to reel. You rip the gloves off your hands, throwing them on the ground. Your hands are clenched, your knuckles turning white in seconds.

Images of your burning village flash past your eyes. You squeeze them shut, trying to push the memories that aren't your own out of your head.

You want to scream, you want to lash out. You hate this fucking ship and every person on it. You grip onto the glass vase, centred in the middle of the sitting room coffee table and throw it against the wall. It shatters at the impact. Next comes the coffee table, you lift it and throw it across the room.

You wish you had a match to set the place on fire, you along with it.

You enter your room, drawing toward the side table beside the bed and pushing it to the ground. You rip clothes from the wardrobe and kick shoes across the floor. You wrap your hands behind and push, the wardrobe landing on the floor crippling its doors with a loud bang.

Tears prickle your eyes and within seconds begin to fall. You let out a deep scream from your throat as you punch the wall beside where the wardrobe used to be.

You walk around the mess and stop, your knees buckle from beneath you and you fall to the floor. Your hair loose from the ponytail, it covering your eyes and tickling your snotty nose.