[The press of it's sharp and keen, more blunt than wire but it isn't any less solid where it catches him, halting his grasping efforts in their tracks: he feels his muscle-- starved and weary-- constrict against his will, lungs pinned, lips curled back in a breathless, wounded snarl over teeth, too short of the mark to reach the saber still held fast in Ren's hand. It's hopeless. No wounded, bed-ridden recruit stands a chance against the First Order's leashed Sith, and if their surroundings (no blaster fire, no calls to arms or even a rallying cry for desperate retreat) are indicative of anything, it's that he's alone this time.
Which is why his hand rolls back against the grain, away from the monster ahead, pitching the image of yet another retreat at first - predictable enough to be expected. Only his fingertips strain past the edge of the medical bed, fumbling until they find cold metal. He can't tell what it is (a tray, a pan for instruments too far out of his eyeline, maybe, doesn't matter) only that it's solid, and if he pulls--
His vision's fading by the time he reels forward again with the only momentum left, numb and dazed and aiming for the noisy glint of metal just there ahead: Ren's mask, he hopes. Tools clatter to the floor, spit flecks his own lips from strain - he doesn't care. If this is it, if he's done for without a shot at revenge in the Resistance's name, the he's making it count.
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Which is why his hand rolls back against the grain, away from the monster ahead, pitching the image of yet another retreat at first - predictable enough to be expected. Only his fingertips strain past the edge of the medical bed, fumbling until they find cold metal. He can't tell what it is (a tray, a pan for instruments too far out of his eyeline, maybe, doesn't matter) only that it's solid, and if he pulls--
His vision's fading by the time he reels forward again with the only momentum left, numb and dazed and aiming for the noisy glint of metal just there ahead: Ren's mask, he hopes. Tools clatter to the floor, spit flecks his own lips from strain - he doesn't care. If this is it, if he's done for without a shot at revenge in the Resistance's name, the he's making it count.
For once in his damn life, he's making it count.]