The cherry paint on my armour shines like wet blood in the lights of the stadium. It might actually be old blood with polish over the top...
The Mandalorians stand at ceremony. An odd event. The stadium is large, set in the arena where I fought for a place in the Great Hunt. A place in history. Easy. I knew I could get here. But now that I am...
I sink in the moment. They are in straight lines. Parallel. Backs straight and chests out. Trees in an orchard. Along the path I walk to claim my glory. My footsteps echo. Loud and deafening. Their faces are shrouded in cold metal helmets. Identical trees.
All except one.
He has hair like golden threads. He is young. And gorgeous. His eyes are watchful and open. They follow my course while others look sightlessly to the ceiling. All at attention yet none aware. I nod to him. He bows his head. Something drops into my chest at that moment. Something old and familiar. Something terrifying. I feel fear.
I rasp my knuckles on the steel door.
'It's ready to talk.' The Guard on the other side opens the door for me. On the other side, the light is fluorescent. It makes the white, spotless walls shine brighter. I take the bottle he passes to me and scull it down as he contacts the General. 'How long till the General arrives?'
'Not for another hour or two, Ma'am.' With the General, that basically means immediately. He just doesn't want people to think that when they call, he comes running. *********** proud arse. Have to remember to wrench that conceited dignity from him before I kill him. I crush the steel bottle in my hand and sneer fiercely. Soon. Soon.
The Guard takes the empty, crushed bottle back with a shaking hand. I don't know this Guard. He's clearly new. He's in the Organisation armour; black cowl with eye slits and a durasteel cap with full body black armour. He has a blaster rifle and two small blaster pistols, plus two rockets in his wrist guards. A number is on left shoulder pad in silver: 579.
'You new? Where's Jakob?' Jakob's one of the three Guards for this cell who had the number 579.
The Guard looks uncomfortable. He's young. Far too young. Close to my age. Barely old enough to shave. 'He spoke out against orders, Ma'am. I'm his replacement.'
'What's your name kid?'
He stares at my implants. I only wear a black tank top with black leather pants. Not sure it could really pass as even a tank top; it's more a second, silk bra. General encourages me showing off the things on me with pride. Good at the showing but lacking on the pride. Loving the fear though. His petrified gaze makes me a aware of the blood that covers my body; spots of crimson I wear with conceit. I leer at him. I give him three weeks, max.
'Willis.' He stutters the word out; it is a fly that bangs against a window before finding the gap to freedom. 'Willis Gord.'
I laugh. 'Unfortunate name you got, kid. Sounds like you were destined for this bantha's arse.' I clap my hand on his shoulder. I hear the General's quick heels on the smooth white tiles. 'Keep your mouth shut, **** together and vomit in and you might last as long as dear old Jakob. An entire six months.'
I take my hand away and look mournfully into the distance. 'Was almost going to set a new record of twenty six weeks.' I leer at Willis out of the corner of my eye as what colour he had fades from his face.
The General appears and Willis moves to sharp attention. His legs almost stop wobbling. I stand at my own form of attention; back straight, legs shoulder length apart and hands behind my back. In my mind, I am spitting on his face.
'Guard.' Willis opens the door on the General's order and the smell of Wookie piss and **** hit's your nose like a speeder. The Guard does a good job keeping in the vomit that leaks from his mouth. He swallows hard. Again and again. When it is back where it should be, he wipes his mouth. The Guard glances at me and I wink. He's a quick learner. Might survive after all.
The General walks inside, examines my work, enquires to the Wookie of his cooperation, recievs a screeching affirmative and walks back out. He nods to me. 'Well done, Primacy. A new record for any successful torture in Class B. A little messy though.'
I turned and started walking away after 'well done'. When he finishes, my feet dance a 180 turn and I continue to walk away backward down the long, white corridor. I spread my arms wide as I take in his amused, affronted face.
'You trained me to be the best, General.' My feet turn back around. I walk away with a straight back and confident steps, my calling voice echoing down the corridor to him.
'So I'm being the best.'
I look to the Hunt Master. Old and grey; tall and majestic. He grins at me. Or something close to a grin, it's hard to tell with Wookies. Whatever it is, it isn't something Wookies have ever made while looking at me before. As he stares down at me from the podium in the centre of the dusty arena, I wallow in conceit and pride. This is my moment. The first mark in many leading to my eternal glory. A spit in the face of the Organisation.
'Your name will be feared by even Sith.'
But I feel his eyes. And I am still scared.