Logan Harkins
Born to Compose
Lieutenant Logan Harkins sat in a bar surrounded by other members of the Imperial Military. Outside the booming bar speakers played nationalistic tunes and state filtered news, inside men and women in various uniforms conversed and celebrated their Governments recent victories and achievements. A few sat in silence, toasting to the dead or those they'd lost.
Logan was one of those.
The Commando sat in silence at the bar, he'd been ordering a blend of whiskey and local pop since around thirteen hundred. Given that it was currently eighteen hundred, the half chiss was well gone. He forgot about his family. The men and women who'd died under his command. For a brief few hours he'd be one of the many proud N.O fascists who'd taken to serving his country. He watched the state run comedy holovids demonizing the Republic with a children's cartoon. Brave New Order citizens were shown killing oafish looking Jedi by the scores, their soldiers shown blowing each other up through a lack of proper training. Logan chuckled, nearly spilling alcohol on his Commando Dress Uniform. He looked down at his pale blue hands.
He remembered his wife. The pieces he used to compose, before bloodshed had taken over his existence. The mood was killed.
Logan was one of those.
The Commando sat in silence at the bar, he'd been ordering a blend of whiskey and local pop since around thirteen hundred. Given that it was currently eighteen hundred, the half chiss was well gone. He forgot about his family. The men and women who'd died under his command. For a brief few hours he'd be one of the many proud N.O fascists who'd taken to serving his country. He watched the state run comedy holovids demonizing the Republic with a children's cartoon. Brave New Order citizens were shown killing oafish looking Jedi by the scores, their soldiers shown blowing each other up through a lack of proper training. Logan chuckled, nearly spilling alcohol on his Commando Dress Uniform. He looked down at his pale blue hands.
He remembered his wife. The pieces he used to compose, before bloodshed had taken over his existence. The mood was killed.