Chapter Text
“Group two move to onboarding, group two to onboarding,” came a monotone voice over the speakers, static mucking up the audio.
Sitting at the burnt remains of a local bar, a group of humans perked up, and moved to grab any belongings. They maneuvered around rubble and shattered glass; ashy remains of the town crunched underneath their feet. Every inhale brought on a fit of coughing caused by the smoke still wafting from buildings. Some tried to ignore the bodies lying in the streets, but it was difficult to find anything spared from the carnage.
Three more groups sat around the town square, all an assortment of kids in tattered clothing. A few were picking at the ration biscuits, others were timidly conversing with their group mates, while a vast number sat and stared blankly into the distance. All were covered in ash, dirt, and blood.
Lining up, the kids of group two presented their identity chips before passing through the barricade the troopers had managed to build around the shuttle. Soldiers stationed at repulsor guns and walking around with blasters had their sights trained on the remaining rooftops and alleyways.
A scrappy boy in a long trench coat got his identity chip cleared before moving to the next task, where an officer stood with a data pad. Dark circles seemed engraved onto his face, and he barely looked up at the boy when he said: “Name.”
“Cylis Bowfa, Sir,” the boy responded, looking down at the officer’s pad, seeing the list of names coming in from the chip scanner. The officer tapped on his name, pulling up a picture of an amiable boy with curly brown hair.
“Remaining kin?” The officer asked, fingers hovering over a familiar list of names in his profile.
“None, Sir,” Bowfa choked out. The officer gave a slight nod before marking a red X next to the three names. The soldier next to the officer waved Bowfa away.
Joining the line to the shuttle, the boy took in what was probably the last time he’d ever see his hometown. It might even be the last time he’d be on Chandrila. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t anything, or anyone for that matter, to return to. The town was unrecognizable compared to what it’d been only a few days ago.
“What are they doing over there?” A girl behind Bowfa muttered, looking over to what once had been the library.
A tattered poster around one of the supporting pillars showed a proud display of stormtroopers of various roles, pointing to the viewer, reading “For honor and victory! The Empire calls on YOU!”. Except now obscuring the poster was the resistance’s starbird symbol, painted hastily in a dark red paint, dripping from the poster. One trooper with a flame torch lit the bottom corner, quickly roaring into a flame, swallowing up the poster.
Whoops and hollers erupted around the town square, and Bowfa stared as the starbird burned away. Curses and threats to the rebellion were thrown at the remains of the poster by the kids. Tears streaked down young faces as they wished death upon the rebels, others promised revenge, while some screamed into the sky.
“If only getting rid of the rebellion was that easy,” the girl huffed, glaring at the poster’s ashes. Bowfa took a holopad out of his pocket, displaying a photo of a family standing in front of a school entrance. The mother and father smiled proudly as the two boys in the center of the photo held up their acceptance letters, wide grins on their faces. Bowfa felt separated from the taller boy in the photo, who shared his mother’s smile and father’s lean build.
Images of blaster fire and fire flashed in his mind. His father’s voice yelling to run before dropping to the ground, a mother clutching a young boy while trying to shoot the intruders, and a pain in his own shoulder as he leapt out the window. Shaking away the memory, he stuffed the holopad back into his pocket.
“We’ll get our chance,” Bowfa stated, gritting his teeth. Death to the Rebellion.