You know this cantina ain’t exactly Imperial friendly, Ram.” I shrug. At this point, I’m not sure how Imperial friendly I am myself, if we’re being honest. Which we are, apparently. I hate my unit; I hate my uniform. I hate that I can be hauled out to any ol’ galactic wastebin on a moment’s notice just to annihilate some random one-celled troglodyte. It’s the constant feeling that the world may be very, very beautiful somehow if only one could remove the crap-stained glasses that come with being a member of this ridiculous army.
