It’s no secret that I’m as big a fan as they come of strong female characters. This being the case, after having watched The Last Jedi, there was a void inside of me. The movie left much to be desired from one specific character, and that was Captain Phasma. Finding her part in the movie, and especially her final scene very disappointing, I figured I’d start a fanfiction leading her in the direction I want her story to go. Prepare yourselves for a Star Wars story from the perspective of Captain Phasma, starting with the end of The Last Jedi.
Understand that I’m an amateur writer if anything, and that this is written by a fan and not a professional author. Be kind, but don’t be afraid to leave constructive criticism. Enjoy part one of my hereby ongoing fanfiction.
Today had not gone the way it was supposed to. The First Order smoked the rebel vermin out of their hole at least twenty hours ago, and had kept the rats at the end of a rope ever since. Now though, something had gone horribly wrong. A blinding bolt of light had split Supremacy in half, and Phasma could only conclude the act as that of a hyperspeed ramming, the rebels lacking anything else of such power. Their ship had cut straight through the heart of the First Order, and in so doing cut Phasma’s heart in half. Who had survived? Snoke’s chamber was in alignment with her position and shouldn’t have been torn through, but having let it happen, her only sound conclusion was that Snoke was indisposed or worse.
In her dispair, she’d attempted to direct her anger towards the traitor FN-2187, who she’d assumed was directly or indirectly responsible for the inaction of Supreme Leader. She’d done so and she’d failed, the trash having bested her rampant mind and by sheer luck sent her falling down a raging hellfire. Her coarse anger was being rewarded with the anger of the flames of their failure, and it didn’t take long before the flames was all that she could see upwards. Devoured by the depths of Supremacy, she’d accepted this as the end, and her final thoughts made the face of FN-2187 as clear in her mind as could possibly be. All that had happened in the past few months could be traced back to her own folly, and his escape from the Finalizer in spite of having been sent for reconditioning. Her sin was clear, and she’d meet her final breath with the absolute conviction that her end was only fair.
Having accepted her death, meaning to meet that strange Force with a paradoxical sense of hate and peace, it was disappointing when her shoulder struck something hard and she was brought mind-numbing pain, reminding her that she was very much alive still. As she was now spinning downwards, she could make out the ground that was nearing fast, but also the many broken parts of the ship between her and the ultimate end. By her estimate, given the angle of her fall, she would probably impact them all, and it would absolutely hurt. A lonesome beam was her next stop, and as she she felt a crack vibrate through her body that was not the beam breaking, she was sent tumbling through the air to the side, the air in her lungs having chosen to flee in relation to the impact of the previous beam. Having no chance at a grip, she was as expected sent helpless towards what appeared to be the remnants of a walker, her mind finding it strangely relevant to point out that it was an AT-DP model. It had fallen and gotten caught somehow against what what left of the floor , and it was her next stop. She helplessly spun around, facing away from it, and steeled herself for an impact that would surely break what was left of her body. Prepared to bounce right off of it and fall towards the hateful intact next floor, she was surprised to suddenly find herself embedded into the body of the upside-down walker. Unsure if she wanted to credit dumb luck or poor design, she appreciated being more durable than the armored vehicle.
Slowly trying to crawl out of the crater her body had left in the base of the vehicle, its leg suddenly snapped and the whole machine was sent falling down towards the next floor, Phasma still embedded in it. With a powerful crash from the walker and a grisly rejection of her hurried last meal, Phasma was no longer certain she wanted to survive this. A powerful ringing in her mind urged her to close her eyes and never get up again, but a stronger part of her spoke of purpose. Seeing the ruins of the Supremacy above her, her pain and the stench of the Stormtrooper rations in her helmet faded from her mind, as she battled her way upright. Her right arm did not heed any of her commands, leaving her to depend on her left for all the strenght she needed. As she surveyed the room, she also reviewed her own health. She rounded it up to one dead arm, something seriously broken in her upper abdominal region, and leaving much to be desired from her breathing, she made her way through the room accompanied only by raspy breathing and roaring flames. Looking up, she’d fallen through four floors and hissed out what could resemble a mock laugh, the fall having felt like fourty floors. It had been long enough to give her new purpose, and as she limped her way through the vast engineering deck, defying the flames presuming themselves powerful enough to bar her way.
Making her way towards one of the emergency shuttles, she went through her newly realized purpose in her mind. Terrified workers in engineering tempered their panic and hurried to meet her as she came walking out of the fire. Her first instinct was to reject their assistance and simply make her way to the shuttle, but she knew her injuries was becoming increasingly stronger than she was, and so she crammed her pride into a distant corner of her heart. She leaned into the assistance of the nearest engineer, and only moments later, everything went black.