Dear Diary,
Am getting more and more annoyed with Kylo Ren. He is constantly stomping around the ship with his cloak billowing about him. Why can’t I get my cloak to billow like that? Several laundry droids have tried a number of methods to make my cloak billow in that impressive manner, e.g. sewing weights into the lining. Their miserable failures have been noted.
Dear Diary,
Today Kylo Ren introduced a new officer, Allegiant General Pryde. He’s a crusty old salt who’s been around since the Clone Wars and who now sits on the Supreme Council with me. Seems a little stand-offish at first, but I expect he’ll warm up. It’s upsetting, of course, to have another officer outranking me on this ship—and did Ren just invent “Allegiant General” as a rank?!—but on the other hand I expect he certainly prizes order. During the welcome party he described himself as “a fascist at heart.” I’m hoping that means he’ll actually file his employee reviews semiannually, unlike some people.
Dear Diary,
The Knights of Ren are absolute slobs. This morning several of them tracked mud and viscera through the ship’s central corridor. Terribly disrespectful to the chain of command. I miss Captain Phasma. Now that was a woman who enjoyed an orderly vessel! I remember her taking her customary three hours to polish her silver armor every afternoon. Once the laundry department put it through the washer and her armor returned tarnished! In her rage she set off several thermal detonators in the department, then cleaned her armor with baking soda and aluminum foil. Ah, we had a good laugh about that one.
Dear Diary,
Starship life is awfully lonely. For a while I was dating an underling, but she a) didn’t like it when I called her that and b) blew up on Starkiller Base. For a while I thought Phasma and I might have something, but she was a bit fanatical even for my taste. And I know fanaticism!
Anyway, these days there’s no one on this star destroyer with whom I can sit down for a nice meal, a glass of wine, a little gossip. Every time I see those wretched Resistance fighters or listen in on their radio transmissions they always seem so … chummy. Positively exuding bonhomie. Clapping one another on the back, expressing sorrow when a comrade is killed in battle, whatever. I’m not saying I want to be in the Resistance or anything but it would be nice to have some fun co-workers.
Dear Diary,
Am considering becoming a Resistance spy. It’s like, it takes all the fun out of subjugating planets and killing billions when Kylo Ren gets to be the boss. When Snoke was bisected I really thought it was my moment to shine, but no, Ren just Force-chokes anyone who disagrees with him. Ugh, I really hate being Force-choked. It hurts! Plus, you can’t breathe!
Dear Diary,
Today, I was commiserating with General Parmadee about Kylo Ren. You have to be careful when you complain around here, because he’s the “Supreme Leader” (gag!!), and anyone who criticizes him runs the risk of being ejected from an airlock. I said, “Bellava, do you ever wonder what it would be like if we could just kill whomever we like, without waiting for authorization from”—and I thought this was clever—“ol’ Helmet Head over there?” She replied something noncommittal, like, “All hail Supreme Leader.” I’m pretty sure she’s on my side. I might mention the spy thing to her. It’s cool—all I have to do is download all the First Order tactical plans onto a thumb drive, and then get that to some random mine overseer on Sinta Glacier. Seems foolproof!
Dear Diary,
Disaster! This morning I spent two hours sewing little ionic fans onto my belt loops. The idea was, at an important moment, the fans would send little jets of air into my cloak, helping it to billow a bit more. But someone, definitely not me, must have miscalibrated the power converters, because as I was addressing a group of stormtroopers I pressed the switch and the fans turned on but they were much too strong and sent the cloak blowing straight over my head. Several stormtroopers laughed and were summarily executed. Still—very frustrating.
Dear Diary,
Today I asked Allegiant General Pryde if he’d like to head down to the officer’s recreation chambers for a round of spheroids. “I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to fraternize with those of another rank,” he replied. I pointed out that because no one else in the First Order has ever been or ever will be an Allegiant General, that might make shipboard life a bit dull. He conceded the point and said, “Perhaps another time.” I’ll crack that frosty exterior yet!
Dear Diary,
Kylo Ren loves making little comments about Starkiller Base. “I sense a great regret in your heart about the failure of your planet-sized death machine,” he says. It hurts my feelings. I spent years managing that project, prime years of my career, and I only got to blow up one star system before the whole thing was destroyed. Which, incidentally, was the fault of those horrid contractors, not me. I can’t complain to Ren, obviously. I wish there was someone I could talk to! I ordered a therapist droid from the medical bay but Snoke had them all reprogrammed to say “Your problems are inconsequential, focus only on crushing the Resistance.” No one knows how to reboot them. It’s too bad—therapy is supposed to be covered in the medical plan, and a lot of our nameless young stormtroopers could stand to talk things out about their kidnapping, parents being killed, etc.
Dear Diary,
Real progress with Allegiant General Pryde! I invited him to my chambers for a drink and he accepted. “An Alderaanian red?” he inquired as I poured. “That’s quite a bottle, even on an officer’s salary.” I told him Derla Pidys sold me the last case off the planet, and he seemed impressed. We had a nice chat, though he’s a bit nosy! Asked a lot of questions about my security clearance, my allegiance to the First Order, etc. I guess he was just making small talk. When I poured myself a fourth glass to polish off the bottle, I toasted, “To new friends!” and he said, “Indeed.” I hope I didn’t come on too strong.
Dear Diary,
I walk into the officers’ head this afternoon and Kylo Ren’s at a urinal, making light-saber noises while he pees same as always. Then all of a sudden he just stares out into the distance and starts talking to that Resistance scavenger again! “When I offer you my hand,” the whole thing. I’m like, Hey! A little privacy here! God, I hate that guy.
Dear Diary,
Getting awfully sick of the Knights of Ren and their fancy-pants weapons. Whatever happened to the good old days of Imperial soldiers simply toting laser blasters? I asked Trudgen what the hell he was carrying and he was like, “It’s an ultrasonic vibrocleaver,” like I was the asshole. Shut up, Trudgen!
Dear Diary,
Today in the Supreme Council meeting Bellava complimented Kylo Ren on his stupid helmet. “It looks good, sir,” she said. I could have killed her. Plus, the guy who was supposed to pass my message to the Resistance got his head chopped off! All in all, a bad day. The only bright spot was that General Quinn got Force-choked, not me.
Dear Diary,
This afternoon the Knights of Ren captured a Wookie from a group of Resistance scum. And just in time for Life Day! This one seems a little sinewy—I expect I’ll need to braise him, as I did that baby Yoda last year.
Dear Diary,
I worry sometimes that someone might read these diaries and discover that I’m the spy. That’s why, despite everything, I’m glad to be part of the First Order. The entire point of this organization is discipline, order, and chain of command. If something goes wrong the worst I’ll face is a court-martial, and with my new friend Enric Pryde on the bench, I feel good about my chances!
