"He's earlier than usual," Unkar Plutt exclaimed while shielding his eyes from a dust cloud rising underneath the thrust of the Proffett Margin's repulsor lifts. "Assemble the men and prepare to load the cargo!"

The heavily modified CR90 Corvette hovered for a moment before gently setting down. Metallic joints in the structure groaned as the ship settled on Jakku's sandy surface. Dust clouds billowed around the intimidating vessel amid a chilling silence.

Plutt furrowed his brow and stepped up to the lowering ramp. "Captain Proffett? Is everything all right?"

No answer emanated from the vessel's interior. Plutt stepped forward and gestured towards several metal crates carefully stacked in the sand.

"We have gone to great lengths to assure that your cargo is prepared for its journey," Plutt said gently. "I'm sure you will be more than satisfied with our efforts."

A ragged-looking man with a crown of greying dark hair stepped up to the top of the ramp. His body wavered as if he were struggling to stay on his feet.

"Captain Proffett?" Plutt asked, drawing closer to the ship.

The man moaned and tumbled down the ramp like a rag doll tossed by an angry child. Rings of energy blasted from the craft's interior like waves of solar flares. Plutt grunted underneath the disabling barrage of stun blasts.

Several figures dressed in dark Imperial scout armor poured out of the ship and fired disabling blasts at Plutt's associates. Civilians in the nearby market screamed and began to scatter in panic. Just beyond the makeshift vendor tents, a pair of Imperial troop carriers unloaded scores of stormtroopers in white armor with red and black markings. Next to them, three heavy armor shuttles released AT-ST walkers. Four of Prolov's Phantom fighters, a squadron of TIE fighters, and Interceptors covered the skies.

An armored officer stepped down the ramp, flanked by two other soldiers. The officer motioned towards the unconscious Plutt. Four soldiers bound Plutt's hands and feet before lifting him from the ground to carry him, with the officer following close behind.

A few minutes later, Plutt awoke on the table within his stand. He pulled in vain against the energy bindings holding him in place. He rapidly blinked his eyes a few times to clear his vision. He grunted while turning his head to get a bearing on his surroundings.

"What is this?" he demanded in his gruff voice. "I want answers."

"As do I," a man in black Imperial scout armor replied. He reached up and removed his helmet, revealing the snarling face of Colonel Veriss. "And you will provide them unless tremendous pain is your passion."

Plutt huffed and chuckled. "I refuse to talk to you and your costume party. Where did you get those outfits? An Imperial surplus dealer?"

"I see you are going to need a little persuasion," Veriss stated, cutting into Plutt with an icy stare. He stepped over to a bin overflowing with scrap metal. His eyes narrowed while he pulled a long blade-like piece with jagged edges running along its length. "Restrain him."

"Wait!" Plutt pleaded underneath the compression of several glowing purple energy bands wrapping around his torso. "I'll tell you everything!"

"I know you will," Veriss said as he pressed the metallic shard against Plutt's skin. "Anguish is quite the stimulator for speaking truth."

"Please don't," Plutt begged while struggling against the restraints. "No! No, please!"

Veriss's face remained an emotionless mask as he plunged the metal deep into Plutt's arm and pulled it upward, separating a large portion of the junk dealer's flesh from his arm.

His screams echoed through the concession stand like an army of banshees combining their voices into a morbid chorus.

"We better work faster before she sees us," a young First Order Stormtrooper said to a fellow trooper just before him. He grimaced when he noticed the plasma mop move even slower than before. "Oh, come on, FN-2003! If she catches us, we will be punished! Move faster!"

FN-2003 sighed and looked up at his friend. "Cut me some slack, FN-2187. Besides, what do you have to worry about? You're her favorite, aren't you?"

FN-2187 nearly puked in his helmet when he heard that. Captain Phasma played no favorites, and even if she did, he knew he would never want to be at the top of that putrid list.

He shook the thought from his mind. "Just pick up the pace, please. This hangar must be—"

The hiss of opening blast doors cut him off. He turned his attention towards them while keeping the mop moving rapidly. A mountain of shimmering chrome armor filled the hangar bay. FN-2187 grunted at the sight of Captain Phasma moving towards them in her careful but militaristic stride.

I hope she moves by us without a word, FN-2187 thought while keeping his focus on his cleaning duties. The clanking of her boots against the deck plates filled his ears like the footsteps of an approaching predator. Sweat rolled down his face like water flowing gently down in a cascade.

Her glance at FN-2003 caused his heart to jump. His fellow trooper continued to work at his lazy pace. Phasma drew closer. FN-2187's breaths were as rhythmic as a drum corps pounding a beat during a parade.

He sighed softly as the tall, shimmering captain passed them by without uttering a word.

Careful, he said to himself silently. She can detect your uneasiness.

Suddenly, Phasma's footsteps came to an abrupt halt. FN-2187's heart rattled with fear underneath silence, more frightening than the previous footfalls of his commanding officer. Beneath his helmet, he turned his dark eyes upon the armor-weave cape-covered back of the imposing First Order officer.

She remained as motionless as a mountain of shiny chrome. FN-2187 glanced down at the deck to see a triangle-shaped splotch of dry surface that FN-2003 had missed. He quickly looked at Phasma and swiped the spot clean with his plasma mop.

He gulped when he noticed Captain Phasma slightly turned her head toward him.

Great, he silently rebuked himself. She caught me in the act. We'll both get it for sure now.

"FN-2187, follow me," Phasma said calmly in her beautiful voice. "I have something to show you that you may benefit from seeing."

"Yes, Captain," FN-2187 replied, leaning his plasma mop against a metallic support beam before walking behind Phasma.

Maybe I got away with it, FN-2187 told himself. She didn't see me make up for FN-2003's failure.

His helmet concealed a broad smile spreading across his young face. His fear turned to jubilance as he continued to silently gloat over, finally getting one over on his usually observant commanding officer.

He had to bite his lip to keep from squealing with joy while stepping into a lift next to Phasma. It would be a day he would long remember when he had finally won a victory over the "never could do any wrong" First Order stormtrooper commander.

He gloated mentally. Her silence is revealing.

Phasma leaned over to him and subtly growled. "Have I not told you to leave the weak behind, FN-2187? Do not be so naive to think that I fail to notice you making up for FN-2003's shortcomings. Your compassion for that weak imbecile will be your undoing. And I suggest you purge that distasteful emotion from you immediately."

FN-2187 gasped in a quivering voice. "Yes, Captain."

The pair remained quiet. The lift stopped with a dull thud before opening into one of Starkiller Base's cavernous hangar bays. On a flat outcropping beneath a row of suspended TIEs, a couple of ranks made up of officers and stormtroopers stood before a pair of kneeling young technicians bound at their wrists.

General Hux took notice of the approaching Phasma and FN-2187. He stepped towards them with his customary sneer.

"Captain Phasma, your agents have uncovered the culprits behind the sabotage of this base," he said coldly. "Fantastic work. You have my permission to deal with them severely."

Phasma motioned towards the ranks of First Order personnel. Two executioner troops—identifiable by the black markings on their armor—moved toward the condemned prisoners.

Phasma turned to FN-2187. "Watch closely and learn what happens to those who betray us through nonconformity." She pointed a finger at the helmet covering his face. "And if I see you look away or flinch just once, you will face extremely severe consequences. Do I make myself clear, FN-2187?"

He nodded. "Yes, Captain."

FN-2187 stared at the pair of technicians. Both were no older than twenty-five standard years. The one on the left was a square-jawed male with raven black hair and pale blue eyes. The other was a slender, beautiful female with golden blonde hair neatly pulled up in a bun. Tears fell from her light brown eyes like steady rain during a storm.

"We were just following orders from General Hux," she pleaded between sobs. "We did nothing wrong."

Hux sneered at her. "You will say anything to spare your miserable life, won't you?" He briefly looked down at a data pad before handing it to an officer to his right. "Your efforts will prove fruitless. You have been found guilty of treason and insurrection. Death shall be your reward." He motioned towards Phasma. "Carry out the sentence, Captain."

Phasma stepped forward while thinking, Look at you, pouring tears while thinking it would earn our sympathy. You should be punished for that weakness alone. She paused and glared at the condemned pair.

"Executioners, set your laser axes for nonlethal blunt force," she said in a cold but calm tone. "I want them to suffer before they die. On my command." She raised her hand into the air and swiftly brought it down. "Execute!"

The first blow struck the young woman in the upper portion of her left ear, splitting the skin and nearly severing the appendage. She screamed and covered the profusely bleeding wound. A second strike slammed into her rib cage, sending her into a violent convulsion.

"It hurts! Please stop!" she bawled. "No, please! Please!"

The young man beside her vainly shielded his face with his arms while tearfully screaming in anguish. A savage blow shattered the bones in his left arm. It dangled like a broken tree limb as he endured a series of strikes.

The young woman rolled over and pressed her knees to the deck. She looked up at Hux. "Just kill us, General. End this, please!"

Hux chuckled. "We will…after you have suffered enough."

The executioner trooper took a swing and connected with the young woman's mouth, sending disintegrated chucks of teeth mixed with bloody saliva flying outward like shrapnel from a bomb blast.

FN-2187 stood transfixed on the disturbing sight before him. He bit into his lip to keep from gasping or making any noise that Phasma would interpret as a flinch. He tightened the muscles in his arms and legs to brace himself further as he watched blow after blow land on the severely wounded technicians.

Phasma stepped up next to him. "Keep up your composure, FN-2187, and learn from this. From now on, all traitors will receive the same punishment. I suggest you try your best not to be one of them."

Sweat soaked his forehead, moistening it as if he had been standing out in the rain. Internally, he was devastated.

I must remain calm, he silently told himself. And I mustn't let her know that I'm struggling.

He closed his eyes while listening to the pitiful cries of the condemned. Morbidly, he felt comforted by shutting out the sight from his eyes.

She won't be able to see that my eyes are closed, he reasoned with himself mentally. She adores anonymity. She would have to take my helmet off first to know my eyes were closed. And even she is too full of pride to violate her standards.

Colonel Veriss emerged from Plutt's concession stand, holding a circular holoprojector. "Admiral, our friend Plutt informed us the Imperial parts salvaged from the wrecks on Jakku are being delivered to the First Order."

Admiral Prolov's hologram nodded. "Did he explain why the First Order desires parts from old Imperial relics?"

"No," Veriss replied. "He did, however, implicate Commander Jerek in the scheme. Jerek was using Captain Proffett and his ship, Proffett Margin, to pick up the Imperial parts and ferry weapons to planets serving First Order interests, including Geneel."

Prolov rubbed his chin. "Interesting. It is all coming together, as I have foreseen. Have your agents monitor Jerek's movements. We may find leverage we can use against the First Order. And bring me all written manifests and personal logs from our dear friend, Captain Proffett."

Veriss nodded. "Consider it done, sir. And what would you have us do here before we leave?"

Prolov chuckled. "Find a way to embarrass Plutt a little more and in a way that doesn't include continued torture. Bring the Proffett Margin and its crew to the fleet. We may have use for them yet."

"As you wish, sir," Veriss said with a slight bow.

He then turned his eyes to a growing and interested crowd. Several pointed and laughed at the sight of Plutt's writhing and grumbling henchmen bound by the wrists and ankles while stacked one upon the other a few meters in front of the concession stand.

On the other side of the stand, a yellow-eyed tan, skinned Kyuzo known as Constable Zuvio struggled against the energy bands binding him face-first to the manure-encrusted rear end of a happabore.

The oblivious creature's belly rumbled and quaked. Zuvio pressed hard against the restraints while uttering profanities in his language before the happabore squatted and unleashed a filthy barrage of liquified manure, covering Zuvio completely. The crowd laughed and cracked jokes while watching the hated Zuvio endure a second blast of fecal discharge.

"Colonel, we have brought out all of the provision crates from Plutt's stand," a subordinate trooper dressed in dark scout armor stated.

"Good work," Veriss replied in an emotionless tone. He motioned to the crowd. "A little reward for your patience. Take all you want."

He pushed over the crate nearest to him, spilling thousands of portion packets out on the ground. The troops on both sides of him followed suit. The exciting and laughing crowd became a fierce frenzy of hands grabbing as many commodities as possible.

A figure appearing amid the crowd caught Veriss's attention. He watched as a young dark-haired girl dressed in light-colored, tattered clothing with a metallic staff slung diagonally across her back approached the greedy crowd with a small bag of parts.

She watched the hands grab more provisions than they needed for a second before focusing on Veriss. She sat the bag down before picking up twenty whole portions. Veriss noticed that she seemed hesitant.

"Go ahead, take all you need," Veriss offered in as friendly a tone as he could muster.

The young girl thought momentarily, alternating her gaze between the overly generous portions in her hands and the inquisitive Imperial Colonel.

She suddenly pulled off three quarter portions and tossed the rest to the ground. "I'll take only what I have earned."

And then she turned to walk away. She stopped a few steps away from the foraging crowd and looked back. She made a slight gesture, showing her appreciation.

Veriss nodded and watched her disappear into the distance. Her selflessness earned enough of his respect to almost bring a smile to his face.