Jaden Luka. General. Trask recognized him the moment he walked into the brig. His face was one of many on the black dossiers given to the Storm Commandos. That meant he was worth dying to kill. That was years ago, when Luka was still a soldier of the Republic. The two of them had occupied many a battlefield together, although he had never had the pleasure of meeting him in the field. A field that became far more distant with time for the both of them, Trask would wager. As medals weighed them down like anchors, grinding their bones to dust and muscles to paste, until at last the only place fit for them was behind a desk directing soldiers where to go. Where to die.

he would have been more comfortable if Meorrrei herself had stepped into the room. A politician he could stand. He'd been putting up with them his entire. Bunch of wankers always getting in the way. Luka on the other hand was a decorated war hero and a peer. Someone more likely to carry a grudge and put him in the ground instead of giving him the chance to speak his bit. Because of that it was surprising when the man entered the cell carrying not a blaster but a drink. Trask didn't move. Sudden movement might be unwise. The lads on the other side of the bars seemed a bit twitchy. Instead he kept his position; leaning forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped together. It wasn't until the clinking of glasses and sloshing of fluid ebbed and the calm voice of the General filled the awkward silence that he finally risked leaning back against the wall.

"There is." He replied, his think accent hard to place from any particular planet or system. His hand slowly crept out and accepted the glass, raising it just before his mouth. "Not quite sure I know what it is." Finally he drank. It was a savory delight and not something he often enjoyed. Alcohol, cigarras, and junk food had no place in his pallet. His battlefield days may he long behind him, but he had kept himself in the best shape he could and despite his age he was quite fit. He wouldn't pull the ears off a gundark anytime soon but he might stand a chance to outrun it. "Would you believe me if I said it was because of the officer caps? Damn silly things with the little wings on th'sides." A rare moment of mirth for the Major, and one that quickly faded like the smile on his face. Drowned in another sip.

"When the galaxy unified I thought I was doing the right thing by sticking with the Empire. It felt wrong to abandon the cause just because we lost. I didn't mind living in the armpit of the galaxy. I was fighting the good fight. Preparing to make war one day someday. Then things started to change." His brow furrowed as he dug deep for those old, dusty memories. "It was small things at first. Policies. Programs. Training. Then things started to get weird. Raising soldiers from birth. Conditioned. They weren't patriots fighting for their leaders or even lads chasing a check. They were raised to be soldiers. They knew nothing different. It felt wrong, but I went with it. I thought I could train them up to be proper lads. I thought I succeeded, and then Malagus. Jebin IV. Ossus. The moment those lads left my wing they became heartless machines. I blamed myself, I blamed them, but in the end I know it was the Empire that failed us all. The First Order isn't it's finest hour. It is it's worst. I couldn't stand by and watch them wear our faces and take everything we fought for and twist it into nightmares."

Turning his head he looked the General in the eye, over the top of his glass. "The Empire dead." and then he drank the rest of the cup.