[ Poe finds him with the holoprojector open. He'd been about to call out, about to make himself known, but there's that image with its tiny number marching across the bottom, there's that look on Finn's face as he studies this man, anonymous to the rest of the galaxy. Just someone else in white armor sent to murder or to die at the orders of officers who couldn't care less if they tried.
Poe wonders, suddenly queasy, if he might have killed this person. He's killed so many stormtroopers.
It doesn't feel right to approach. It doesn't feel right to walk away.
He slips his hand into his pocket and runs his fingertips across his own holocube, the tiny box that carries the image of a family still whole.
skygazing you asked for this
Poe wonders, suddenly queasy, if he might have killed this person. He's killed so many stormtroopers.
It doesn't feel right to approach. It doesn't feel right to walk away.
He slips his hand into his pocket and runs his fingertips across his own holocube, the tiny box that carries the image of a family still whole.
Quietly: ] Hey.