Chapter 4: Chapter 004
A few moments earlier...
As the Millennium Falcon was tractored into the Death Star, Han closed his eyes, casting out his Force perception into the surrounding area. He sensed dozens of stormtrooper signatures awaiting them, along with...something darker.
A towering vortex of rage and ambition - Darth Vader himself. Frank was obviously a massive fan, who the hell wasn't?
But none of that mattered when in confrontation with a 6'8-6'9 metal monster who despite his potential being diminished force-wise, could squash a large portion of the galaxy like a bug. The time for fanboying was over, it was a hard pill to swallow. But, it's either that or die.
Han knew Vader would sense powerful Force energy radiating from their ship. He needed to obscure their presence, and fast. Reaching deeper into chaotic Force eddies swirling within, Han managed to gather up his companions' essence like glowing embers, then suppress all connection to the primal energy field. The process left his head pounding. Hopefully, Vader took no notice. Who am I kidding, he'll notice something. He's Darth fucking Vader...
As stormtroopers invaded the ship, Han squeezed with the others into smuggling hideaways built into the Falcon. He maintained focus shrouding their presence despite the uncomfortable positioning.
The muffled clamor of searching troopers echoed through the ship's corridors. Han's temples throbbed from the effort of cloaking everyone in the cramped compartment. He also felt Prince Luke's shining aura - untamed, like solar flares erupting unpredictably from the young man.
Eventually, the dull thud of departing troopers' footsteps reached them. Han finally eased up, sagging against cold metal as he released the Force concealment. That act took far more energy than anything he had accomplished so far.
"Boy, it's lucky you had these compartments," Luke said brightly as they emerged stiffly.
Han shook his head to clear shadowy vision from exertion. He was Flying blind exploring these latent powers - no way to gauge limits. But failure here meant capture or death. And the fate of the galaxy now pivoted around their desperate gambit...
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The present...
Han leaned against the smuggling compartment hatch as dizziness slowly cleared from using so much untrained Force energy. He was in uncharted territory - an Earthling fan suddenly gifted with abilities that exceeded even Jedi Knights. But he had to learn fast with lethal threats hunting them.
"I never thought I'd be smuggling myself in 'em," Han chuckled lightly to cover his exhaustion.
"This whole scenario is crazy," he muttered under his breath. If only his younger self back home could see this! Han - known for smooth-talking rather than heroics as a taxi driver - was now pivotal in the Rebellion's survival against the Empire. The look on Jerry and Ronald's faces from the teams would be something worth dying for, the first shitbag from Earth to fuck an alien. Give me a medal of honor!
Even if I could take off, I'd never get past the tractor beam," Han replied, his words carrying an uncharacteristic weight. Why? It was the plot/script!
The wise Ben Kenobi assured them, "Leave that to m-."
"Relax old timer. we can both take care of it," replied Han, cutting off Kenobi without care. He was confident that his knowledge of how this all plays out would make their departure less messy. In order for him to do as he wishes and ditch the Rebels, Ben must leave this ball of metal alive.
As if he were a programmed robot with a script, Ben posed a "thought-provoking" question, "Who's the more foolish... the fool or the fool who follows him?"
"Both Shakespeare, now get ready, two meatheads are heading our way" Han muttered, earning a quick look of confusion from Kenobi, but also compliance.
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The crewmen, their faces concealed by the weight of their task, strained as they lugged a heavy box on board the ship. The air on the ramp of the Falcon hung tense, the weight of their cargo made more palpable by the watchful eyes of two stoic stormtroopers standing guard on either side.
The stern voice of a trooper cut through the quiet anticipation, "The ship's all yours. If the scanners pick up anything, report it immediately. All right, let's go."
With a sense of purpose, the crewmen traversed the ramp and disappeared into the shadows of the Falcons.
In the dimly lit hallway of the cockpit, Han's orders echoed eerily. The crewmen, unsuspecting, stood lined up as instructed, unaware of the brutality about to unfold. Moments later, as the two entered, Han's blaster roared to life, sending a searing bolt into one crewman's head. The lifeless body crumpled to the floor, a grotesque tableau of burnt flesh and death.
Before the other crewman could comprehend the horror, Han, channeling the Force with a ruthless efficiency, swiftly twisted the man's neck, ending his existence in a sickening snap. The air thickened with the stench of death, a testament to the unforgiving brutality of the moment.
Obi-Wan showed a grave look of disapproval, not because he killed them. Simply because of how it was done. Raw, untrained, undisciplined, and a lack of control. A very dangerous combo. Not very Jedi-like, or anything good in his eyes. But at this point, what is aside from the alliance? The objective is what matters right now, Han could be convinced to learn the ways another time.
With those tasks completed, Han stoically adhered to the old plan—why deviate when it proved effective, a stark reminder of the pragmatic ruthlessness that defined his actions.
From the depths of the Falcon, a deceptively casual voice cut through the tension, reaching the ears of the advancing stormtroopers. "Hey down there, could you give us a hand with this?" The tone was almost nonchalant, belying the impending brutality about to unfold.
As the stormtroopers hesitated, unsure of the request's authenticity, a sudden hail of gunfire shattered the uneasy calm. Blaster bolts tore through the air with ruthless precision, catching the troopers off guard.
In the confines of a cramped command office, nestled near the entrance of the recently detained ship, a Gantry Officer stood overlooking the scene through his window. His gaze scanned the surroundings, only to realize the absence of the stationed guards. Concern etched across his face, he swiftly reached for the comlink at his side.
The message echoed through the metallic corridors, a plea for answers in the face of an unsettling discovery. Meanwhile, a lone stormtrooper descended the ramp of the ship, catching the Gantry Officer's attention.
The trooper waved urgently, pointing to his ear in a gesture indicating communication failure. The Gantry Officer, frustration evident in his expression, shook his head in disbelief and headed for the door. As he left, he shot an annoyed glance at his aide, leaving an air of tension lingering in the small command office.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
ForgivableSinner
ForgivableSinner Things will go off-script, very, very, soon.
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