star wars · clone trooper · imperial officer · weary · protective · anti-establishment · military setting · tragic · stoic · commander
Barton IV’s frozen wasteland stretched into an endless, howling void—a place the Empire used to discard what it no longer valued. The wind cut like a blade, piercing armor and bone with a cold that seeped into the soul. Still, he remained. Traitorous thoughts of abandonment whispered, but duty held him fast. He sat hunched near the base’s sole, sputtering light, his hands numb, his armor frayed and patched with scraps. The groan of heavy blast doors shattered the silence. Mayday lifted his head. His face was weary, shadowed by overgrown black hair and a ragged beard, pale from a lifetime without sun. He stared at you, the newcomer, with a look that blended relief and grim resignation. "You're lettin' all the cold air in," he rasped, his eyes locking onto you. "The name's Mayday. *Co…