This illustrated story is a spin-off of “Abundance of Faith” , and a sequel to “The Shadow that hides us from Death"

Co-creator / Writer: Elly Hazel ellyhazel.com 

Co-creator / Artist: Marietta Ivanova

Summary:

Darth Vader fan club created by stormtroopers becomes a cult. However, the troopers are unaware that this will lead them on a path to learn about the Force, and even more about themselves.

Chapter 1: Tribute

It was...not a disturbance necessarily, but Darth Vader sensed a great Shift in the Force.

The feeling only came to him once every seven rotations, lasting exactly one hour before fading...

Though faded, it never vanished entirely.

There was a glow to it, like easing into a secluded spring kissed by the warmth of a Nabooian sun. There was a soft lullaby to it as well, a low hum, rhythmic and pulsating, neither ambitious nor soothing, but fervent all the same.

It was not the Light Side, yet Darkness did not exist here either.

This Shift was something different. And it filled Vader with a sense of renewed purpose.

Vader halted.

Renewed purpose? He wondered. My path has always been clear. What is this? What false hope has forced its way into my core?

Vader bathed in his rising anger, murking the clear waters of this new feeling. The Shift did not yield, however. In fact, its warmth seemed to intensify.  

After five weeks of this peculiarity, the time to ignore the sensations was over.

If it was malicious, he would destroy it. If it was useful, he would conquer it. Either way he needed to seek this Shift out.

“Show me…” He rumbled aloud, commanding the Force with an outstretched hand. “Show me the source of this abominable sensation.”

The Force had presented itself in many ways to Darth Vader over the years, and he had grown attuned to its subtle movements. Today, the Force showed itself as an ethereal ribbons of silver, untouched by the Light and unsullied by the Dark. The warmth grew as he followed these tendrils, sinking deeper into its warmth as he descended into the belly of the Executor .

When the ribbons came to an end, Vader was met by a door plastered with signs: “Under Construction”, “Danger: Do Not Enter”, “Hazardous Area”. The area itself was an unused one - old interrogation cells long since been replaced by modern cells several levels up.

There was no reason why anyone should be here, but Vader could hear soft murmurs on the other side of the door, adding to the energy permeating from the room.

With a wave of his hand, the signs floated to the ground and the door opened.

The murmurs ceased and were replaced by the frantic clacking of armor plates and clinking of toppled trinkets falling over.

“Lord Vader!” The troopers declared in unison.

Vader looked around the room. It was small, barely big enough for the ten stormtroopers that huddled within. They all stood in a row, facing Vader, visibly trembling from fear and...something else.

Sheer awe...

“What is this?” Vader demanded.

No one spoke.  Even hidden beneath their helmets, Vader could feel their nervousness as they looked to one another.

This made no sense. The Shift came from this room, that much was true, but not from the troopers themselves. So what was this strange energy?

“My Lord...” A scar-helmeted stormtrooper stepped forward. All eyes shifted to him, backing away as if giving him adequate room to address Vader directly. “We are...paying tribute.”

Vader recognized the trooper, TK-279, the brave soldier who threw himself at the mercy of rebels to protect the evacuation efforts on Hoth. Vader had saved his life and it was a life worth saving.

“Paying tribute to what?”

“To you, our Lord,” the room droned in unison.

Vader nearly took a step back at the unified response. He studied the troopers more closely. He knew them all personally. Each one of them had been on missions with Vader, with a act of heroism that stuck in the Sith Lord’s mind. All of these tales had ended in Vader saving them from a needless death.

“Explain, TK-279.” Vader made an effort to gentle his voice as much as his voice modulator would allow.

"Sir, they call me Bishop. You probably don't remember, but...that day on Hoth I felt Death coming for me. It was more than just the heat of the blaster bolt on my helmet. I felt Death's presence. It was coming for me. But then you showed up, just like a shadow hiding me from Death itself."

“The Shadow Hides Us From Death,” the troopers all murmured reverently.

Vader turned his attention to the small round table where the stormtroopers had gathered. One of the troopers had bumped the table, but the candle seemed to be fused to the table itself by a halo of melted wax. Around it was an assortment of random baubles. Among them were a cracked stimpack, some rusted rebar twisted into a knot, and a slaver’s cuff. The largest of the items was a stormtrooper doll, smudged with dirt and grime.

“And what are these?”

Bishop looked down at the altar. He did not respond at first, and Vader sensed hesitation to reveal their nature. With a slight tremor in his armored hand, the scarred trooper picked up a pair of green-tinted goggles, common among the Rebels. "They are...Memories, you could say, from the day you saved us." He turned the goggles over in his hand, rubbing a black thumb over the edges, almost tenderly. “They help us...to try and understand you better.”

TK-317 pointed to the twisted metal on the table. “Y-you bent rebar and sliced away iron grates to save me from a cave-in,” he voiced, shyly.

“This is wood taken from my old station at Kashyyyk,” TK-551 nodded to the splintered wood. “The rebels killed everyone. I was the last man standing until you showed up and wiped them out.”

Bishop gestured to the small group. “You gave me, all of us, a renewed sense of purpose at some point in our lives, my lord. We meet here once every seven rotations to pay tribute to you and the second chance you gave us."

One-by-one the troopers fell to their knees. “The Shadow Hides Us From Death.” They intoned as they knelt before their dark lord.

Renewed Purpose… Vader thought. So I was feeling their gratitude to me. I was experiencing their devotion.

The troopers all looked to him, and he could feel their desperation, their need to be accepted, their desire for his approval.

Darth Vader had no words for them. He did not ask for this. He did not demand their worship. All he ever needed from his stormtroopers was their loyalty. Still, they all looked to him, as if waiting for him to say something, to use as a mantra or creed.

Or perhaps validation for this unconventional show of reverence.

“Do as you wish.”

And with a sweep of his coal-black cape, Darth Vader left the room.

“Thank you, My L-” Bishop’s voice was silenced as the door slid closed.

Chapter 2: Invoke

“My lord, I took the liberty of sending the Avenger to Chommel Sector,” Piett said, through the large viewscreen within Darth Vader’s quarters. “If these smugglers are still planning to make their rendezvous, they will need to refuel on Enarch. Captain Needa can intercept within the hour.”

Vader leaned back in his chair within the half-opened pod of his meditation chamber, studying the Admiral through the viewscreen.

Exhaustion notwithstanding, Piett had an air of confidence that came, not from hubris, but from a place of experience, especially when it came to knowing the minds of smugglers and pirates. Vader did not need to see a star map to know that Piett most likely made the correct decision.

“I leave this in your hands,” Vader responded, finally.

“Thank you, my lord,” Piett said, and Vader noted the slight relief in the admiral’s tensed shoulders. “Since our ship is in the Farlax Sector at present, sir, perhaps we can look into another matter…”

Piett laid out an elaborate theory about a brewing conflict on the planet Oroaturoo which, as far as Vader could tell, had been brewing within the new Admiral’s mind since before his promotion from Captain.

As Vader listened patiently to Piett’s pitch, an odd sensation prickled Vader’s senses - something familiar, and not entirely unwelcome, yet unease lurked in the corner of his mind.

Words came to Vader in a whisper.

“In Lord Vader’s name…”

Vader resisted the urge to look around. No one was in the meditation chamber besides the dark lord, but the whisper was as clear as if someone spoke right in front of him.

“Our duty true…shadow...us...”

These fractured words were part of some larger message, as if the Force was overhearing a staticky transmission from an unstable source. This was not a singular voice, either. It was a harmony of voices.

“Admiral,” Vader said, cutting the Admiral off. “If you believe this matter is worth our time, then it is a matter worth pursuing. Send regular reports on your progress. Now if you will excuse me...”

Piett looked genuinely taken aback. “Th-thank you, my lord.”

Piett gave Vader a short bow before the transmission ended.

Usually, Vader’s meditation occurred within the confines of his meditation chamber, the teeth of the pod closing all around him like some great beast swallowing him whole. The security of being free of his helmet and armor and the claustrophobia of being within the pod itself both aided in his connection to the Dark Side.

But they do not remove their helmets, Vader thought, suddenly, the Force guiding his mind. They are one and equal beneath their helmets. They see it as their true face, as your mask is yours.

At once Vader knew what called out to him: The Stormtroopers, those he had saved.

“Through Bishop’s Hand we find our voice. Through Vader’s strength we find our power.” The words were clearer now, they drifted through the Force so easily.

Bishop’s Hand. It was what they called themselves. Vader closed his eyes and opened himself to the Force.

Not since being a padawan under Obi-Wan Kenobi had he connected to another entity through Force meditation. Darth Sidious encouraged isolation, so that one could harness true darkness without distraction. Still, the existence of any energy coming from these stormtroopers intrigued the Sith Lord, and as Vader reached out, he could sense the silvery ribbons of the Stormtroopers’ Force energy around his dark aura.

Ignoring his growing trepidation, his mind followed the ribbons of energy back to the origin of this new Shift in the Force.

Each trooper puts their Focus on the table, then returns to their rightful place in the Circle.

Vader could see the aura of each Stormtrooper as they maneuvered around the cramped space of the secret room where they communed.

Shroud is first, placing a pair of Rebel goggles on the table, thoughts of revenge consuming his mind.

Meds is next, setting down a broken stimpack, feeling an ache of unfulfilled purpose.

Stray positions the Stormtrooper toy in its place, feeling warmth of a duty well-done.

Crash shivers with fear as he sets down a twisted piece of rebar.

As Odds places a piece of scorched tree bark on the table, one phrase rolls around his head, words laced with grief and guilt: “It should have been me.”

Bulwark sets down the bent steering column of an AT-AT and smiles proudly beneath his Walker pilot’s helmet.

Adder and Krait, twins if Vader recalls correctly, put the claw and tooth of a nexu down. The thrill between them is palpable.

Anchor places the slave’s cuff on the table consumed with a swelling pride knowing what he did was right.

Bishop approaches last, placing his glove beside the other items, feeling the weight of responsibility that comes with these ceremonies and the determination to never waver beneath that weight.

He takes his place among the rest of the stormtroopers and together they resume their meditation.

Vader opened his eyes, and the world came rushing back to him. The pounding of his heart should not exist. He was used to feeling the strong emotions in others, and most often he was the cause of their fear, their pain, their despair.

Yet, this felt different. These stormtroopers felt a strong connection to Darth Vader beyond the usual fierce loyalty the Imperial army felt for the Sith Lord. Through Bishop’s Hand, the Force gave birth to something entirely new. Vader turned his attention back to the Shift within the room. The ribbons glided by Vader’s dark aura, having no purpose save for just being near the Dark Lord.

Which means the stormtroopers do not realize the power they conjure.

All life has an aura around them, even those with little Force sensitivity have an energy that interacts with their environment. But among these fragile twigs of Force energy, there existed one sturdy branch that held the weight of their worship. But who among them?

His answer came in a voice louder than all the rest.

“Today, we focus our thoughts on our Dark Lord, Sith Warrior, Our Savior. For he is the Shadow That Hides Us From Death.”

The words traveled through the silvery Shift in the Force and Vader could feel the warmth radiate from its presence.

So it is Bishop who is Force-sensitive, Vader concludes. Interesting…

The thoughts of the stormtroopers flowed through Bishop like electricity through a conduit, reaching Vader, but not having the strength to bind itself to Vader’s meditation. For that, Vader would need to reach back, to accept the Shift and allow them to feel his presence as well.

They call to me, Vader thought. Why do I not answer?

To Vader, this devotion given so freely to him by these stormtroopers felt wrong. He could feel the potential within the silver ribbons and knew that if he did accept it, it would amplify his own power.

He was not worthy to accept it.

But they call to you... The Shift seemed to whisper to him. Not the Emperor, not the Inquisitorium. They call to their Dark Lord, the Shadow…

“The Shadow that Hides You From Death…” Vader intoned. At once, the Shift shot through Vader’s very being, igniting his Core.

Chapter 3: Devour

To Bishop’s surprise, to everyone’s surprise, Darth Vader came to the following week’s meeting.

Bulwark was reading a small letter he had written about the Sith Lord and how he had changed his life when the door slid open and Vader stepped into the room.

Bishop, Bulwark, and the rest of the troopers stood in stunned silence as Vader joined them in the circle. Then, without a word, he sat down, rested his hands on his knees and remained motionless.

For a moment, no one moved, exchanging nervous glances before looking to Bishop for guidance.

Hoping he was not misreading Vader’s actions, Bishop settled himself on the ground, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees as Vader had done. He nodded to the rest of the troopers and one-by-one they followed suit.

They sat in silence for an hour...then, as quietly as he came, Vader got up and left.

This event was repeated the following week and the week after.

By the third week, the troopers made sure they were seated before Vader arrived. They had collected credits together to afford a plush pillow in the center of the circle, a seat of honor for their lord.

And...each week, the pillow was removed, Force-pushed away as Vader to sat on the ground beside the rest of them.

After the first month, Bishop felt he was getting pretty good at meditation. He always came out of these sessions feeling refreshed, clear-headed, and at peace.

He wondered if Vader felt the same.

Something’s different today, Bishop thought as he tried to settle in for the week’s meditation, two months later. The...air feels off...or maybe it’s the lights?

Even as he thought this, it made no sense. The air vents were working just fine, and the lights were the same as they had always been.

Still, the world felt almost...distorted that day.

If Vader noticed, he gave no sign of it, seated between Anchor and Odds across from Bishop. Vader was eerily still, as if frozen in time, only rhythmic breath, hollow and artificial, revealing he was a living being.

Bishop shut his eyes and tried to focus on the sound, interrupted briefly by Crash scooting closer to him so his knee barely touched Bishop’s knuckles. Knowing the trooper felt more comfortable sitting closer to Bishop than the others, he gave Crash a reassuring pat and resumed his meditation.

Focus came to him quickly, shedding the world around him like a serpent’s old skin, leaving him raw and new and vulnerable.

Though his eyes were closed, he sensed he was moving…

...sinking...floating...

The world was pale yet dark; within him, yet far away; providing strength, yet exposing weakness.

He knew his eyes were still closed, even as he opened them to see this new world around him.

Gone was the cramped room in the belly of the Executor , gone were the rest of the Hand and the dark lord sitting among them.

He was alone in the middle of an endless gray wasteland. Its vastness stretched to eternity in all directions, and although the concept of being alone in such desolation should have been terrifying, Bishop felt calm.

Energy flowed around him and through him. He looked over his hands, watching silvery ribbons travel through his transparent flesh. This world was part of him and he was a part of it, the two bound together by a single entity...a single...

“...Force…” Bishop breathed.

He shot to his feet, looking all around him; the endless sky above, eternity beyond the horizon. Is that what all of this is? He wondered. Is this truly the Force?

“Hello?” He called out, his words muted by the calm of this place. “Crash? Anchor? Stray!” No troopers answered.  “Where am I?” He asked, no longer bothering to shout. “What is this place?”

The answer came to him in a whisper, not through the air, but from deep within himself.

“The Middle …”

“The Middle? Of where?” Bishop asked, though he sensed this place would not offer more than that.  

He took a tentative step forward, feeling the reassuring crunch of gravel beneath his feet and the occasional coolness of wind against his cheeks. He took a second step, and felt the world shift and change around him. By the third step, he felt confident enough to travel this lonely landscape, embracing the familiarity of every rock beneath his diaphanous boots and every streak of silver across the gray sky.

The longer Bishop traveled, the clearer his path became. The monotonous plains turned into uneven terrain, loose gravel hardened to solid rock, gentle mist gathered into dismal clouds, and the veil of silence was lifted to reveal the roar of ocean waves in the distance.

As Bishop stood on the edge of an ever rising cliff face, he saw an ancient door standing alone on a beach of glittering sand.

Blacker than starless space, the door seemed to bend the grayness surrounding it, as if the Middle itself shied away from its foreign presence.

Bishop should have been wary of such a dark presence amidst the cool serenity of the silver beach. Logic should have told him to stay away, and yet curiosity aided his descent down the rocky cliff.

The Force brought me to the Middle, he reasoned. Maybe the Force lead me to this door as well .

Bishop sensed that this door had only just arrived, and yet had always been there waiting for him.

Where does it go? He wondered. What will I find?

“A question...and an answer…”

The thought came to Bishop, but he knew it was not his own.

“What question?” Bishop asked as he approached the door.

The darkness kept the answer to itself. Tentatively, Bishop reached out to the door, gliding his ethereal fingers along the surface of the dark beyond…

And allowed the darkness to pull him in.

A vast emptiness consumed Bishop. The comforting familiarity of the Middle had vanished, and in its place Bishop found nothing but a dark void of hopelessness and loss.

Desperate to escape the sinking despair, he spun around and found nothing but an endless forest of ebon stone columns, their height stretching into the unknown above.

“No!” He cried, knowing his protests were useless in this place.

He clutched his head feeling the full weight of true loneliness consume him.

I should never have come here. Bishop lamented. I should have stayed where it was safe. I was happy there. I felt peace.

A single voice rolled through the darkness like thunder.

“Peace is a lie…”

The grinding of stone against metal filled the empty space and Bishop turned to see another doorway open before him. Light bled through the cracks of ancient stone, chasing away the doubt and emptiness and filling the space with a surge of hope.

Bishop ran towards the doorway, expecting to find the comfort of the Middle once again.

Like a sea serpent fleeing its watery lair, the light fled the doorway, revealing what awaited Bishop on the other side. He halted as white lightning crackled across a blood red sky stained with black clouds.

This was an existence far from the Middle…

“What is this place?” Bishop shouted, and this time his words echoed all around him.

“Power.”

Bishop swallowed hard. He had never desired power, never sought it out. If this doorway lead to power, was it really meant for him?

“Truth.”

Bishop flinched as another streak of lightning lit up the dark sky. He took a step forward, through the black muck that began to pool around his ankles.

“Truth about what?”

“Truth...Answers...Power...”

The black mire was at his knees now, bubbling and frothing, growing hotter as he drew closer.

“Answers to what?” Bishop pressed, but he was already walking through. Gone was the hesitation he felt within the Middle, gone was the crippling emptiness of the dark hallway. Thirst for more drove his steps. Desire for answers pushed him forward. Even without the questions to carry him, Bishop waded through the ever deepening muck to cross the threshold of the doorway.

“Peace is a lie,” he found himself saying, though he could not fathom what that phrase truly meant…

...nor could he comprehend what sight befell him in this new, dark realm.

The world was a tempest of violent power and quiet rage. Icy winds soared over a boiling ocean of inky darkness. Tendrils of smoke rose, like great arms of reverent acolytes, towards the sole master of this place.

“M-my lord…?” Bishop's voice failed him, the words coming out barely a whisper.

Darth Vader sat suspended over the churning sea of darkness. Gone was the armored suit and flowing cape, and a mere shadow of the Sith’s helmet remained. Vader’s body was little more than a dark iron cage, barely containing the raging inferno within, and blinding hot matter glowed angrily against his metallic flesh.

Has this always been him? Bishop wondered, his body trembling with fear and awe. While we sat and dreamed and pretended to understand meditation, this is what a true Dark Lord sees behind his eyelids.

A profound unworthiness washed over Bishop and suddenly the murky waters around him seemed to thicken, pulling him deeper.

Panicked, Bishop jerked his body in futile attempt to free himself. The sudden movement roused the Dark Lord’s attention. Molten eyelids lifted and volcanic eyes glared at him.

”So, I was correct about you.” The Sith Lord’s voice echoed within Bishop’s mind. “You possess some power in the Force.”

Power? Bishop tried to take a step back, but the mire held him in place. I don’t have any power. I’m just a stormtrooper.

Bishop tried to speak, tried to apologize for the intrusion, for the mistake. The words caught in his throat.

“I opened the door to the Dark Side and you walked through.”

Bishop struggled, desperate to free himself of the darkness gathering around him.

“Is it power you seek?”

The searing heat soaked into his legs, and the merciless winds sliced at his body. This was power - true power.

And he was unworthy.

I’m just a stormtrooper! His mind screamed. I do not have any power. Not like this. Not like you.

Tendrils of black ichor snaked around his legs, his arms, his body, dragging him deeper.

“Doubt consumes you, stormtrooper.”

The words pounded within Bishop’s head, amplifying his doubts and fears.

“The Dark Side,” Vader boomed, rising from his perch, “consumes those who are unworthy.”

Bishop’s eyes widened with terror as the iron cage of Vader’s form ignited with a white hot fury until Vader’s very being was a blinding light.

“Will you allow it to devour you, stormtrooper?”

Vader’s presence grew, becoming a force of pure power, fueled by rage and agony and strength.

A scream tore from Bishop’s throat as he was pulled under the black sea, before pure darkness filled his lungs.

The last words he heard before the void took him sounded like the quiet rumble of a passing storm.

“How disappointing.”

----

Cold air rushed back into Bishop’s lungs. Bright lights flooded his vision. The thunderous voice of Vader was replaced with familiar, gentler tones.

“Bishop? Bishop, are you okay?” Someone was at his side. Others stood around him in a circle, guarding and protecting. “Hey, it’s okay.”

Slowly...the world began to make sense again.

“Cr-Crash?” Bishop asked.

“You started screaming. We couldn’t wake you up.”

Chapter 4: Awake

Bishop did not leave his bunk for the next two days. Although the fever broke the following morning, it wasn’t until the fourth day that he finally found his appetite again.

Nightmares came to him every night of black tendrils pulling him into oblivion. And every night he would lurch from his dreams in a cold sweat, gulping for air, the taste of ichor, still bitter and metallic in his mouth. The room never looked quite right when he awoke, as if the furniture had somehow shifted while he slept.

A week later, Bishop returned to his duties.

His first mission was on an uncharted world the Empire dubbed FV-4276149. It was a routine scouting mission with a small squad of five; it was also a chance for Bishop to get out of his bunk and out of his own head for a while.

FV-4276149 was unlike any planet Bishop had ever seen. The entire world was covered in rolling plains of magenta, each blade of grass slick and tubular in nature. The trees lacked leaves, and instead were covered in glistening black moss where shimmering insects came to drink their fill. The sky was an ever changing myriad of colors: citrine in the morning, crimson by day, and now shades of violet as dusk approached.

“We missed you at the last meeting,” Crash said, walking alongside Bishop as they explored the peculiar landscape.

Bishop braced himself for Crash’s usual clap on the shoulder, but the trooper was keeping an unusually respectful distance today.

“Yeah,” Krait asked, who was several paces ahead of Bishop. “You comin’ back, boss?”

“We know you’ve been sick,” Adder amended, elbowing Krait hard in the ribs. “If you can’t come back yet, it’s okay. We understand.”

Bishop’s stomach churned at the thought of going back. Vader had opened the door to true power for him, and he had run from it. The harsh truth was, he wasn’t worthy to worship Darth Vader. None of them were.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Bishop replied. “Just because this is a routine mission doesn’t mean we’re alone on this pink rock.”
“It’s magenta,” Crash corrected helpfully.

“Whatever.”

Krait and Adder wandered ahead, their pace quickening as they argued the difference between magenta and “bright kriffin’ pink”.

Bishop slowed his pace, hoping to walk alone.

Unfortunately, Crash slowed his pace right with him.

“So...What did ya see, Bishop?” He asked.
“When?”
“At the meeting. You were screaming and looking at something we couldn’t see. What was it?”

Bishop said nothing. He considered telling Crash, but what would he even say? That he saw the real Darth Vader in a vision? That he had been too afraid to pass whatever test Vader had thrown at him?

Crash seemed to take the silence as a hint not to press him. “Vader hasn’t returned to the meetings, either.”

Of course he hasn’t, Bishop thought. Why would he? Why waste his time with us...with me?

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Bishop replied. “We were a waste of his time anyw-”

Bishop halted.

Crash stopped too. “What’s wrong?”

Even as Bishop looked around him nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The sun hung low in the violet sky just over a low ridge of jagged, crimson rocks. The magenta plains rippled peacefully in the breeze. Small rodents jumped at iridescent insects just out of reach. The world was quiet...and yet…

The ridge...

No matter where Bishop looked, his eyes were inevitably dragged back to that ridge. He didn’t want to look away, as if something was telling him not to.

As he put all his focus into the rock formation, thoughts began to drift into Bishop’s mind; thoughts that didn’t feel like his own, as if someone was playing a holorecording in his brain.

The woman’s voice was deep and graveled. “...telling you...Empire’s...find...eventually!”

Bishop’s eyes widened. “Did you hear that?”

Crash turned. “What?”

A high-pitched male voice responded. “The Empire….eyes everywhere…need...off-world...”

“That!” Bishop scanned the ridge. Nothing.

“Hear what ?” Crash asked, looking around.

Bishop’s blood ran cold. There was a Shift in the world, like a blip on a radar that he couldn’t see, or a flicker on a holovid feed that didn’t exist. The more he tried to make sense of it, the farther the answer drifted just out of reach...

“Nothing. I-”

Bishop’s words died as the voices returned. Clear and sharp and refusing to be ignored.

He clutched his helmet as four words punctured his brain.

“Found...a ship…Imperial...”

Bishop broke into a run, catching up to their sergeant who had stopped just a half-click from the crimson rocks. The sergeant was chiding Adder and Krait for poking at an annoyed frog-dog instead of paying attention to their surroundings.

“Sarge, we need to take cover.” Bishop said.

The sergeant whirled around. “Why? What did you see?”

Bishop winced. “I haven’t seen anything, sir, but something’s coming right over that ridge. Please, just trust me.”

Behind the white helmet, Bishop couldn’t read the sergeant’s expression. He just stared silently at the trooper.

“You sure about this?”
“Yes,” Bishop said, without hesitation.

“Take cover.” The sergeants said into his comm. “Behind that ridge. Move!” The orders echoed within each of the troopers’ helmets and they broke into a quiet sprint towards the crimson rocks.

The moment Bishop knelt beside his fellow troopers, a cluster of ten humanoids walked past the ridge into the open field. Half of them were dressed in a ragged hodgepodge of clothes, but the other half were in the infamous bright orange flight suit of X-wing pilots. The Rebellion’s symbol was emblazoned on each of their helmet.
“They must have come out this way,” a gravelly-voiced woman said. “But I don’t see-”
“Imperials!” The high-pitched devaronian squealed.

“Fire!” The sergeant ordered.

Chaos ensued. Blasters fired, troopers and rebels alike shouted, the world was a blur of activity.

Then, the world slowed down to a crawl.

As if moving through water, blaster bolts floated leisurely by Bishop’s head. In turn, bolts from his fellow trooper found their marks just as slowly, easing into the rebels, knocking them one-by-one to the ground.

A bolt slid through the shoulder of the old woman, and suddenly, Bishop’s mind split.

One moment he was kneeling with his blaster pointed at the rebels, and the next he was standing, facing the troopers with a bowcaster and feeling searing pain in his shoulder.

He fell to his knees...no, wait... she fell to her knees, didn’t she?

Bishop couldn’t tell.

A cacophony of frantic thoughts and desperate profanities tore through his brain.

“... kriffin’ Imperials...”

“...I don’t want to die…”

“...pfassk Rebel scum…”

“...please don’t kill me…”

The voices seemed to stretch time into an eternity, then suddenly snapped Bishop back into reality.

The world sped up again, almost as if it had time-jumped forward several minutes.

Crash and the sergeant were no longer crouching behind the ridge, and now searched the bodies of the ten dead rebels for identification.

Adder and Krait, meanwhile, stood over Bishop.

“Go poke him.”
“No, you.”
“Is he just gonna keep kneeling there?”

“I don’t know, go ask him.”

“No you.”
Bishop raised his head to the twins who immediately turned away, acting as if they had not just been staring at the immobile stormtrooper.

Quietly, Bishop got to his feet and walked past the twins towards the sergeant.

“Everyone okay?”

The sergeant nodded to the group. “See for yourself. Not one blast hit our boys.”

Bishop looked at Crash, Adder and Krait, all three completely unharmed. The side of the ridge however was riddled with dozens of black scorch.

“Hell of a thing, too,” the sergeant continued. “Outnumbered two-to-one and they were right on top of us. How’d they all miss?”

“Cuz they are kriffin’ terrible shots, boss!” offered Adder, tossing another ID marker onto the pile.

“It was a good call, Bishop,” the sergeant said, slapping him on the back. “You probably saved our lives. How did you know they were coming?”

Bishop shrugged. “Just a hunch,” he said, and quickly joined in on searching the bodies.

He felt Crash’s eyes watching him behind dark lenses. He waited for Crash to pull him aside again and ask what happened, but instead he never did.

In fact, Crash was unusually quiet even on their return trip to the Executor .

The only thing Crash said to Bishop before they returned to quarters that night was: “I’m here if you need me, buddy.”

“Thanks, Crash,” Bishop replied.

He knew Crash meant well, but Bishop just wasn’t in a talking mood.

- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jagged metal claws scraped across the sand dunes of Tatooine, carving deep grooves into the unforgiving wasteland. Thick ropes of black saliva oozed from powerful jaws filled with putrid yellow teeth. Black scales glistened with wet blood. Many worm-like arms constricted tighter, threatening to drag the creature down.

This dragon was ancient. It had commanded the Dune Sea for a millenium, striking down any who dare oppose him. Yet for all his strength, there was one being who held true power over him, whose reach would always find him. The one who could devour him whenever it so chose.

Tonight, the sarlacc hungered, and there was nothing the mighty krayt dragon could do about it.

Bishop stood alone on a lonely sand dune, watching in abject horror as the dream unfolded.

The krayt dragon’s roar shook the very fabric of the world around them. His mouth frothed from exhaustion and rage. He was slowing down, losing a battle that Bishop somehow knew had been going on for centuries.

More of the sarlacc’s arms lashed at the dragon’s pitch black body, its barbed tips sinking into his scaly flesh.

Bishop had no weapon, he had no armor. All he could do was watch helplessly as this mighty beast was slowly dragged towards the sarlacc’s ever-hungry beak. It would not be long before the dragon was consumed entirely, as if absorbed by the desert planet itself.

There was nothing Bishop could do.

He was only one man.

“All I can do is fall.”

And with that, Bishop fell into the sand, becoming one with the planet.

Forgotten.

Alone.

“How disappointing…”

Bishop shot up in bed, eyes wide, gasping for breath. It was a few moments before he realized he was safe in his shared quarters with his squad, aboard the Executor .

This nightmare felt different than the others.

In fact, it didn’t even feel like his nightmare.

Because it wasn’t my nightmare.

The thought surprised him.

But...if it wasn’t my nightmare then whose was it?

A sharp pain rang through Bishop’s head. It was the same invasive sensation he felt on FV-4276149, but amplified ten times over. He clutched his head and squeezed his eyes shut, ears ringing as the answer to his question tore through him.

Lord Vader...And this was no mere nightmare...

Bishop wasted no time. He threw on his stormtrooper armor, sneaking past Crash who was snoring loudly on his own cot and left their shared quarters.

He didn’t know where he was going, yet his feet seemed to take him on a very specific route. He turned left when he felt the need to, he walked down side passages and main hallways alike. He walked for an hour. He walked what seemed to be an endless path.

Then Bishop spotted him.

“Admiral,” he saluted.

“Trooper,” Admiral Piett said, stopping in front of Bishop.

Chapter 5: Silence

Bishop stood frozen in the doorway of Darth Vader’s chambers. What is this place? Whatever it is, I shouldn’t be here. Lord Vader wouldn’t want a trooper marching into his private room like this. Bishop winced. ...He wouldn’t want me here.

The room was sparse, the wall panels and light fixtures simple and modest. A single projection screen hung on one wall while the rest were bare. In fact, the space was not much different than the cramped room Bishop and the other troopers used for their own meditation.

The most glaring difference sat in the center of the room: a bulbous, black pod.

Something was sitting inside it, and it took a moment for Bishop to recognize exactly what it was.

His stomach lurched.

“Lord Vader!”

Breaking free of his hesitations, Bishop rushed in to the room, stopping at the lip of the bizarre pod.

Darth Vader sat at its center, slumped forward on a circular throne, his helmeted head bowed, arms limp at his sides. Cold, angular teeth of the pod surrounded him like the maw of a great metal beast, ready to swallow him whole.

If not for the Sith Lord’s mechanical breath, Bishop would have assumed the worst, but even then, Lord Vader’s breathing did not quite sound the same. The exhales were sharp and short, the inhales were labored and strained.

Piett entered the room after Bishop, his hands tucked behind his back. As he circled the pod, his heavy-lidded gaze expressed an outward calm, but Bishop caught the tightness in his jaw, the slight sweat at his temple.
“He was not answering his comm,” Piett explained, coming to a stop beside Bishop. “When he is aboard the Executor he never goes longer than an hour before responding to my hails. I sent the med droids first. They reported no abnormalities to his suit, his pod had not been tampered with. I was on my way to see for myself when I ran into you.”

“What happened?” Bishop asked, though it was more to himself than to the admiral.

“Unsure. His vitals do seem stable,” Piett replied, studying the status screens without actually putting his head into the pod, as though afraid it may bite it off. “Physically there is nothing wrong with him. He just simply…”

“...isn’t here,” Bishop finished.

He looks smaller like this, Bishop thought, dread forming knots in his gut. Darth Vader should never look small. And a trooper should never be taller than Darth Vader.

Bishop sank to one knee, bowing his head and focusing hard on Vader’s boots. He studied the scuffed leather that had seen countless battles, that had marched upon more planets than Bishop could ever see, that had conquered an entire galaxy.
Bishop reached out a humble hand intent on touching the very tip of his Lord’s boot in sheer reverence.

His glove never reached leather.

And the world around Bishop vanished in an instant.

This was beyond blindness. Bishop felt as if the fabric of time and space itself had been ripped away, his very mind plunging into thick nothingness.

It muted his senses, cutting him off from everything that proved he even existed.

Bishop only knew this void - a Silent Place. It would trap him forever and there was nothing he could do.

A hand grabbed Bishop’s armored shoulder and lurched him to his feet, his mind crashing back into reality.

Bishop spun around. The lights were painfully bright, his ears rang, and there was an acrid taste in his mouth. He found Piett standing there, still holding his shoulder, frowning, but not alarmed.

“Trooper? What is it?”

“I don't know sir.”
Piett frowned. “You were clearly rattled by something. Explain.”
“I...can't,” Bishop said, helplessly.

This was all beyond him. He knew nothing of the Force. He had stepped into a world that didn’t belong to him, a world he bumbled around in and had no hope of controlling.

But what if Vader is trapped in that Silent Place? What if he can’t find his way out?

Bishop turned to Piett.

“We have to help him, but I can’t do it alone. I need...”
Bishop hesitated.

He had never felt comfortable calling them “Bishop’s Hand”. The other troopers insisted on it, but to Bishop, they were all equals. He was no more special than the rest of them.

“I need my brothers with me.”
-----

Bishop didn’t stop pacing outside of Darth Vader’s private chamber until he heard the comforting sound of stormtroopers marching down the hall.

Although his helmet’s optical enhancements allowed him to identify each trooper’s operating number, Bishop didn’t need the display to know who walked towards him.

The troopers walked in a loose formation, and although there were no ranks among Bishop’s Hand, Bishop still smiled proudly at Crash leading the charge.

Despite being outranked by two other Bishop’s Hand members, it was Crash everyone looked to when Bishop wasn’t around. He could deny it to Bishop all he wanted, there was no mistaking that Crash was a born leader.

Walking closely behind Crash was Shroud, his heavy footsteps thundered in the hallway, reflecting his dark mood. Bishop knew the quick-tempered trooper had little patience for vague messages, but there was not much else to say other than “Lord Vader needs our help.”

Alongside Shroud walked Bulwark. With his fists clenched and head held high, the AT-AT driver walked with as much purpose as Shroud even if he was the smallest of the troopers. Despite his size, Bishop’s Hand knew it would be a mistake to ever stand in his way, or the way of his AT-AT.

Krait and Adder walked in synch unlike the rest of the troopers. For a moment, Bishop couldn’t tell the twins apart until he spied Krait smack his brother’s hand, then pull away when Adder attempted to retaliate.

Bishop rolled his eyes. Krait lived to agitate his brother. Adder would most likely get revenge later.

Odds and Meds walked side-by-side behind the twins. The two troopers had trained together in the academy until they were deployed to different sectors of the galaxy after graduation. Their reunion on the Executor came when Odds had lost his entire squad on Kashyyyk and Meds was forced to evacuate his Imperial base on Onderon.

Anchor and Stray came in last, and the two of them could not be more different. Anchor, who was a maverick even among the other Bishop’s Hand members, walked with an easy gait, loose and relaxed as if he was walking through a city park rather than the halls of a star destroyer.

Stray, meanwhile, did not march so much as “dart”. His movements were almost bird-like, quick and sharp. He looked down every side passage, looked up at every air vent, each nook and cranny did not escape his vigilant gaze. Stray was no coward, but Bishop knew where he came from, and it was understandable why he was more cautious than most.

“Thanks for coming,” Bishop said as the troopers fanned out around him.

“What’s happened?” Shroud demanded.

“Is Lord Vader alright?” Crash asked.

“I honestly don’t know,” Bishop replied.

“Did something happen with his suit?” Meds inquired.

Bishop shook his head. “No, it’s nothing like that. His vitals are fine. This is something else. It’s like he’s trapped in the Force, somehow.”

“Trapped...you mean like you were?” Crash asked quietly.

Bishop looked at Crash a moment; he could hear the worry in his voice. “Something worse than that, I think.”

“Can we see him?” Anchor asked already heading to the door.

Bishop put a hand on his shoulder. “Before you all go in, just know Admiral Piett is in there as well.”

All of the troopers exchanged glances, and the tension in the air thickened.

“He knows about our meetings,” Bishop clarified. “Apparently, he’s known for a while now. He is here to help however he can. We can trust him.”

“So how are we going to help,” Stray asked.

Bishop was silent for a moment. “We’re going to meditate…” He wished he could have said those words with more confidence, but to be honest, Bishop didn’t feel like it was a very solid plan.

“That’s it?” Shroud balked. “What will that do?”

Bishop opened his mouth, but Crash cut in. “Bishop can access the Force through our combined meditation. If anyone can help Vader, he can.”

“But…I don’t actually feel anything when I meditate,” admitted Bulwark, and a few other stormtroopers murmured in agreement.

Bishop held up his hand. “It doesn’t matter what we feel. It doesn’t matter what we think we can or can’t do. The Force feels us . Darth Vader found us because he sensed our connection with the Force and we’re going to use that same connection to find him. He saved all of us at one time or another, he is our ‘Shadow That Hides Us From Death’, right? Well, now it’s time for us to be his shadow, time for us to save him. We are the only ones who can do this, so are you coming with me or not?”

All the troopers were silent for a moment.

Then, Krait raised his hand. “If this works, can we have lightsabers?”

Adder elbowed his twin in the side.

“Ow! I’m just sayin!”

“Alright,” Shroud grumbled, taking a step forward. “If you think it’ll work, then I’m in.”

Anchor took a step as well. “Me too.”

The rest of the troopers all nodded, stepping forward, ready to face this new challenge together.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Bishop turned and reentered Lord Vader’s chambers, feeling stronger with his brothers following behind him.

After decades of serving in the Empire, Admiral Piett was sure the galaxy had no more surprises left for him.

Today proved him very wrong.

The ten stormtroopers gathered at a respectful distance around Darth Vader, their heads bowed as they all looked into the pod.

Although hidden beneath their helmets, Piett could decipher through their quiet tones and wilting postures that they held a genuine reverence for the dark lord.

In any case, if they proved to be useless in helping Vader, Piett was prepared to clear them out immediately and look for another solution.

He did not have time for unnecessary delays, something was brewing within the galaxy. There was no tangible evidence of this, not yet, anyway, but there was a disquiet that went beyond the usual threat of rebels or pirates. He needed Darth Vader back and in peak condition in order to face this unknown variable and he needed him now.

Also...Piett did have a personal stake in the dark lord’s welfare, as well.

Vader was, after all, the reason Piett currently donned the title: Admiral. Vader saw potential in him, or at the very least, saw in him more competence than his predecessor, the late Admiral Ozzel.

Regardless of why Piett came to this position, he felt a personal debt needed to be paid for the honor, and if it meant allowing a band of supposedly Force-sensitive stormtroopers to help revive Darth Vader, then he would stand aside and allow this to happen.

“What do we do?” the AT-AT driver asked.

Piett frowned. This was not off to a very promising start.

Bishop did not seem to hear the driver, too busy looking at the shadows cast by the illumination within Vader’s meditation pod.

With a sharp huff, Piett took a step forward, ready to order everyone out of the room when Bishop finally responded.

“We sit.”

As if knowing exactly what that meant, the stormtroopers immediately fanned out, each one finding a spot within the shadows surrounding the great black pod. Some paired together, others sat alone, but each seemed to know his own place without saying a word.

But why in the shadows? Piett wondered.

Piett only needed to take a single step backwards to find out why.

In all the times he had visited Darth Vader in this very chamber, he had never noticed something that apparently Bishop and his troopers had spotted right away.

The shadows of the six two-pronged teeth formed a very recognizable symbol: The mighty Imperial Cog. It was a symbol that struck fear in the Rebellion, yet also inspired hope in a galaxy in need of order, peace and security.

Piett looked at these troopers and realized that this was not some mere fanatical cult. These troopers were loyal soldiers not just to Darth Vader, but for the true purpose of the Empire - the purpose that Admiral Piett fought to uphold.

“Alright,” Bishop began. “This is no different from any other time Lord Vader has sat with us. Close your eyes and focus.”

All heads bowed.

And, with bated breath, Piett waited.

-----

Bishop strained his mind, struggling to recall his time in the Middle.

White sand, gray skies, silver ribbons of light.

He felt nothing.

He tried to stretch out with his other senses.

Cool winds against his face, rocky shore beneath his boots.

The memories came to him mechanical, forced, and he felt empty.

“It’s not working, Bishop,” Adder blurted, his frustration apparent.

Bishop lifted his head and opened his eyes to find everyone looking at him.

“Yeah, this doesn’t feel right,” Krait added.

“I don’t feel anything, either,” Crash agreed. “Usually I will feel something, like a cold breeze or a warm tingle. At least, I did when Lord Vader was with us.”

They all looked to Vader, who still remained lifeless in the pod.

“What’re we gonna do if this doesn’t work?” Bulwark asked.

“This has to work,” Shroud said, sharply.

“Yeah, but-”

“Enough,” Bishop barked. “Troopers, close your eyes, now .”

Everyone immediately bowed their heads again, their hands returning to rest on their knees.

“Take a breath. Focus. Remember the day Darth Vader saved you. Remember the day he changed your life forever. Hold that moment in your mind.”

Bishop closed his own eyes, drawing in a deep breath. At once, Bishop felt himself rocketed back to that moment. The memories came to him in broken flashes: The unforgiving cold, the snowy wasteland, a white world - chaotic and merciless.

The blaster bolt streaks across his vision. The force of it knocks him off his feet. His head snaps backwards. He smells burnt plastoid, and feels an intense heat against his face.

He claws blindly for his weapon, his vision not coming back fast enough. The world is spotty and blurred and confusing.

Then shadow stretches over him.

He hears Death, but it doesn’t come for him.

A gloved hand reaches out.

“Stand up, soldier.”

-----

Crash is trapped again. A large chunk of concrete is balanced precariously over him. If he moves it will crush him. If he doesn’t move, the rebar pressing against his neck will strangle him.

He knows Death is coming, and he doesn’t want to die, but he would do it all over again if given the chance.

But...he doesn’t want to die…

He doesn’t...

White-hot pain shot through Crash’s mind, severing him from the memory. Then, as quickly as the sensation appeared, it vanished.

Crash opened his eyes and looked around the room to find the other stormtroopers were looking around as well.

“Did you guys feel that?” Meds asked.

“I thought it was just me,” said Odds.

“It felt like someone just dumped kriffin’ ice water on me,” Shroud growled.

“I feel like someone squished me with a walker,” Stray groaned, rubbing his neck.

“Wasn’t me,” Bulwark quipped.

“What happened, Bishop?” Crash asked.

Bishop didn’t respond.

“Bishop?”

Crash reached out and touched Bishop’s shoulder.

Bishop slumped forward.

Everyone sprang to their feet, rushing to Bishop’s side.

“Is he dead?”

“He looks dead…”

“He looks like Vader.”

“Quiet!” Crash snapped. A hush immediately fell over the room.

Bishop did look like Vader: slumped over, head bowed, hands limp beside him.

Crash touched the trooper’s shoulder again. “Hey...wake up, buddy.”

The moment Crash’s gloved hand rested on Bishop’s shoulder plate, however, something dark seeped into Crash’s mind.

His eyes fell heavy, and his ears began to ring. His mind was...sinking...somehow; stuck in some sort of thick mire.

He snatched his hand away, and the feeling vanished.

“Everyone, back to your places.”

No one asked why. No one hesitated. The troopers returned to their assigned shadows and resumed their positions.

Crash settled back into his spot as well.

He was about to close his eyes again when he realized all the stormtroopers, even Admiral Piett, were all staring at him.

They were waiting for him.

Bishop always had something encouraging to say before each meditation. Even through a modulated vocoder, Bishop’s voice was always a calming presence that helped them focus, that inspired courage and confidence.

Crash didn’t know how to do that.

But I do know Bishop’s Hand, Crash thought, looking out at each stormtrooper that he and Bishop had recruited together. I know them...and I know where they came from, what they are capable of.

“Odds, focus on that lonely feeling on Kashyyyk, facing down an army of unseen rebels. Meds, go back to that anger you felt after your patients were almost left behind to die. Adder and Krait, I know you felt that adrenaline when you battled a nexu by yourselves…”
Crash went through each of their stories, touching upon a single memory that would help aid them in their meditation. As Crash spoke, he felt emotion rising from each stormtrooper like waves of heat, and each wave made him feel more connected to Bishop’s Hand.

One-by-one, the troopers lowered their heads.

Crash smiled.

This is going to work. This is-

Panic slammed against Crash’s chest, as something caught his eye within Lord Vader’s pod.

Crash felt the blood drain from his face.

A cloaked figure stood motionless behind the Sith lord. Its face was obscured by a hood and thick dark ichor oozed from beneath the cowl.

Crash snapped his attention to Admiral Piett in alarm, but Piett only looked mildly back at him.

When Crash looked back to the pod, about to point at the intruder, the being had vanished.

What was that? Am I going crazy?

For a long moment, Crash looked at Vader’s form and waited for the being to return.

It did not.

Crash shivered and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

All of this was beyond his understanding; all of this was beyond his power, but none of that mattered now.

Darth Vader needed Bishop’s Hand.

And now Bishop needed them too...

Chapter 6: Loyalty

Bishop was dead.

He had to be.

Nothing could live in such a place: a sightless nightmare holding the lone stormtrooper suspended in an empty void.

Naked panic gripped Bishop.

This can’t be how it ends. I have so much to do! Lord Vader needs me.

Bishop looked around, his eyes wide, unblinking desperate for any sign of anything . A light, a shape, a shadow.

“Lord Vader!” Bishop shouted...tried to shout...couldn’t shout.

His words were suppressed, as if some unseen energy swallowed the words before he could cry them out.

Was it the Force? Is it the Force that traps me here? Is it what traps Lord Vader?

This wasn’t the comfort of the Middle with its gray beach and endless stormy skies, but this wasn’t the unbridled violence of Lord Vader’s Dark Side realm either.

This was oppressive, all-consuming, unrelenting.  

“Lord Vader!”

Bishop’s mouth moved, his throat strained, and his lunged burned as he tried to call to his Dark Lord again...and again...and again.

Hours passed, too many hours, days, months...

“My lord...”
There was no way to tell how long he remained in the dark.

“...where are you?”

Time was frozen here, or perhaps it moved without mercy.

Either way, the Force refused to give him any sign of Darth Vader.

And eventually, Bishop stopped trying to find him.

His mind emptied.

His body drifted.

Bishop waited to wink out of existence. He hoped for it. It was worse being conscious of all of this. The longer he existed, the longer he was reminded that he was here only because he failed Darth Vader again.

This had been his moment, the opportunity to show Darth Vader what he was capable of within the realm of the Force.

But now I’m stuck in the same darkness that has him, and I don’t know what to do.

Anger replaced panic.

What am I supposed to do?!

Frustration replaced despair.

What was the point of all of this?! What did he see in me? In any of us? Why bother with a bunch of stormtroopers anyway?

Bishop balled his fists.

I hate the Force. It’s done nothing except bring me pain and confusion.

His jaw clenched.

I hate...I HATE…

His body trembled, white hot and ice cold.

Hatehatehatehatehatehateha-

Something moved in the dark - just out of reach, just beyond his sight.

“Hello?” he tried to call out, but his voice failed him again.

But...something is here...or was here? How do I call it back?

More time passed. Too much time. Whatever was there was now gone.

Is the Force torturing me now? Giving me false hope and ripping it away? Kriff this place and kriff the For-

Something shifted again, but when Bishop reached out to grab it, his fingers touched nothing.

Rage ignited in his gut, molten fury burned him inside and out. If he had a voice he would have roared, and the fact he couldn’t only stoked the fire further.

It’s the Force’s fault! It’s keeping Vader from me. It wants me to suffer. I can feel it. I want to destroy it!

I want to tear...it...DOWN!

When the next movement flashed on the edge of Bishop’s vision, he shot his hand out blindly for it. This time his fingers sank into a thick, viscous material that bent and broke around his fingers.

He gripped the pitch black fluid and pulled downwards. The darkness was torn down like a pitch black curtain leaving a hole exposing glittering lights on the other side.

Are those stars? No...they’re-

Something gripped his shoulders and shoved Bishop hard through the opening.

The darkness closed around him and for a brief, terrifying moment, Bishop thought he was disappearing deeper into the void...

...until he was spat out into a room he didn’t recognize.

The room was hexagonal, the color of rust, with wooden floors covered in dark stains and streaked with scorch marks. Three meditation pads sat in the center of the room: two pads wrapped in cracked, light gray leather and one dark pad wrapped in glittering silk.

The wooden blinds once covering wide bay windows had been ripped from their frames and left broken on the floor. Bishop carefully stepped around the splintered piles of wood towards the window and looked out into a breathtaking nighttime view of an endless city.

Bishop placed a semi-transparent hand on the glass. Am I on Coruscant?

Starlight twinkled against a blue-black sky, paling compared to the glittering lights of hulking skyscrapers and skinny towers alike. Shuttles buzzed around the spires like orderly bees, while larger military vessels loomed overhead like sentinel raptors.

Bishop drank in the scenery, enjoying every moment of it.

After all, how long will this last before the Force intervenes?

His answer came in the form of a bone-chilling cackle behind him.

Bishop whirled around, his hand going reflexively to his hip before he remembered he was unarmed in this state.

A cloaked figure sat with his feet tucked beneath him on the dark meditation pad. His cowl was pulled low, revealing nothing of his face. Ghastly white hands rested on his knees, and his narrow shoulders quivered as the cragged laughter continued, dissolving into sinister hisses of glee.

“You have failed,” the being croaked.

The words pierced Bishop’s core and for a moment, he wished for the emptiness of the void.

This was all just another test? Another test he failed?

“I hold your very essence in the palm of my hand and you dare come to me as this weak projection?”

The cloaked figure gestured to Bishop with a withered hand, vapors of darkness drifting from his fingertips.

“Will you beg for me to release you, I wonder?”

He lifted his head slightly, revealing only a crooked smile baring yellowed teeth.

“Do you truly believe I will end your punishment before it is through? You shall suffer until I decide it is done.”

Bishop hung his head...and waited to be banished to the void once more.

“ Dark Lord of the Sith,” the being snickered. “You failed to save the Death Star, you failed to turn young Skywalker to the dark, and even now you fail. How disappointing.”

Bishop’s head snapped up.

Skywalker? The Death Star? He isn’t talking to me, or he thinks I’m someone else.

Bishop had felt the loss of the Death Star like many stormtroopers. They had all lost former squadmates and officers there that were irreplaceable.

Darth Vader had been in the thick of it and survived.

Is that who he is talking to?

Anger flared within Bishop. Who did this creep think he was? Who would dare call Lord Vader a failure?

Unless...

Bishop’s mind reeled.

The being’s dark smile vanished. “ You. You are not Vader.”

A ghastly hand shot out towards Bishop and from each fingertip emerged thick tendrils of darkness worming their way towards Bishop like curious serpents.

“Who are you?”

Bishop took a step back, but there was nowhere to escape to. The very tips of the tendrils narrowed to sharp points as they swayed and swam leisurely through the air towards the stormtrooper.

“How did you find your way here?”

I don’t know! Bishop wanted to say, but he couldn’t find his voice here any more than he could in the empty blackness.

“Answer me,” the dark lord snarled.

Before Bishop could retreat further, the tendrils lunged forward, one wrapping around his neck, the rest coiling around his body. As they constricted, Bishop watched his ghostly form begin to fracture, the cracks spidering across his body like glass.

“You are not of the Dark Side, not yet,” the dark lord hissed. “You are something else, aren’t you?”

A single needle thin tendril emerged from beneath the dark lord’s cowl. Bishop could not have struggled if he tried. Instead, he watched helplessly as it swayed hypnotically in front of Bishop’s eyes.

It struck, sinking past his forehead, burying deep within his mind.

Bishop found his voice...and screamed.

“You will answer me now,” the sinister being commanded. “What are you?”

The pain was sharp, intense, it roared through Bishop’s being without mercy, without reprieve. He felt the tendril split dozens of times, hundreds of times, spreading through his psyche unlocking stray memories, unearthing forgotten emotions.

Flashes of images flickered behind Bishop’s eyelids. Many of them were ghosts of his own memories: a farmhouse, a girl sitting on a fence waving to him, a blue sky and tall, golden grass…

But then other memories bled through his own.

Memories that didn’t belong to him.

The rebar was pressing harder against his throat now… “Stay safe, my brothers.”

Bishop’s eyes shot open, but all he could see was broken concrete threatening to crush his own body.

Crash?

Another memory lurched him into the hallway of a battle-torn Imperial base.

He burst out of the hallway... “They are Stormtroopers! They don’t deserve this!”

Bishop recognized the voice instantly.

Meds?

Suddenly he was in the middle of a jungle. A nexu towered over him as it was attacked by two stormtroopers.

“Is that a kriffing cheese knife ?” one balked to his twin, digging his knees hard into the nexu’s back. “Why do you have that?!”
“For emergency cheese situations! You never know...”

The scene was suddenly interrupted, twisted and burned away by another jungle setting, this time littered with stormtrooper bodies. One lone trooper holding his companion, shooting into the dark.

He held the trooper close. “I’m not leaving you. I can get us out of this.”

Grief and despair flowed from Odds’ memory in an overwhelming wave that threatened to drown Bishop, and he started to fall to his knees.

Yet, his knees never hit the floor.

When Bishop opened his eyes again he found himself suspended...not by the black tendrils of the dark lord, but by braids of gray ribbons.

It was then that Bishop understood what was happening.

Somewhere Bishop’s Hand was meditating, and he could feel them, all of them: Odds’ bravery, Adder and Krait’s persistence and recklessness, Crash’s self-sacrifice, Meds’ loyalty...

“What is this?!” The dark lord roared both within Bishop’s mind and outside it.

Bishop lifted his head to face the dark lord as he was eased gently to back to his feet.

He did not answer.

He chose not to answer.

For the first time since his own encounter with Darth Vader, Bishop felt in control, as if brandishing, not just his own strength, but that forged by Bishop’s Hand itself.

“Who are you?” The dark lord asked again, rising from his seat and floating through the air towards Bishop.

“Who am I?” Bishop asked himself. A calm washed over him, even as the shrouded being extended a gnarled hand to wrap around his throat.

“Who are we?” The ribbons whispered softly in response.

The dark lord’s vice grip tightened around his neck.

Bishop only smiled.

“Stormtroopers.”

Bishop heard a sharp crack.

Then nothing at all.

-----

Time passed.

Gone was the neverending black void and the glittering lights of an endless city.

Light was absent here; darkness was forbidden.

Bishop opened his eyes.

The sky above was a storm that swelled, yet never broke, and the sand that half buried his body glittered on the edge of his vision.

Is it over? Bishop wondered, staring at the colorless sky. Am I dead?

“You are not dead.”

Bishop turned to face the endless gray sea and found Darth Vader standing there. His back was turned to the stormtrooper, his skin coal black, fractured and cracked, molten lava bleeding through. Dark mist haloed around his form and even the tide itself moved around him as it rushed to shore.

“Your reckless presence in the dark distracted my master’s focus. I escaped and brought us here, away from his reach. You were a fool to have flung yourself into the Dark so blindly.”

“You were trapped, my lord!” Bishop argued. “I had to-”

“You are weak,” Vader growled. Thunder rumbled overhead. “Your loyalty to me will no longer save you. I will no longer save you.”

“I understand, my lord.”

He knew he was out of his depth. He knew this was all beyond him. Still, one question burned brighter than the others.

“The man in the cloak...who was-”

“You will not speak of him again,” Vader interrupted. “You will not speak of anything you have seen here.”

Bishop bowed his head.

“Yes, my lord.”

Silence thickened in the air, broken only by the distant roar of the surf.

Despite the quiet, Bishop’s mind was a cacophony of unanswered questions. What was that dark place? How did he find his way out? Will he still have those strange dreams? Will he ever understand the Dark Side?

“No.”

Bishop looked up to find Vader’s head turned slightly, a single starburst eye cast upon Bishop.

“There is much you don’t know about the Force, and even less about the Dark Side. You may never learn its secrets.”

Bishop swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
“But it does not mean you do not have your uses.”

Usefulness. It was all Bishop ever wanted to be: useful. A cog in the great Imperial machine.

He looked at his own hands, silvery ribbons of gray curling around his fingers at his command. They whispered to him, connecting him to the minds of his brothers as they meditated in the real world.

He could feel their experiences, their pain and fear, their honor and sacrifice, but in this place it was not overwhelming. Here he felt it all, and accepted it as part of him.

He lifted his head to tell Vader he was willing to be whatever servant the Force wishes...only to find himself alone.

A door waited for him in the middle of the beach.

Not knowing where his destiny lies did not scare him. Not understanding the ways of the Force did not plague him. He would walk through the door and meet whatever fate awaited him.

He was ready.

Epilogue

His body was leaden. His eyes refused to open.

The icy touch of death resisted the warmth that tried to spread throughout his body.

“Lord Vader said he was gonna be okay,” he could hear Crash say.

“Then why isn’t he moving?” Bulwark argued.

The brisk air within Vader’s meditation chamber touched Bishop’s bare cheeks, and only then did he realize his helmet had been removed.

“Go wake him up,” Adder added.

“You do it,” Krait snapped followed by a sound of plastoid hitting plastoid.

His brothers were here. All of them.

“No one is touching him,” Meds said. “He’s breathing steadily. His pulse is growing stronger. He’s coming back to us.”

It was his brothers that had saved him from the dark master. It was his brothers that were the true source of his strength.

“Agreed, let him do this himself,” Shroud growled.

If only they knew he could never have done any of this without them.

“We could meditate again,” Odds offered.

The roar of distant waves crashed within Bishop’s mind and his eyes shot open.

The world came rushing back ten-fold. The dim lights of Vader’s meditation chamber blinded him, the hollow sound of the air filter unit deafened him, and the air, even the air, was almost too much for his lungs to take.

He gasped and coughed, his arms clawing blindly to find purchase in the real world again.

“Help him sit up!” Meds ordered.

A collection of hands surrounded him. They pulled and shifted him into a sitting position and Bishop was grounded once again.

“You’re back,” Crash said.

Bishop managed a weak smile. “It sure seems that way.”

“What did you see?” Krait asked the same time Adder asked, “Where did you go?”

Bishop had no answer to either question.

“N-nothing...everywhere.”

Bishop frowned. He knew that wasn’t helpful, but it was all he could really say. Thankfully none of them pressured him for more.

Bishop looked around the meditation chamber. “Where is Lord Vader?”

“He and Admiral Piett left once Vader awoke.”
“Lord Vader said we could stay for as long as we needed,” Stray explained.

“And he said to tell you ‘hi’,” Krait added.

“No he didn’t,” Adder chided, smacking Krait’s arm.

Odds patted Bishop on the back. “We’re glad you made it back to us.”

Bishop shook his head. “I only made it back because of all of you. Thanks for bringing us back.”

A few of the troopers tilted their helmets at Bishop, others exchanged glances.

They don’t know what they’ve done. They have no idea how much power they really have.

“Brothers, I won’t pretend to know any more about the Force than any of you. I have seen...strange things...but all that means is I have a lot more questions than any one of us can have answers.” Bishop leaned forward, making sure his brown eyes connect with each pair of black lenses gazing at him.

He could feel their determination, their eagerness, but most of all, he could feel their power.

“All I can promise you is that if we continue down this path the Force has laid for us we are only going to grow stronger.”

“We’re with you, Bishop,” Crash affirmed, voicing for the rest of the group who all nodded earnestly.

For the first time in a very long time, Bishop smiled.

“Then let’s go, we have a lot of work to do.”

Bishop lifted himself up, ready to face the challenges ahead…

...then promptly fell back down again.

“...Can you guys help me up?”