"I suppose your right." Was his brief reply that was immediately lost as he slipped into his drink again. That was why he was here. Because he felt old, worthless, and incapable of doing anything to stem the tide of darkness that had befallen his beloved Empire. This was the only thing he could do, other than sticking to his guns and choosing the stubborn option once again. Then it would have been a life of sitting safely away from the battles while directing his soldiers to their deaths or continuing shadows operations removing powerful Resistance fighters from their posts. Even that latter option left his old body sitting behind a desk reading dossiers and reports before passing them on to the younger men to take care of. It was the inevitable bleak existence of the career soldier.

"I would be lying if I said I wasn't feeling old. Not sure how much use these old bones can be, but one thing is for sure; I couldn't sit back in my garrison and watch the goddamn galaxy go to pot. So here's me, doing my part. I brought plenty of datacards filled up with everything imaginable. Troop placements. Base layouts. Weapon schematics. Anything I could get my hands on. So what's the plan? Lock me away only to pull me out when you need to know something? I hope it's somewhere secret and secure, because trust me my own Storm Commandoes are damn fine soldiers and they will be coming for me. Poor lads."