An armored hand sits paused above a button. The black void of space above it is broken by the unwavering glow of ten thousand stars. A filtered sigh breaks the peace. The button is pressed.
"This is One-Oh-"
Another sigh. The armored hand moves over the console before it, erasing the audio log before starting over.
"This is an old friend. Razgriz One. I have no doubt you can figure out who I am. I'm sending you this message because I'm about to exit range of all Republic, CIS, and GSC transmiters. If I don't return, I want there to be some trail that can be tracked."
The filtered voice pauses, as if unsure of what to say.
"I'm out here because one of my researchers started asking a few questions. Questions that I started thinking about myself quite a bit. Those aliens we encountered a while back. The threats they made. I've searched every database available to me, and some that weren't supposed to be, and I came up with nothing. No one knows who they are. Just about no one even know they exist. It's taken me two or three months to track down even the slightest lead. The Unknown Regions. The only place someone can hide from the whole galaxy."
Helmeted eyes gaze up at the vast sky. They squint at something. Starlight skewed by something. Slight scratches scour the screen before the armored figure. They are disregarded.
"Many of you probably wouldn't have realized that my transfer orders were forged. Even fewer would think twice about yet another missing 170. Yeah. I was planning this for a while. Going renegade. Not betraying my brothers, but slipping away to work on intel. Relaying it all back to command with 'anonymous tips.' In all honesty, I was preping to infiltrate the GSC. Plans just kinda changed. I suppose that's the nature of war, isn't it? Situation normal, all fucked up."
The armored figure hesitates and lowers its head. Starlight illuminates the camoflaged helm. The helm's visor blocks the astral light from reaching the eyes below.
"I worked alongside a few of them. GSC rebels. Their hearts are in the right place, but many don't know that they're simply making a bad problem worse. Others don't even care. This isn't to say I defected or even gave them intel. More trading favors. I find out what happened to a squad of their troopers, or I knock out a CIS tank or two, and they refill my fuel tank and give me a warm meal or two. I nearly shot a few of them for being such raging bosh'tets. Blaming the Republic for their own damn rebelion. I can thank my partner in crime for defusing some of those situations. Wherever I couldn't find a friend or at least a reasonable GLA officer, he always managed to either find one or make one. I never realized just how many of our jedi defected until recently."
The armored figure looks back up and turns its head to the side, as if it were capable of looking behind it. Its gaze returns forwards, to the stars. The console lights glimmer against the worn faceplate. There is a moment of silence.
"He wasn't happy when I told him that our mission wasn't actually sanctioned by any authority other than my own. My compatriot, that is. He didn't want to return, surprisingly enough. He just... scolded me and stayed by my side. He has a stick up the ass longer than his lightsaber, but he cares about me for some reason. He understood then why I did what I did, and he understands now why we need to put outselves at such a risk. I mean, we're flying through enemy territory asking them for their goodwill so we can head into the single most dangerous territory in the galaxy. I had to stick a damn fuel scoop on my 170 just to make sure we don't get stranded. And once we get to our destination, we're back to flying by the seat of our pants. Hoping diplomacy with the locals doesn't wind up getting us killed."
The armored head drops into its matching gauntlets as a loud sigh punctures the ramble.
"Assuming we even survive this trip, I expect to be executed for treason. As long as I pick up useful intel and bring it back, it's all worth it. I trust High Command and SOCOM to be able to handle whatever I find. As for the Jedi, I expect my partner to get a slap on the wrist before leading his side of the investigation."
Silence.
"Lucky bastard..."
A grey armored hand rises up to the control panel.
"What little intel I have will be forwarded alongside this message. This is... this is Razgriz One signing off. May the Force be with you."
The hand hits a few buttons, and the panel grows darker. The armored figure sits in silence for a long moment. It reaches up to its left shoulder and grabs something. The knife comes loose with a quiet noise audible only to the one figure. Starlight glimmers against the polished sheen of the blade. The free hand flips a switch on the console.
"You awake back there?"
"Simply meditating whilst you went about your business. Might there be an issue that I may assist with?"
"R4 is done making preperations. I've double-checked the targeting system, deflector shields, sensor package, jamming gear, and just about every other piece of equipment on this damn bucket. Even the upgrades I've made. We're good to go."
The armored figure swirls the knife through its fingers. A long exhale is audible filtered through the helmet.
"Something is still bothering you. Do you wish to speak on it?"
"I'm fine. I just... I don't want all of this to be in vain, y'know? It's just... I'm almost afraid to find what we're looking for."
"It is well that you are concerned. We are doing much that will bring great risk to us. You must, however, avoid fear. Trust in the Force. We-"
"Fear is the mind killer. I know. I just... I know..."
"Did you send it?"
"Send the intel? I was going to just before we jumped."
"Not that. I meant your message to them."
"I... yeah. It's with the intel."
"Then we only have but to go. The sooner we depart, the sooner we can return with information that can aid them."
"Yeah. You're right. Buckle up. It'll only be a second."
The armored figure clicked off the intercom in the fighter. It looked down at the knife one last time. An orange insignia flickered in the starlight.
"See you around, yeh?"
The figure returned the blade to its sheath. With a quick swig from a flask stowed on its belt, it turned its attention to the console.
"R4, punch it."
"This is One-Oh-"
Another sigh. The armored hand moves over the console before it, erasing the audio log before starting over.
"This is an old friend. Razgriz One. I have no doubt you can figure out who I am. I'm sending you this message because I'm about to exit range of all Republic, CIS, and GSC transmiters. If I don't return, I want there to be some trail that can be tracked."
The filtered voice pauses, as if unsure of what to say.
"I'm out here because one of my researchers started asking a few questions. Questions that I started thinking about myself quite a bit. Those aliens we encountered a while back. The threats they made. I've searched every database available to me, and some that weren't supposed to be, and I came up with nothing. No one knows who they are. Just about no one even know they exist. It's taken me two or three months to track down even the slightest lead. The Unknown Regions. The only place someone can hide from the whole galaxy."
Helmeted eyes gaze up at the vast sky. They squint at something. Starlight skewed by something. Slight scratches scour the screen before the armored figure. They are disregarded.
"Many of you probably wouldn't have realized that my transfer orders were forged. Even fewer would think twice about yet another missing 170. Yeah. I was planning this for a while. Going renegade. Not betraying my brothers, but slipping away to work on intel. Relaying it all back to command with 'anonymous tips.' In all honesty, I was preping to infiltrate the GSC. Plans just kinda changed. I suppose that's the nature of war, isn't it? Situation normal, all fucked up."
The armored figure hesitates and lowers its head. Starlight illuminates the camoflaged helm. The helm's visor blocks the astral light from reaching the eyes below.
"I worked alongside a few of them. GSC rebels. Their hearts are in the right place, but many don't know that they're simply making a bad problem worse. Others don't even care. This isn't to say I defected or even gave them intel. More trading favors. I find out what happened to a squad of their troopers, or I knock out a CIS tank or two, and they refill my fuel tank and give me a warm meal or two. I nearly shot a few of them for being such raging bosh'tets. Blaming the Republic for their own damn rebelion. I can thank my partner in crime for defusing some of those situations. Wherever I couldn't find a friend or at least a reasonable GLA officer, he always managed to either find one or make one. I never realized just how many of our jedi defected until recently."
The armored figure looks back up and turns its head to the side, as if it were capable of looking behind it. Its gaze returns forwards, to the stars. The console lights glimmer against the worn faceplate. There is a moment of silence.
"He wasn't happy when I told him that our mission wasn't actually sanctioned by any authority other than my own. My compatriot, that is. He didn't want to return, surprisingly enough. He just... scolded me and stayed by my side. He has a stick up the ass longer than his lightsaber, but he cares about me for some reason. He understood then why I did what I did, and he understands now why we need to put outselves at such a risk. I mean, we're flying through enemy territory asking them for their goodwill so we can head into the single most dangerous territory in the galaxy. I had to stick a damn fuel scoop on my 170 just to make sure we don't get stranded. And once we get to our destination, we're back to flying by the seat of our pants. Hoping diplomacy with the locals doesn't wind up getting us killed."
The armored head drops into its matching gauntlets as a loud sigh punctures the ramble.
"Assuming we even survive this trip, I expect to be executed for treason. As long as I pick up useful intel and bring it back, it's all worth it. I trust High Command and SOCOM to be able to handle whatever I find. As for the Jedi, I expect my partner to get a slap on the wrist before leading his side of the investigation."
Silence.
"Lucky bastard..."
A grey armored hand rises up to the control panel.
"What little intel I have will be forwarded alongside this message. This is... this is Razgriz One signing off. May the Force be with you."
The hand hits a few buttons, and the panel grows darker. The armored figure sits in silence for a long moment. It reaches up to its left shoulder and grabs something. The knife comes loose with a quiet noise audible only to the one figure. Starlight glimmers against the polished sheen of the blade. The free hand flips a switch on the console.
"You awake back there?"
"Simply meditating whilst you went about your business. Might there be an issue that I may assist with?"
"R4 is done making preperations. I've double-checked the targeting system, deflector shields, sensor package, jamming gear, and just about every other piece of equipment on this damn bucket. Even the upgrades I've made. We're good to go."
The armored figure swirls the knife through its fingers. A long exhale is audible filtered through the helmet.
"Something is still bothering you. Do you wish to speak on it?"
"I'm fine. I just... I don't want all of this to be in vain, y'know? It's just... I'm almost afraid to find what we're looking for."
"It is well that you are concerned. We are doing much that will bring great risk to us. You must, however, avoid fear. Trust in the Force. We-"
"Fear is the mind killer. I know. I just... I know..."
"Did you send it?"
"Send the intel? I was going to just before we jumped."
"Not that. I meant your message to them."
"I... yeah. It's with the intel."
"Then we only have but to go. The sooner we depart, the sooner we can return with information that can aid them."
"Yeah. You're right. Buckle up. It'll only be a second."
The armored figure clicked off the intercom in the fighter. It looked down at the knife one last time. An orange insignia flickered in the starlight.
"See you around, yeh?"
The figure returned the blade to its sheath. With a quick swig from a flask stowed on its belt, it turned its attention to the console.
"R4, punch it."
