█▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀█
chapter fifteen: captive
█▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄█

     TUCKED IN A BLANKET with a steaming mug of tea cradled in both of her hands, Indira focuses on the way the white spirals of water vapor expand and dissolve into the surrounding air as she waits for the general to take a seat. She lifts the cup to her lips, blowing softly on the Alderaanian drink before taking a sip. Somehow, its warmth seems to spread throughout her entire body and succeeds in chasing away some of the foreboding chill that has settled into her bones.

     "Feeling better?" General Organa asks, settling down in the armchair across from Indira. A robe is draped over her shoulders now and her hair has been swept back into a hasty braid. She looks far more put together than Indira feels.

      "A little," she says hoarsely, clearing her throat when she realizes just how rough it sounds.

     The general gives her a sympathetic smile, taking a sip from her own mug before leaning forward and clasping her hands together. "Now," she begins, observing Indira carefully, "you want to tell me more about that dream of yours?"

     "It wasn't a dream," Indira says sharply, setting her cup down. She realizes after the fact that it was perhaps a bit rude to speak to her commanding officer in such a blunt manner. "Sorry. I just ... I don't know how to explain it, but I know it wasn't a dream. It was real."

     General Organa nods, brow furrowing. "Poor choice of words on my part," she replies, amending for her misstep. "This vision, then. What did you see?"

     Taking a shaky breath to calm herself, Indira launches into her account of the bloody scene she'd witnessed during her sleep, leaving out no details in the process. Her voice wavers at times, threatening to give out as she recounts the horrors she had seen. Leia listens with an impassive facial expression, though she flinches slightly when Indira mentions the masked man with the crimson colored sword. Other than that, the general keeps a still and silent countenance. Her face betrays no emotions as she listens to the younger woman speak.

     "The First Order slaughtered every single person in that village," Indira finishes, voice trembling slightly. "And then," her voice catches, but she forces herself to continue, "they dragged Poe aboard their ship as their prisoner. I didn't see anything else after that."

     The older woman nods contemplatively, expression drawn taut with worry and a dozen other emotions, but she doesn't speak. Unsettled by her silence, Indira lifts her mug once more and takes a lengthy sip of her tea, letting its heat scald her lips and tongue slightly as she swallows its bitter taste. Her hands pull anxiously at a thread on the blanket and she grinds her teeth in agitation, waiting for the older woman to say something. Still, the discomfiting silence lingers, stretching on and on until Indira thinks she might explode if someone doesn't speak.

     Just as the she opens her mouth to break the silence, the general cuts her off. "I believe you," she says, glancing over at Indira. "You don't need to worry about that. I'm just ... thinking."

     Indira's brow furrows. "About what?"

     Sighing in defeat, Leia brings a hand to her temple and massages the skin there. "Where we go from here."

     In her brief moment of vulnerability, Indira sees a version of the general that is far more human than she has ever seen before. Here, in the emptiness of the general's solitary quarters, Indira can see the figure of a woman struggling to hold the weight of an entire galaxy upon her shoulders. No brother, no husband, no second-in-command at her side — she bears the weight of her burdens entirely on her own.

      Eventually, the older woman lifts her head and squares her shoulders. The moment of fragility is gone and in her place is the General, with a capital G, who has already started to compartmentalize her emotions and formulate a dozen different plans somewhere within her head.

     "I'll send Snap and Karé out to run reconnaissance in the morning," she tells Indira, face grim. "They may not be able to find anything, but it's worth a shot. Threepio's spy network will keep an ear out for any news that is worthy of our attention. Now that our only lead to my brother is dead, we'll need to double down on searching for any information on his whereabouts before the First Order can get their hands on him —"

     Indira's brow furrows. "Wait," she says, heart sinking in her chest. "What about Poe?"

     The general sighs heavily; almost as if she'd been dreading that question. "I'm afraid that Commander Dameron is beyond our reach right now. I'm not sure there's anything we can do."

     "But he needs help," Indira protests. General Organa's eyes are full of pity and Indira hates it. She has seen that look in the eyes of hundreds of people across her lifetime and detests it more than anything else. "Gods only know what's being done to him aboard that ship by those ... those First Order assholes! He's one of your soldiers. You can't just abandon him!"

      General Organa looks at her sharply. "Commander Dameron knew the risks when he volunteered for that mission," she replies, voice hard. "He understood that there would be no rescue attempt if he was captured."

     Indira's mouth drops open in disbelief. The rational part of her brain knows that the general is right, but she is finding it more and more difficult to adhere to that part of her brain as of lately. "No rescue attempt?" She repeats, gritting her teeth in frustration. "No rescue attempt? I think that's a little hypocritical coming from the mouth of the woman who was rescued from the Death Star and the clutches of the Galactic Empire by my own mother!"

     As soon as the words leave her mouth, Indira wishes she could take them back, but she knows there's no undoing what she's just said. General Organa's face goes white for a moment before it hardens into a severe expression. "I think that's quite enough, Beren," the general says coolly, effectively silencing any further protests that may have been on Indira's lips with the use of her ranking title. "You would do well to watch your tone when addressing your commanding officer, ensign."

     The rebuke stings more than she'd like to admit. For as long as Indira has known her, the older woman has never used such a cold and distant tone with her. Though she's still angry, Indira knows better than to say anything else before the general speaks again. She keeps her mouth closed and simmers underneath the surface, anger threatening to overtake her once more.

     "I understand that your emotions are running high," the general continues sternly, "but there are still some things you need to learn, Beren. The Resistance is outnumbered by the First Order in every possible way. Their troops have more training, their ships have better weapons. For each of our soldiers, they have thousands more. We cannot afford to provoke the First Order into launching a direct attack against us; not when we are hopelessly unprepared for that kind of fight. Is that understood?"

     Indira clenches her jaw and nods.

     "I want to hear it," General Organa asserts. "Is that understood?"

     Indira bites her tongue before releasing it. "Understood," she replies, spitting the syllables out like poison from her lips.

     "Good," the older woman replies tersely, sitting back in her chair. "Commander Dameron is one of my most loyal and trusted soldiers. I'm as upset by his predicament as you are, but my hands are tied in this instance."

     Indira runs a hand through her hair in agitation, tugging at the strands before shaking her head in disagreement. She doesn't understand how Leia can just sit there and do absolutely nothing to help Poe after everything that he and his team sacrificed for her.

     "If you do nothing," she says evenly, resisting the urge to shout, "Poe will die."

     The general doesn't even blink; colder than Hoth during its most subzero winters. "If it comes to that, I will mourn him fiercely," she replies coolly. "But I will not risk my entire Resistance for one man's life."

      Indira scoffs at that and stands from her seat, slamming her discarded mug down onto the table beside her. Part of her wants to scream or cry or shake the general by her shoulders with her hands until she sees sense, but she does none of those things.

      "I thought the Resistance was supposed to save people," Indira says with disgust, balling her hands into fists as she glares at the older woman. "I guess I was wrong."

     She doesn't wait around to hear the general's response, finding herself too angry to listen to anything else the other woman has to say as she storms out into the hallway and back to her empty quarters. Once the door slams shut behind her, she throws herself down onto her bed and shoves her face into her pillow before letting out a frustrated scream until her throat is raw and aching; completely unaware of the crippling sorrow her general feels.

      Alone in her grief, Leia Organa hangs her head and weeps.

     EVERYTHING HURTS. It's the first real thought that Poe can form as he finds himself coming back into consciousness. Blood trickles down the side of his temple and his ribs groan in protest with every breath he takes. The part of his brain still capable of thinking coherently realizes that the bones have likely been either cracked or broken from the beatings he'd received at the hands of the First Order's most vicious interrogators. The bitter, coppery taste of blood taints his mouth with every labored breath he takes, making his stomach churn unpleasantly. He's tired — so fucking tired — and he thinks that he could sleep for two weeks and it still wouldn't be enough to make him feel whole again. Even so, his exhaustion pales in comparison to the devastation he feels in knowing that he failed his mission, his General, Luke Skywalker, and the Resistance all at once. Nothing could possibly feel worse than that.

      The doors to his cell come sliding open and Poe barely lifts his head to eye the incoming figure. He'd been expecting one of the stormtroopers that had been tasked with beating him into a bloody pulp to enter the room, but he straightens when he sees the intimidating masked figure from Jakku standing in the door's entrance.

     Anger fills Poe's veins as he remembers the way this man struck Lor San Tekka down and ordered all of the villagers from Tuanul to be slaughtered. His hands clench into fists despite the shackles he'd been forced to wear, chained to the uncomfortable metal chair behind him. Poe glares as the man steps closer, wondering if a human being really stands behind the mask, and how such a twisted soul could stand to live with all of the blood on their hands.

      "I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board," the masked creature sneers, breaking the silence with his sarcastic remark. "Comfortable?"

      Poe narrows his eyes to slits. "Not really," he replies, filled with loathing. "The accommodations leave something to be desired."

     Once again, the masked creature fails to take the bait from his Poe's taunts. Instead, it draws closer and closer towards him until coming to a stop a few feet away from where Poe is bound and shackled. "I'm impressed," he says, tone emotionless. "No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map."

     Poe's mouth twists into a cross between a grimace and a sneer. "You might want to rethink your technique."

     For a moment, the room is still and charged with energy. The hair on the back of Poe's neck stands up straight as the man in black raises its hand towards his face, mirroring the action he'd used to freeze Poe in place on the desert sands of Jakku. Immediately, the pilot feels a sort of pressure in his head; some kind of force attempting to violate the bounds of his mind. Instinctively, he tries to recoil from it, clenching his teeth together as the pressure grows stronger. Never before has he experienced such a thing, but he's heard stories and they're enough to make him want to fight back with everything he has left.

      Abruptly, his head is painfully slammed back against the chair by an unseen pressure, causing him to groan in pain as it collides with the hard metal surface behind him. The pressure in his head gives way to pain, sharp and excruciating and he cries out before he can stop himself.

     "Where is it?" The masked figure demands viciously, forcing its way deeper into Poe's consciousness.

     The pilot strains against the shackles that hind him, biting his lip till it draws more blood in order to hold back another cry of pain. "The Resistance," he barely manages to choke out; each word a labor to say, "will not be intimidated by you."

     The words have just left his mouth before all he feels is pain — terrible, excruciating pain — and then the last barriers on his mind slip, leaving his thoughts defenseless as he writhes in silent agony.

      He feels his captor invading his thoughts, violating his most private memories without a single care. Poe is six years old and sitting on his mother's lap in the cockpit of her A-wing plane learning to fly; eight years old and sobbing into his father's shoulder as he drags him away from her coffin; twenty-two years old and newly enlisted in the New Republic navy, cocky and surefooted with no idea what it means to be a soldier at war; twenty-five and rolling around the sheets with a boy who couldn't stay; and — abruptly, the scene shifts. He's thirty years old and starstruck as he meets his General in all her regal glory. She welcomes him to her Resistance with open arms and Poe, for the first time in years, finds a place that feels like home.

     Outside of his memories, for the briefest of moments, Poe feels a flicker of rage mixed with something he can't recognize from the consciousness invading his own before it continues its brutal assault, tearing through his most precious memories with negligent aggression. He's thirty-two and thriving in the ranks of his command, leading his squadron on mission after mission on the quest for a map that means more than all their little lives combined. Karé and Snap are there; L'ulo and Jessika — and Oddy, too. Every moment of Poe's life seems to be flashing before his eyes, slipping through careless fingertips as the masked monster works its way through his brain.

     There's more pain as they dig further into his mind and Poe can faintly hear the sound of his own voice screaming in agony. He's standing on the runway to a transport ship as he watches the prettiest girl he's ever seen come running towards him and the General with a duffle bag slung over her shoulder and a droid buzzing around her head. Poe shakes her hand on the transport ship and there's a warmth there that surprises him; one that he wants to hold onto forever. The same hands are gentle as they wipe away dried blood from his face and seal broken skin with a bandage; reassuring as they intertwine with his while they stand before the coffin of the best man he's ever known. He sees stardust in her eyes; constellations that have never been charted as their lips almost touch before they break apart and the moment comes to an abrupt end. Inside his head, the foreign presence seems to obtain pleasure from Poe's misery, taking a keen sort of interest in the girl that means so much to him no matter how hard the pilot tries to push him out. He never wants this monster to see her, but there's nothing he can do to stop him and he's never felt so powerless.

     By the time it's over, there's nothing left for Poe to hide. His defenses are so worn down that taking the map's location from him is easy. He can sense the exact moment that his captor sees Poe send BB-8 off into the desert, the artifact tucked safely into its metal hull, and Poe knows then that he has truly failed everyone. All of his attempts to repel the man before him had been futile; his efforts at resistance pitiful.

     That thought alone leaves him haunted and aching as the masked creature exits his mind, leaving his head feeling abused. He slumps over in the chair, unable to stave off the devastation he feels as unconsciousness curls its blackened fingers around the muddled mess that is his mind and drags him down into a sea of inescapable darkness.

     I'm sorry, he thinks weakly, struggling to keep his head from sinking lower even as he starts to fade. I failed. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I failed. I'm sorry.

     And then the world goes black.

a/n: we about to get controversial on main??? ok.

lmao kylo ren really ain't shit,,, i honestly hate his ass goodbye

EDITED ON:
08.22.19