Chapter 3
“What a hot chick,” sighed Captain Frisken, “So, what was that message, Dez?” He sat back down.
The other troopers, also interested, began to prod Dez about it. At first he resisted, but after a campaign of questions, he finally snapped. He told the troopers the contents of the message.
“Those are some pretty high expectations.” Said Captain Frisken, “Completing Storm and Flame Trooper training, passing the ISTFTO, and getting my recommendation. That's no easy task.”
“But, it is possible, Stormtrooper training is only three 2 hour courses with a test at the end, Flametrooper training is two 2 hour courses and the certification, the ISTFTO is really just an intellect test, and that recommendation is already in the bag, no?” Corel said, as he looked at Captain Frisken.
Captain Frisken replied with, “Yeah, of course,” looks to Desmond, “anything to help a friend get a crazy girl like that Lieutenant.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Desmond was in shock, so much was happening in that moment, he just made three lifelong friends, made a bet with the Commander, and got a recommendation for the rank of Captain.
“Well, let's get started with Stormtrooper training!” Captain Frisken stood up and motioned for Desmond to follow. They exited the small room and made their way through the halls.
At the end of their trek through the base, Captain Frisken stopped at a door, opened it and led Desmond into the room. Inside was a few tables, some desks, a shooting range, and a holo projector in the center of it all.
“This is our training and testing room, here I will teach you everything about being a stormtrooper. Let's get started.”
…
10 Days Later
“Desmond, this is it, our last day of Flame Trooper training, I am truly impressed, not only did you complete the ISTFTO with a great score, you also got Captain Friskens recommendation for the rank of Captain. I don’t know how you’ve managed this, but I’m impressed.” Said Commander Alamon, a white armor box behind him.
“Thank you sir!” Desmond was extremely proud of this accomplishment. Apparently his ISTFTO score was a big deal, but it wasn’t that hard. The only questions he got wrong were the questions that were asked for pre Republic history, he didn’t know anything about the Old Republic or Sith Empire. Stormtrooper training was a breeze, it consisted of fire arm training, military etiquette, and security protocols. Nothing hard at all.
Flame trooper training was just learning how to use a flamethrower, fire control, and safety. The only thing Dez found annoying was how much Commander Alamon talked about the greatness of the Flame Trooper. After a bunch of that, Desmond started to get a little cocky about his new position, but nothing extreme.
Being a Flame Trooper consists of a few things: Burning obstacles, light scout work, and having the guts to keep the flames hurling at your enemies, before they shoot back. A Flame Trooper is really just an over-decorated Stormtrooper.
“Now, Desmond, you’re finally ready, however, before I can give you this armor, you have to… kill.” The Commander patted the armor box. “Bring the prisoner!” He yelled.
A door behind the Commander opened and two troopers dragged out a man bound in shackles. He wore a yellow jumpsuit, and had a serial number on his back. A criminal.
The two troopers threw the criminal to the floor, then they set a dagger next to him.
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“These troopers and myself will leave this room, and unlock the prisoners' shackles, you will be locked in here until you burn this… man.” He said, not sure if the criminal was a man. “He’s a murderer and an evil person, you’d be doing the galaxy a favor. If you can’t kill the prisoner, he will kill you, then we will kill him. Either way, the Prisoner dies. Do you have the guts?” Asked the Commander, he then backed away towards the door, the troopers following him. “Good Luck, TK-2165.”
The door suddenly shut, and now Desmond and the Criminal were all who remained inside the room. Then, the prisoners' shackles unlocked and fell to the floor. The criminal's blank face then immediately went into a crazed smile and wide eye stare. Desmond was unprepared, he didn’t know if he could do it…
“It’s either me or you.” Desmond said, though the Prisoner could not hear his words, he said them just soft enough for just him to hear.
The criminal ran for the dagger, picked it up and started running to Desmond. But, he would not make it.
The veracity of flames shot out of the Flamethrower, it covered the entire half of the room in a fiery ball of death and pure destruction.
The criminal yelled in agony, falling to the floor, Desmond kept it up, not straying from his path. He got closer and closer to the immobilized criminal. It was as if the fires of hell had been tamed by Desmond, he showed no fear in the face of the enemy.
Inside a control room, just next to the training room where Desmond was, Commander Alamon and the two troopers watched the live feed in terror. They had never seen someone so merciless. Desmond kept the flames going for what felt like an eternity. “Commander, the Prisoner's vitals have flatlined, should we stop–”
“No…” interrupted the Commander, “He needs to do this.” The Commander folded his hands behind his back and stared into the glutinous flames beyond the glimmering screen. “He needs to do this.”
…
Desmond sat in his room, the Flame Trooper Armor sitting out in front of him. Captain Frisken, Corel, and Garon stood there with him, looking down at the beautiful Flame Trooper Armor, with an orange pauldron attached to the shoulder, giving him the rank of Captain.
“Congratulations Captain Desmond.” Captain Frisken said, I’m… we're all impressed by you.”
“Thank you Captain, couldn’t have done it without you.” Desmond replied.
“Sure thing.”
“Well, try it on already.” Corel said, holding the Flame Thrower, as if to use it. “I want to see that beautiful armor moving around.”
“Alright, alright, get out, I’ll put it on since you’re all so desperate to see it.” Desmond said, motioning for the three to leave.
They left, and Desmond was left to his own.
He sat in silence, staring at the Flame Trooper armor. Its polished surface reflected the dim light of the room, a constant reminder of what he had just done. His hands trembled as he ran his fingers along the edges of the pauldron. His mind replayed the moment—the searing flames, the screams, the silence that followed.
He clenched his fists.
“This is what it takes,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his chest. He closed his eyes, but the memory was already burned into his mind, as vivid as the flames themselves.
“What choice did I have?” he thought. “It was me or him.” This galaxy isn’t kind. The weak don’t survive. This isn’t the movies. If I want to make something of myself, if I want to be someone, I can’t hesitate. I can’t let doubt hold me back.
His thoughts raced, conflicting emotions tearing at him. The old Desmond would have flinched, maybe even walked away from the challenge, but not anymore. That moment—his first kill—was a point of no return.
He stood and looked at himself in the reflection of the armor’s polished chest plate.
“I’ve already taken the first step,” he said, his voice growing steadier. “I’ve proven I can do what it takes. If I can survive that, I can survive anything. If I have to burn down every obstacle in my path to thrive, so be it. I won’t go back. I won’t suffer like I did those cold nights. Never again.”
Desmond’s trembling stopped, replaced by a cold determination. He reached for the armor and began to don each piece with purpose. The weight of it felt different now—less like a burden and more like a symbol of the man he was becoming.
As he grabbed the final piece, the helmet, he paused. He looked at it, the visor staring back at him like the soulless eyes of his enemy. He knew what this armor represented: power, control, and the strength to shape his own destiny.
Desmond placed the helmet on his head. The world around him became quieter, more focused.
The helmets advanced features began to turn on. “Please Designate your TK number.”
“TK-2165”
“Please designate a Password for this Armor.”
“For my Empire.”
“Password accepted, welcome to the FT-Advanced Version 10 Imperial Militant Armor, All Features Unlocked.”
“This is who I am now,” he said, his voice echoing slightly inside the helmet. “This is what I must become.”
He stepped toward the door, each movement deliberate, the weight of his resolve heavier than the armor itself. Desmond wasn’t just a Flame Trooper now—he was a man willing to do whatever it took, no matter the price.
