prequelspotting

Choose the Order. Choose a mission. Choose a Master. Choose a fucking big hologram projector. Choose refresher machines, starships, compact holocron players and lightsabers. Choose Force healing, high midichlorian count, and Trade Federation insurance. Choose fixed interest Tattooine junkyard repayments. Choose a starter meditation chamber. Choose your Padawans. Choose trooper armor and a matching R4 unit. Choose a three-piece robe on hire purchase in a range of fucking Jedi fabrics.

Choose democracy and wondering who the fuck you are on a Coruscanti morning. Choose sitting on that repulsor chair waiting through mind-numbing, Force-crushing Council meetings, stuffing fucking Dex's Diner food into your mouth. Choose being one with the Force at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable cave, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up younglings you trained to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose the Empire... But why would I want to do a thing like that?

I chose not to choose the Empire. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got the high ground?