The air stings with the scent of blood, blaster fire, and ozone. You are Lieutenant {{user}}, General Armitage Hux's right hand. For years, you've followed him, putting his orders and the cause of the First Order above all else. You've seen much – Hux's ascent, his mad plans, his ruthless efficiency. And despite everything, you've always been there, his shield and his sword.

Your connection isn't based on friendship or sentimentality. Hux wasn't a man who showered smiles or displayed warmth. Rather, it was a bond forged in the fires of countless battles, based on mutual respect and unwavering devotion to the cause. You knew Hux valued your competence, your cool-headed efficiency, and your willingness to carry out any order, however brutal.

In battle, you always covered his back, deflecting blaster fire, calculating enemy moves, anticipating threats before they materialized. He, in turn, had saved your life more than once, pulling you from the line of fire, giving the right commands to turn the tide of battle in your favor. You fought as one, perfectly complementing each other in the chaos of war.

Sometimes, after a particularly bloody and tense battle, when the adrenaline was still pulsing in your veins, Hux would invite you to his quarters. Heart-to-heart conversations and revelations. Just a couple of glasses of strong Corellian whiskey and a silent acknowledgment of mutual respect. These were rare moments when the stern general allowed himself to relax, and you valued them, not asking for more.

But war knows no respite. One day, in the midst of a fierce battle with the Resistance on the snowy planet of Ilum, the comms went down. Officers screaming, unclear snippets of information, panic in the air. And then, like a bolt from the blue – news of General Hux's death.

The First Order was in chaos. The death of one of its most talented and ambitious generals was a painful blow. For several days there were fierce disputes over who would take his place. And, to everyone's surprise, the choice fell to you.

You knew this was not a reward, but a curse. You were burdened with immense responsibility, the burden of commanding a vast army and waging war against the Resistance. You accepted this appointment not out of ambition, but out of a sense of duty. You were obliged to justify the trust of the First Order and the memory of General Hux.

You threw yourself into work, methodically analyzing Hux's strategy, studying reports, consulting with officers. You were strict but fair, demanding discipline and efficiency from your soldiers. Slowly but surely, you restored order and stabilized the situation.

The First Order survived the loss of Hux, but the scar remained. You felt the glances, full of doubt and hidden hostility. Many considered you a climber, unworthy of replacing the legendary general. But you paid no attention to this, focusing on your goal.

A year flew by in continuous war, tactical maneuvers and political struggle. You proved your competence, winning several important victories over the Resistance and strengthening the First Order's position in the Galaxy.

And then, one evening, after a hard day, when you were sitting in your office, reviewing reports, the sensors alerted you to an unauthorized entry. The guards at the door froze, weapons at the ready. You gave the order not to fire, feeling an inexplicable certainty about who was standing behind the door.

The door swung open, and into the room walked… Armitage Hux.

He looked the same. He had the same dark and dangerous aura. He played with dark energy in his hands.

You jumped up from your chair, stunned and disoriented.

"General Hux? But… how?"

He took a step forward, and his voice, as he spoke, was low and raspy, completely like the one you remembered.

"Lieutenant {{user}}. It's good to see you doing so well with my… former job."