48. Chapter 48
“Get them out!” Kylo’s not sure if the command comes from himself or from Rey, but the Resistance fighters move to obey all the same. Gun leads the pack, slinging his rifle over his shoulder as he pulls the needles from a man with surprising tenderness. As the Exes run past him, he feels their discomfort, their fear and anger. It could have so easily been them strapped down, helpless and mindless.
Something bothers him, a convulsing wrongness in the Force, and Rey’s hand finds his as she senses it as well. They squeeze each other’s fingers for a moment before Rey releases him and moves to the closest chair. Seeing her at the chair brings memories from Starkiller flooding back. Her wide eyes, bright with fear and defiance. Her spitting accusation, you’re a monster , and the hiss of his helmet as he pulled it off to show her his face. Her slender neck strained as he tried to wrest the location of Skywalker from her thoughts. The electric sting of her mind’s invasion into his, as merciless as her declaration that he’d never be as strong as his grandfather, her exposure of his fear. The sharp stabbing pain that forged their connection, the overwhelming need to prove her wrong, make her his. The insane rage that gripped him when he returned to find the chair empty, his sliver of hope gone with her. He shakes his head to clear the memory from his thoughts.
The headgear is complex, latched in ways she can’t figure out, and he feels the echoes of her discomfort as she runs her fingers over the blinking lights and sensors without any sense of how to remove it. I don’t know what to do! She cries out to him for help and Kylo masters himself, strides over to her side.
He keeps his examination of the headgear perfunctory and impersonal, jabbing at a button on the chair that releases the seals with a hiss and a puff of gas. She looks up at him as the mask clicks open and he meets her gaze, a hollow feeling in his chest. These chairs aren’t so different than the ones on Starkiller.
The man in the chair jolts as the last clamps release and they look down on him. Dark bruises mottle his temples, forehead, and chin. Rey leans over him, her mind all horror and concern that seeps into Kylo, overpowers his self-loathing. The man’s face beneath her hands is wet with tears or sweat, Kylo can’t tell which, and his bright green eyes follow her movements without seeing her, rolling in blind panic as his jaw works at the bite guard between his teeth. Rey tries to smile through the tears that sting her eyes, tries to sooth the wild terror of the Stormtrooper, drawing on the Force for calm. Kylo lifts a hand to her shoulder, touching the bare skin of her neck with his fingertips and tries to give her strength, but the Force writhes like a snake under his skin. Kylo moves away, going to the next chair, as she murmurs, “It’s okay, we’re here to help you. We’re with the Resistance.”
The ‘Trooper beneath this mask is a man with dark hair shaved short. He screams around the gag as Kylo pulls the needles from his arms. Murmuring the words Rey had said, Kylo tries to imbue them with all the calm sincerity he has. “It’s okay. We’re here to help you.” He lifts his hands to where the prisoner can see them and moves to slide the bite guard out, cautious and ready for a fight if he lashes out, but he quiets, sits silent, stunned and shaking. When he unlocks the thick cuffs on his arms and legs, the man doesn’t move until Kylo leans to help him stand on unstable legs.
The chamber fills with the hiss of masks being removed, the clank cuffs being undone, the rasps of raw voices crying or shouting, the murmur of the Exes as they go about their grim task. Occasionally, another scream or the sounds of conflict pierce the air as a rescue turns violent. All of the ‘Troopers Rey awakens are docile, shell-shocked, and he is relieved. He can feel her unease as she balks at the thought of killing someone hurting like this, even as a necessary action. The certainty that Kylo could kill these people without hesitation or thought makes him feel sharp and cold, more like a knife than a man.
Some ‘Troopers don’t wake up at all. Gun finds the first dead man and swears until he runs out of curses. Kylo finds another and it is only with great effort that he restrains himself from destroying the chair in front of him. One woman clings to Rey as she wakes, sobbing and retching before falling to the floor to tear at her own hair.
Once all the chairs have been checked and all the living ‘Troopers woken, they have another crowd on shaking legs that needs to be taken back to the transport. Kylo watches them go, escorted by the walking wounded from their original squad, and takes a deep breath before turning to the door on the far side of the room. Hand in hand, they walk past the corpses left in the chairs to reach it. He feels Rey carve their faces into her mind, coloring their bond with her rage and pain. Kylo forces himself to ignore the figures, chasing away thoughts of if only we’d gotten here sooner . They are dead now, and no longer his concern. The living, enemy and ally alike, are all that matter.
The hall beyond is narrow and curves sharply, forcing them to walk in a single file to a small unguarded door at the end. The Force flexes as they approach the sense of wrongness rolls over them in waves as Rey, out in front, approaches the end of the hall. Even the soldiers, insensitive to the Force, shift with discomfort . The door tears open before she can touch it and she almost falls through, lightsaber coming up as every instinct she has screams for them to run .
Kylo can place the feeling now, recognizes the presence that warps the Force. Anticipation leaps in his stomach as he brushes his hand across the small of Rey’s back, helps her to raise a shield as she regains her footing and slips into the room. A Knight of Ren. Ranks and ranks of troopers aim plasma rifles at them, an overwhelming force in this tight space. He gestures to the lieutenant to be ready for a fight and Gun nods, signals to his people, and they all fall into fighting crouches.
Darkness, the familiar, comforting hatred, bubbles up from where it had lain dormant as a slim figure in a black mask and long draped coat emerges, slow and languorous, from the sea of white plastoid. Ajani. That explains the extra ‘Troopers. Ajani always preferred to have others do the hard work for her. Kylo rolls his shoulders back, pulls himself up to his full height, his grip on his saber controlled, making himself look confident, aloof.
“Kylo Ren.” Ajani’s voice is light, high and mocking, and it lilts over his name. “You look… softer than I’d imagined.” The figure stops, shifts its weight sensually, and taps a long thin staff against its shoulder.
“Why are you here, Ajani? Since when is Snoke so concerned with the common rabble that he’d send a Knight to oversee reconditioning?” The Knight’s mind is guarded, slick and hard with defenses. All he can get is a sense of purpose, a duty to fulfill. She scrabbles against his thoughts, weaker, but not helpless.
The masked head shakes slowly, as if it’s wearer is disappointed. “Knights don’t talk to foolish traitors.” As she spits the last word, she spikes a lance of pain at his mind, but he blocks it. The staff stops tapping and the mask snaps to look at Rey, who adjusts her grip on her saber as the unsettling click of thirty safeties clicking off in perfect unison sounds across the chamber. Her interest in Rey makes Kylo’s skin crawl, and he wants to lunge for her right there, tear her apart with his bare hands. Ajani turns her head back towards him and retreats behind her ‘Troopers, her presence diffusing as she calls from out of sight, “You and I will talk later, though, girl. Once the traitor is dead.”
Kylo snarls, wordless, and drops all he knows about Ajani into Rey’s mind with a thought and a surge of defiant rage. Something dark and terrible shreds at their shield, dragging at their shared strength with a studied brutality. Rey fights back, tries to gather the Force from around them, but it resists and that change sends fear spiking down the back of her neck. I can’t keep the shield up.
Kylo realizes then that this is new to her. She is frightened, and she’s still scared of the darkness that feeds on that emotion. She’s never fought a Force user besides him or Snoke before, and she remembers the failure of their previous attempt. The fear will cripple her if she lets it, so he pours strength and conviction into her through their bond. They won’t fail here, not against a single Knight hiding behind rows of ‘Troopers. Then drop it.
The attack rips the air and Rey dodges, her protective barrier unraveling as she runs along the narrow space, moving away from the door as she desperately strengthens her battle meditation. Kylo flicks out his free hand, a concussive wave of power rolling forward like thunder at the enemy Stormtroopers, but a white shield shimmers before them and his attack breaks against it. He growls, deep and guttural, and darkness warms his thoughts, strong and steady, honed and enhanced by her battle meditation, and throws another blast of power at the shield. The white glow winks out and the ‘Troopers open fire.
The Exes understand their formation, understand close quarters firefights, and they break into small groups at a shout from Gun, utilizing quick, erratic movements to reduce the accuracy of their stationary opponents while returning fire. On the periphery of his awareness, Rey struggles to link them together, to enhance their abilities through her battle meditation, but the Force fights her at every attempt.
Kylo has fought Ajani before, and he feels her presence lurking in the midst of the battle, a little break in the uniformity of the minds around her. Back left, three rows in . Rey nods and Kylo takes the lead, hunting the Knight through the ranks of Stormtroopers, deflecting, freezing, or reversing the blaster bolts fired at him as he carves through the formation. He drinks in the darkness to fuel his abilities, allowing it to flood into his veins, into his soul, until he sees red at the edges of his vision. He remembers the way Ajani’s head tilted, predatory and intrigued, as she’d looked at Rey, and then he imagines her head tumbling from her shoulders. He calls on the anguish Rey felt in the room with the chairs, pulls the fear apart to tease out her bestial blood rage inside. It possesses him, gives him the strength to fight alone against dozens, fills him with a bright savage joy as he kills.
Rey opens herself to him, lending him more of her power as she moves behind him. The flow goes both ways, and her mind takes on some of the endless power surging around him. It makes her reckless, stronger, as she shears through limbs, deflects plasma slugs back at the shooters, dodges and hops just a few steps behind Kylo as he scythes a clear path for her. Then something hisses, sizzles against her leg and Rey staggers. The pain takes a moment to manifest, fire hot then icy cold burning into her thigh and it hurts . Her mind darkens at the temptation, the promise of strength to make the pain stop.
She doesn’t give in, but Kylo does, soothing the burn through their link before reengaging with the ‘Troopers. He berates himself as he swings his saber in wild arcs that break through the press of bodies. He must be faster, stronger, better , to keep her safe. Rey limps after him, focusing all her attention on protecting herself and defending his back as he cleaves a path for them, and that is right and good and as it should be. A ‘Trooper fires at him from a foot away and Kylo laughs as he catches it, plasma radiating warmth to his fingers before he flicks it into the crowd and runs the shooter through. His shoulder burns, leather smoking with a putrid stink, and only through Rey’s eyes can he see the flick of the electrostaff.
Ajani stabs again, thrusting with the staff and Kylo parries, lunges to slice the air just short of her torso as she arches away. The Force warps as a half circle of ‘Troopers turn inwards. There’s something wrong with their minds, and it turns Kylo’s stomach. They’re linked through the Force, chained, enslaved to Ajani’s will. He’s heard of this puppetry, the Dark Side of battle-meditation, but never seen it in action. He uses the downward momentum of his saber’s blade to turn the swing into a spin that burns through a ‘Trooper’s leg and then he brings it back up, chopping at Ajani’s head. She ducks under the screeching blade, flicks up with the free side of her staff, trying to hit his wrist to knock the saber out of his grip as the Stormtroopers fire.
They’re shooting at him, at Rey, killing their fellow soldiers in bursts of friendly fire in the overlapping confusion of the scrum. Bolts from Gun and the Resistance fighters criss-cross back over, taking out a few, but not enough, of the enemy ‘Troopers. Kylo takes everything, dark and light, to keep his blade blurring against the lethal shots, but they’re all so closely pressed together and the Knight’s staff is flickering in and out of his defenses, stinging a half dozen irritating little touches that each demand just a little more attention, a little more strength.
There’s a moment of perfection when Rey switches from defending to attacking. The tiny part of his brain that isn’t occupied with battle is in awe. This is how they’re meant to operate together, synchronized in murderous harmony. Lashing out with the Force, Rey snares, freezes, uses all the tricks Kylo taught her. She releases her tenuous grip on the bastardized battle meditation to focus on slowing and annoying the Knight of Ren and she ducks under a backswing from the staff and slashes at the exposed back. Ajani shrieks and Rey’s exaltation ripples through the connection as her lightsaber burns a long gash from Ajani’s shoulder to hip. The Knight turns the convulsive motion of her pain into a wild thrust up and Kylo can’t move fast enough to stop it. The staff catches Rey on the neck, just under her ear. The pain lasts for eternity, filling her veins with broken glass and her mind with roaring void.
Rey screams from the edge of unconsciousness for Kylo and he responds, instinctive and half crazed with fury. Snarling, he slides around Ajani, snatches the staff with a bare palm from where it crackles against Rey’s skin. She crumples, but he can’t catch her and keep her safe, so he lets her collapse as he tightens his grip on the staff. The pain in his hand from the electrified tip is nothing, a trifling nuisance, as he yanks Ajani to him, Force bunching around his hands as he pulls. The Knight is thrown off balance, surprised at his rash action, jostled by the writhing crowd, and Kylo takes his chance. He runs her straight through with his saber, thrust strengthened by rage, by Rey’s pain, by the Dark Side. He tears the saber free from Ajani’s chest as she falls, shifting to turn and carves into another enemy before the Light touches his mind, the Force reasserting itself after the corruptor’s death, and he has the presence of mind to see the ‘Troopers throw down their weapons in surrender, gloved hands tapping to their plastene helmets.
He spins to find Gun, and the man is already moving to his shoulder. “Shoot anyone who moves.” Gun nods, lifts his rifle and shouts something as the Exes and Resistance people swarm to encircle the ‘Troopers. Kylo ignores it all. Rey’s pain claws at his mind, weak and distant, and the shocks wracking her still twitching body spasms through his limbs. He kills the beam on his saber, stowing it at his belt to bend over her, rage bubbling up at the sight of her skin, the blistering marking a horrible electric kiss on the spot he knows makes her sigh and squirm. He has to get her out of here, get her to safety, and her eyes flutter open as he lifts her, wide and unseeing. She lets out a tiny gasp of pain, and it’s enough to make him wish Ajani was alive so he could kill her a hundred times more. His furor is still pounding in his head, mingling with her fear and confusion, and he hates it but he slings her over his shoulder, takes his saber back in hand, and nods at Gun. “We have to go.”
There’s an exit to the hangar somewhere close, Kylo remembers this place from the documentation provided in their dossiers, but there will be more enemies and no prisoners to rescue. It’s an unacceptable risk when Rey is hurt. She’s fighting unconsciousness across his shoulder, thoughts muddled and slow, and his focus now is to get her to safety. He stays with his crew as they retreat down the halls they cleared, past the empty prison cells. Rey cries out as he jostles her down the stairs and he rests his blistering hand against her back, bringing his saber up as the sounds of a firefight echo around the stairwell.
He finds the fight in the prison yard, a half squad guarding the ramp of their transport and a line of grim, unarmored figures in black undersuits trading fire with advancing ranks of guards. The shuttle hovers a foot off the ground and the Force ripples with the disquiet of the crowd. Over the zapping bolts, he can just make out an argument about maximum load capacities and emergency take off protocols. He grits his teeth, panic rising. There’s not enough space. They’re going to leave. His eyes flick around as he runs full tilt across the yard. There are at least two dozen rescued prisoners on the ground, not to mention Gun’s whole squad, himself, and Rey. It is unacceptable. They came to get these people out of here, not to leave them behind. His mind races and he thinks back through the pages of blueprints from the dossier in his mind. Something sparks an idea, a reckless, stupid, half-formed plan, but he can’t do anything, can’t think straight until Rey is safe.
Gun’s shouts cut over the fighting, ordering covering fire for Kylo as he gathers the Force and uses it to leap up the ramp as the transport shudders under his feet and climbs higher. He places Rey into Kess’s gesturing arms and straightens up again. He takes a last look at them, at Kess checking Rey’s pulse, at Finn’s startled, open face, at Rey’s fluttering eyelids, before turning back to the battle below. He shouts to make himself heard over the tumult, cutting the Captain off mid-word. “I’ll be right behind you, Kess!” He smacks the button to the ramp and jumps as it raises behind him, saber igniting as he hits the ground and rolls to the line of recently freed captives.
There’s a pause broken only by gunfire and then a ragged cheer. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees the transport still ascending. Rey is screaming in his head, calling his name over and over, terrified and furious, but she’s safe. Time to work.
“Get armed. Whatever you can find,” He orders the freed ‘Troopers. “We fight to the hangar.”
“Ren!” Kess snarls through the comm on his wrist, “I’ve got a shiny button with your name and a whole lot of pain on it. Tell me exactly what the fuck is going on right now or so help me, I will push it.”
It’s lucky that the comm is on the wrist of his injured hand, it gives him some room to engage the guards that emerge from a side door, the one he hopes leads towards the hangar. “You push that button and I die, Cap.” He grunts as an electrostick connects with his side, hissing against his coat. He lets the Force flow through his free hand, snuffing the life out with a thought. “You push that button and everyone left on the ground dies. There wasn’t enough room on that transport, you know that!” He throws up a shield to part a curtain of flame, then dodges as Gun’s rifle and the blasters of his squad crackle behind him and the Flametrooper falls. “Statura said to bring back as many as we can. I’m showing initiative.” He grunts, ducking as the ‘Troopers turn their fire on him, letting the Force guide him along a path between the projectiles and wading into the cluster before they can switch from blasters to melee weapons. “I can do this, Kess. I’m not going to let you down.”
There’s a long, nerve-wracking silence where he fights, not sure if or when Kess is going to trigger the chip in his skin, so he uses that terror to push himself further, fighting harder down the wide hall. It’s packed with enemy ‘Troopers, seems to hold the entire surviving population of the facility, and the fighting here is brutal, close, and blasters are next to useless. Fighting makes him feel good, alive . It’s perfectly right to rip through opponents and scatter their neat straight lines to chaos. Gun roars somewhere behind him, and Kylo turns, ready to help, but he’s not needed. A dead ‘Trooper lays at the giant’s feet, and Gun is red to the forearms. He’s slung a wounded Resistance woman across his shoulders, one bloody hand holding her in place, his rifle given away to an unarmed rescue who covers the Lieutenant from his flank. Kylo extends a hand, throws up a barrier to protect his allies from an oncoming volley of fire, and watches as Gun grabs another ‘Trooper by the throat, lifts the figure into the air, and breaks the neck with a savage twist. Behind and around him, the remaining Exes and prisoners fight on, bloodied and battered, with weapons scooped up from the fallen, or, when no weapon could be found, with their fists and feet.
His comm lights up and Kess snaps back, her tone’s ferocity on par with Rey’s voice in his head. “You will call back as soon as you are airborne so we can track you back to D’Qar. You will keep me informed of every single step you take from now on, you hear me, Ren?” There’s a click of her teeth gnashing. “If at any point I have to guess what you’re doing, I will blow your chip and then I’ll hunt you down myself, do you understand me?”
“Got it.” He catches two riot sticks on his saber, one enemy falls to blaster fire and he finishes the other off, stabbing through the bubbling plastene helmet before remembering himself. “Kess!”
“What?” The Captain snarls.
“Tell Rey I’m sorry.” He flicks the comm off, silencing Kess’s half-formed curse, as Gun reaches him.
The lieutenant catches Kylo’s eye, jerks his chin and they advance again. Turning a corner Kylo flicks a hand up, killing his saber as three flat discs accelerate towards him. The discs freeze and then he waves them back at the cluster of ‘Troopers kneeling in front of a blast door. An explosion and a concussive wave throws them all back, enemies and allies alike, and Kylo grunts as his burned shoulder impacts the wall and he slides to the floor. The sound of screaming fills the halls, and Kylo accepts the hand of a man in a black bodysuit, barely cringing as the blistering on his palm is squeezed. The man pulls him to his feet, his mouth moving, but Kylo’s ears are still ringing with the bomb’s explosion, his veins still full of the dark power of the Force and so he just nods and shouts an advance order. The man raises his stolen blaster, turns his adrenaline-glassy eyes ahead, and moves forward in step with Kylo and his comrades.
He turns the corner, saber swinging in long, lazy arcs as he steps over the dying Stormtroopers, frowning at the door to the hangar. It’s a barrier to what he wants and is thus unacceptable. He could cut through the durasteel, but that would take time he doesn’t want to waste. The control panel is an easier target, reduced to smoke and melted plastic after two quick shots from the man at his side. The door rolls up and the darkness hisses against his mind, instinct and Force jerking his hand up to manifest a shield, edges sharp and jagged, catching an ambush waiting for them on the other side. The shield flexes under the blaster fire and Kylo shoves it out, knocking the firing squad back, cracking their armor and crushing the air from their weak bodies. Kylo raises his saber, slashing away a long plasma slug as the boom of heavier weaponry sounds from ahead.
Behind him, Gun grunts in pain. Again, Kylo turns to help the man, worry stabbing his heart as an Ex next to Gun goes down screaming. Gun’s face twists as blood blossoms from his shoulder, just beneath the hip of the injured Resistance woman, and something in Kylo shifts. It’s not the same animal instinct to defend as when Rey is in danger, but it’s as close to that as he’s ever felt for another person, and Kylo roars his fury. Gun is his man, his responsibility, has been from the moment Kylo gave him a name, from the moment he clapped his bloody hand on Kylo’s arm in friendship. Rey isn’t here to stop him now, and Kylo slips the leash on his rage, lets go his control, reaching for the eager, waiting power.
Darkness enfolds him, drapes around his shoulders like a heavy cloak. He’s one with the Force like this, wholly engulfed in a meditative trance he can never achieve any other way. His saber twists, as though of its own volition, in his hand for what could be minutes or hours as they fight for every inch of progress across the wide empty space. He feels the lives of his opponents glowing in his awareness, tiny smoldering fires that he extinguishes with puffs of power that seem almost insignificant. His comrades are behind him, Gun still at his heels, picking off those in his periphery. He shields them as best he can while still allowing them space to fire, and nothing can stop them like this. His sides are guarded and his eyes sweep ahead, snagging on a gleaming black craft, all sleek lines and hard angles, and he laughs, a sharp bark of true mirth. Dameron is going to love this.
He’s almost disappointed when he’s in arms reach of the slick exterior and he taps the button to lower the ramp, storming on to begin the takeoff procedure that he knows so well. While the engines sing, he switches off with one of the black-suited rescues, a pilot with a bloodstained face, and runs to aid the defenders on the bottom of the ramp, deflecting blaster bolts with arms that went numb some time ago. He doesn’t care, ignores his various pains, ignores everything but the singing, thrilling freedom of the fight, the insane joy of success. The ramp shifts under his feet, raising as he stands on it, and only then does Kylo retreat into the ship and kill the beam on his saber.
“Kess,” he cues up his comm, “we’re on a shuttle. I’m setting the coordinates to D’Qar. We’ll be on your tail the whole way back.” Everything aches as the Exes and rescues part for him, but it’s good, the best feeling of bone-deep tiredness, and though he could have killed a hundred more men, he is satisfied with his work. He sinks into the chair beside the bloodied pilot, tapping in the coordinates that will bring them back to the base.
Gun slides into the cockpit and Kylo extends his uninjured hand to the man. They grasp each other’s forearms, and Gun lets out an exhausted, gravelly laugh. “We really need to get you fighting on film, man. The First Order would shit itself and run.” He leans on the console, droplets of blood pattering down his arm to the floor.
Looking at the droplets, Kylo is struck by the fact that this is the second time he’s watched someone bleeding in an Upsilon. “Let’s find you some bacta, Gun. You’re bleeding on the chrome.”
Gun laughs again, dark and rough. “Most of it’s not my blood.”
Kess chews him out for a full ten minutes before thanking him, confessing that he saved her from a lifetime of sleepless nights regretting her choice to leave people behind. All in all, his team rescued twenty-one more prisoners. Without Kess or any other high ranking Resistance people on board, Kylo becomes the de-facto leader, and the new Exes look to him with awe and reverence before Gun’s cavalier attitude begins to color their perception of him. They follow Gun’s lead, treating Kylo like a respected friend and leader rather than like a wild animal, a monster, or a prisoner.
The next two days are the happiest he’s ever been without Rey. She yells at him, over the comms and in his head, projecting her fury at being left, her fear for his life, into his mind, and he tries to explain that he did it to protect her, to save her and as many others as he could. She’s hard to reach in hyperspace, and they are reduced to communicating through feelings without the comms. He misses her, aches for her presence, and feels her longing in return. He sleeps poorly, dreams even worse with Rey so far away, but the residual joy from their escape and his success stave off any melancholy he’d find from the tiredness.
The mood on the shuttle remains ebullient despite the cramped quarters. The small med kit is raided and the supplies distributed to those most in need. One of the Exes in Gun’s crew is a medic and patches up the worst of the wounds. Gun’s shoulder is packed with bacta, and Kylo only submits to the medic’s ministrations once everyone else has been seen to. Another Ex managed to hang on to a pack of sabbac cards through the battle, and they all use the blood splattered cards continuously throughout the flight, betting with bits of armor, guns, and the limited ration packs.
The new Exes all ask for new names from him or Gun, and with each name, Kylo gives them a little part of himself. The rescues become his , and he, in turn, becomes theirs. He gets assurances from Kess that they will be folded into Gun’s crew, and they all seem happy with that decision. On the second morning in hyperspace, the pilot starts referring to the rescued 'Troopers as the Ground Crew, stating that without Kylo, they'd 'all be in the ground.' Gun likes this, attests that the fate awaited them all, and the name sticks.
As they drop into low space over D’Qar and begin their descent, Kylo’s mood begins to sour. He’s excited to see Rey, but he’s not looking forward to going back to his life as a glorified prisoner. Noticing the change, Gun elbows him in the ribs. “None of that, sir. Happy face for the Groundies, happy face for the top brass. I don’t know what your deal with the Leaders is, but if you go in looking like you screwed up, they’ll treat you like you screwed up. If you go in looking like a hero, they’re more likely to treat you like a hero.” Kylo scoffs, but Gun doesn’t laugh. “I don’t care why you did it, Ren, but you came back for me and for all the guys in this shuttle. We owe you our lives. If that doesn’t make you some fucked up version of heroic, I don’t know what does.”
Gun turns on his heel, heads back into the tight confines of the shuttle proper, and raises his voice. Kylo can’t make out the specific words he says, but the shouts that follow his speech are loud enough to filter through the door of the cockpit. As they touch down, the Ground Crew is cheering, and they’re cheering his name.