The Resistance cared about its pilots, and they were strong enough to hold their own in hand-to-hand combat—let alone a situation like this. Being captured by The First Order was a given, each pilot had the coordinates to one or more Resistance sanctuaries. They were valuable in their own, even if they didn't receive the credit they sometimes deserved.

You, on the other hand, had made the disastrous decision to fight and lose. The First Order officers didn't play fair, and their StormTroopers didn't either. The moment you had crawled out of your smoking T-70, they were on you like flies to a corpse.

At first you had thought: 'There's just one, I can handle that', but boy were you wrong. One after the other, you were surrounded. Your brain was fuzzy with the sounds of overhead combat and the only reminder of your ongoing existence was the realization that you were staring down the barrel of not just one StormTrooper blaster—but six.

A disgruntled, programmed voice drew you from your dissociative state, "Remain on your knees, pilot." One Trooper pressed a metallic band around your left wrist, and within a few seconds you were at the mercy of The First Order.

—

Your audience consisted of three Troopers, a medic, and the General of the First Order. General Armitage Hux. It wasn't a good sign to have him, of all people, looking down at your form. It means that you had to have been the only one they managed to capture alive. While every commander was adamant on staying alive; it was standard for many pilots to die in battle before they relinquished any information on the Resistance's whereabouts in the surrounding systems.

He looked absolutely malevolent. He was clothed in all black, his shoulders were squared, and he radiated power. Blue eyes, set deep into his skull framed by sharp bones, looked as though they wanted nothing more than to send you flying into the cold of space.

General Hux was all sharp lines; from his hair to boots, there wasn't a hint of softness on the man. You imagined what he was capable of, and regretted it.

If the General were scary like this, without a weapon in hand, you mused what it was like to stand face-to-face with the Knights of Ren and their commander.

"They refuse to talk," oh, now he looked tired and somewhat amused. "Perhaps we ought to look into another candidate, General sir."

"Are you trained to give up so easily? Or are you afraid to use unconventional methods?" He began his slow move toward your prone position. "Look at me, pilot." Instantaneous refusal. Looking up from this position would be uncomfortable as well as a strike to your pride. "Stubborn as always."

You had only encountered General Hux twice before, and they had been on rescue missions. He'd must've seared your image into his mind.

A black-gloved hand encased your chin, fingertips dug into your jaw with a dull bite. Your head was pulled against the strain of your neck, and you looked the General in the eye. His lips were turned upward at the corners as he memorized the minuscule details of your face. With your lips pursed, covered in blood and dirt, you must've been a sight to behold.

"I am sure, with a little bit of a push, I can get you to sing like a pretty bird."