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[b][right]UNKNOWN REGIONS // UNNAMED SYSTEM[/right][/b]
[right][sup][b]ONE YEAR AGO[/b][/sup][/right]

The ship thrashed around in the rain, repulsors straining against the high winds. Blackguards stood motionless despite the harsh conditions, diligent in their duty. The ships wings turned up as the legs extending, touching down against the hard ground. The door hissing open, the light being cast out. The man at the front of the ship raised his handcuffed hands together to protect his face from the harsh winds. The stormtrooper behind him shoved his forearm into the humans back. Shoving him forward and out of the vessel into the rain unprotected. The prisoner turned back and cast a glare at his captor with his bloodied and bruised face. 

Pushed out he walked towards the door into the facility, guarded by four blackguards. Their armour glistening in stark difference to that of the Stormtroopers who had been his jailors for almost a year now, tortured and broken him. Somehow their visible faces beneath their helmets made them even more terrifying. In the winds and the rain they stood dutifully, stoic and unmoving. The door opened, the glimmering silver armour of Phasma in the light. She turned as he was brought close. Once the door was closed behind them and the roaring winds ceased, he was surprised now by the warmth of the facility. It looked old, he was struggling to date it but it [i]looked right[/i]. 

His heart rose in his throat. "You can't do-" His voice felt foreign in his throat, painful. 

Phasma spun, the back of her hand colliding with his cheek and with a loud [i]smack[/i] he was knocked down off his feet and back into the arms of a trooper. The trooper was knocked off balance, allowing him to push down and grab his sidearm. Pulling the trigger the trooper dropped to the ground as a charred hole smoked in the centre of his chest, he raised the gun at Phasma, to find three more blasters raised towards him. [b]"NO!"[/b] 

Phasma spoke, the troopers looking at each other uneasily. Smiling a sad smile [i]Tyrell Lanstead[/i] turned the pistol up underneath his chin and closed his eyes, pulling the trigger. Suddenly he felt the blaster pulled away from him, forcing him to stumble slightly, a pressure around his throat lifted him off his feet. His hands clawing at his constricted float, trying to clear the airway that wasn't being blocked by anything physical, and yet the nature of the attack left instincts kicking in to try and free up his airway.

As he was dropped to the floor gasping for air he came face to face with a set of black books. Looking up to see the figure [url=http://pm1.narvii.com/7874/9e40d6c673806ee514ef3447a8958585f41e9040r1-736-880v2_00.jpg]stood before him[/url], blade pointed down at his head. "Don't worry, you'll be allowed to die. We need to finish our work together first." The figure leaned down, till his helmet nearly came into contact with Tyrells face.

"Our work is very important."