Such Kylo Trash

Garbage

In the grand scheme of things, you were nothing significant. A limb for the First Order, one that, should you be severed from it, there would be no impact. Replaceable. It was a cruel joke in many ways. At least we're better than the 'troopers, a number of your colleagues would intone. You had only recently made the rank of officer, and here you were quite—underwhelmed, really. You had previously been stationed on Starkiller base to complete the last portion of your training. At least there, you reasoned, you had been able to escape the mundane routine of the day to venture out into the cold, to climb up a tree and hide. You never neglected your duties, and thus were never reprimanded for your behavior. You were courteous to all your colleagues, respectful to your superiors.

Lieutenant Mitaka eyed you from his position at your side. You and he were staring out one of the many windows on the ship. The Finalizer offered many views of deep space. Always the same; always so different. Stars, stars, stars. Always stars. Sometimes planets. The patterns were never the same, and you found that it further solidified the fact that you were small.

"Sir?" Mitaka considered you for several seconds longer before informing you that you could proceed. You did so, with some caution. "I almost fell into the trash compactor today." Dopheld Mitaka's lips twitched into a grin that he managed to fight off. "Officer Keln said it would have been appropriate since I'm such trash." His shoulder shook in silent laughter. He was one of your preferred superiors, and you knew he needed cheering after the day he had had. Reporting bad news to General Hux was not his favorite pastime.

"You're high quality trash then, (L/n)," he said, still trying not to grin as he turned and headed away. You bit down on the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling as well.

Turning from the window, you headed in the opposite direction than what Lieutenant Mitaka had wandered down. Work was to be done, and if you lingered any longer you would fall behind. That would not do, what with the Command Shuttle set to arrive in under two hours. Both General Hux and Commander Ren would be returning from—well, you could not keep track of every planet they landed on. They did not always leave together; rarely did so, in fact. You wondered how much damage Commander Ren had done to his ship as you rounded a corner.

You whistled lowly a tune that had been stuck in your head for the better part of the day. You blame Officer Keln, the very man that had bumped into you and almost knocked you into the trash compactor. Though he enjoyed teasing you, the man was one of the few individuals aboard the ship you found yourself speaking with on a daily basis. Joking was not a common occurrence in a few of the other circles you found yourself. Stormtroopers were wary when it came to interacting with officers, which was in accordance with how they were trained. Technicians were jovial during breaks, however dead serious at all other times. And officers? Most were the epitome of stoic if a superior was near, if General Hux was onboard. When Kylo Ren was aboard the Finalizer, everyone was a mess of nerves.

Of course, then there was you. Insignificant, lowly you—you still made your food talk to one another, beg not to be eaten. Your first week aboard the Finalizer had been spent taking a number of psych-evaluation tests. After passing them with flying colors, you were given tasks of minimal importance. This did not bother you in the least. After all, you were one of the newest officers aboard; why should you be given anything too important?

Then again, that had been your outlook before you had been assigned the task of ensuring that Commander Ren's quarters were prepared. Any mistakes would fall on your shoulders—which would probably be devoid of a head, you thought with a heavy sigh. But! That was life... Or death, as it were.

Arriving at the entrance to what would be Commander Ren's temporary living quarters, you punched in the code that granted you access. He would be changing it once he arrived to ensure that no one would enter without his permission. You stepped inside the room, which to you reeked of being...sterile. No one lived there. A dark, metal bed with black sheets. The standard wardrobe to place his things inside of. You chewed on your bottom lip, looking about your surroundings. The man wore a helmet, a mask, for what seemed to be every waking hour of his existence. With no face to read, one could not easily discern his likes or dislikes.