Tag Archives: fn-2003

Awesome First Order Recruitment Leaflet from Mad Magazine!

Would you join a bunch of murderers, traitors and thieves? Or would you rather wear plastic armor and bring order to the galaxy? We don’t know about you, but it definitely won’t be the Resistance scum for Stormtrooper Larry!

The hilarious a-holes behind Mad Magazine just released a recruitment pamphlet for the First Order. Building on the success of their Force Awakens issue last February, the gang of idiots is back with a second helping of Star Wars.

This time, they’re shilling for the “good guys” and their three Ts policy: Terror, Tyranny and Totalitarianism. But they can’t do it without some fresh blaster fodder. Prospective “fear ambassadors” (sounds like a Disney term) will get to chill their ass off in Starkiller Base, enjoy some sun in Jakku, and march along endless gray corridors awaiting rebel saboteurs in the time-honored stormtrooper tradition.

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Exciting activities include carrying out pro-active population control policies, marching in perfect formation, standing around in rows while Kylo Ren makes his grand entrance, and learning how to use one of those “spinny laser-baton thingies”.

You never know when you need to stop a traitor with a lightsaber!

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It’s nice to know that health coverage now extends to lightsaber dismemberments, Wookiee dismemberments, and Ewok-related injuries. Unfortunately it seems that most troopers still don’t enjoy free prescription lenses, which account for the majority of missed stormtrooper shots.*

We also get a nice tidbit about the new stormtrooper armor. It’s 3% more effective than before, offering almost 15% greater protection against blaster fire! As long as your serial number isn’t FN-2003….

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The Kickstarter is a nice touch. With the fall of the Empire, the new organization had to scrape the funds for their own death ball. And what better way to raise credits than to crowdsource it?

While Jedis don’t crave adventure and excitement, Star Wars fans do. So fuck the light side, go and sign up with the winning side. Join the First Order through Mad Magazine today!

The digital issue is available now, while the printed version will come out on June 14.

*Poor eyesight and helmet design account for 95.5% of all missed blaster shots by stormtroopers, based on an in-depth study pulled from Stormtrooper Larry’s ass.

 

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FN-2003: The Weakest Link

This is an offshoot of the article The Horrifying Truth about Poe Dameron Nobody Seems to Notice. A Reddit user wondered, “What if Finn got hit instead?” The result is this story.


In an alternate universe….

The sublight engines cease their gentle hum, to be replaced by the steady throb of the repulsors. Onboard the squat transport, white-armored figures prepare for combat. The sound of activating HUDs and slap-locking cartridges fill the cramped cabin, while the gunner on top starts blasting away at unseen targets.


The ramp drops. Thick smoke. Fire. The chaotic din of combat. Brilliant beams of energy crisscross the night, some narrowly missing and showering sparks on the dropship’s durasteel. The stormtroopers of FN squadron rush down the ramp and into the fray.

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A hundred meters from the drop zone, a lone Resistance pilot abandons his damaged fighter. Grabbing a worn blaster from a survival pack, he takes aim on the nearest trooper and starts shooting back.

He fires two bolts in quick succession. Both shots find their marks, downing two stormtroopers attempting to outflank the villagers in their makeshift barricades.

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His crippled fighter burning in the background, the pilot shifts his aim and searches for new targets.

He finds one: a stormtrooper standing aimlessly in the middle of the battle and gawking all around. In any firefight, being stationary is suicide, and this one just signed his death warrant.

The pilot fires his third shot.

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The reckless trooper is hit dead center on the chestplate. While stormtrooper armor can withstand glancing shots, it isn’t designed to absorb direct hits. The bolt’s lethal energy is only marginally dissipated by the ferroplast. Most of it finds its way to soft living tissue, cooking the wearer, FN-2187.

The stormtrooper slumps to the ground. Behind him, his squadmate FN-2003 sees him fall and doesn’t hesitate. With reflexes born from a lifetime of training, he fires back at the source of the muzzle flash.

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The return fire strikes the pilot in the head. Poe Dameron, Resistance ace, is dead before his body even hits the ground.

Stormtroopers are not used to hitting their targets with the first shot. A barrage of blaster bolts rain down on Poe’s prostrate body before FN-2003 realizes his opponent was killed by his first lucky shot.

Beneath the helmet, FN-2003 whoops. He has just scored his first kill of the night. Relentlessly bullied and derided as the weakest link during training, “Slip” has finally proven himself in combat. He calls for a gunner to cover the spot and moves on to other targets. His second kill is a bearded old man running away from a hut.

As the triumphant trooper blasts away, his fallen comrade FN-2187 takes his last labored breath. The captain once reprimanded him for his “dangerous levels of empathy”. Only know does he realize the fatal consequence of his flaw. As he lies motionless on his back, the last thing he sees is a massive bat-like shape that blots out the stars.

Minutes into his first combat deployment, FN-2187, the stormtrooper with a conscience, dies. He never received a name.

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Overhead, the sinister craft folds its massive wings and comes in for a landing. A black-clad figure strides down the ramp, ignoring the villagers being herded in the village square.

“Who killed the Resistance pilot?”

FN-2003 steps confidently forward. This is it. In front of his entire platoon, this will be his moment of vindication.

“I did, sir!”

“And the old man in the village?”

“It was also me, sir!”

The tall figure looks down on him, somehow managing to radiate a sense of contempt despite the mask.

“What is your serial number?”

The stormtrooper proudly squares his shoulders. “FN-2003, SIR!”

A gloved hand reaches out. Slip suddenly finds himself catapulted toward the hooded figure, floating in mid-air inches away from the unflinching mask.

“I can do many things, FN-2003. But I cannot interrogate dead bodies.”

The hand lashes out. Slip is hurled back, as if rammed by a runaway speeder truck. He hits a nearby hut with enough force to crack the ferrocrete. As his helmet readout flares with alerts of multiple fractures and a broken neck, FN-2003’s last thought was wondering where he went wrong.

A pauldroned officer comes up to the hooded figure.

“We found no signs of the map on either body or on the fighter sir. And our sensors detected no holonet transmissions of any kind. They didn’t have time to send it off-world.”

“They must have hidden it. Form a search perimeter 100 klicks around the village.” The figure paused. “If you do not find any trace, burn the planet from orbit. I will not risk Skywalker being found.”

“Yes sir!”

The man in the black mask stalks back to his ship. Shouting officers begin forming the search party as more transports arrive. In the background, flametroopers move in to erase every trace of the village, a harbinger of Jakku’s fate.

A lone stormtrooper in gleaming chrome looks at Slip’s broken body, then walks away.

“FN-2003: always the weakest link.”

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The Horrifying Truth About Poe Dameron Nobody Seems to Notice

The sublight engines cease their hum. Onboard, the white-armored occupants steel themselves for combat, as the gunner on top begins blasting away at unseen targets.

The ramp drops. Fires. Shouting. Brilliant beams of energy crisscrossing through the night. Moving as one, the stormtroopers rush out of the transport and charge straight into the frenzy.

A hundred meters away, a lone Resistance pilot abandons his damaged T-70. Grabbing a worn blaster from his survival pack, he takes aim on the nearest white-clad figure and starts shooting back.

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His first shot is dead on target. Down goes a trooper.

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Determined to give his BB-8 unit a running start, the pilot fires again.

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This ace pilot is just as deadly on solid ground as he is in space combat. Before the second trooper can even react to his fallen comrade, he too is hit with a fatal blast.

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As his crippled fighter burns in the background, the pilot slightly shifts his aim to the right and trains the sight on a new target.

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His third shot catches a running figure full on in the chest plate.

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As the target slumps to the ground, his buddy runs to check on the mortally wounded stormtrooper.

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But it’s too late. As he lays dying, the stricken trooper reaches out to his friend with a bloodied hand. Shuddering, he lets out one final gasp and lays still.

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The surviving trooper panics. Numb with shell shock and stained by blood, he stumbles around the battlefield. Within minutes of his first combat deployment, he has seen innocent villagers shot, houses torched, and his friend killed.

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Later on, the Resistance pilot will be captured, and the traumatized stormtrooper will help him pull off a daring escape. Their shared hardship will lead to an unlikely friendship.

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The stormtrooper will never know that the pilot he helped escape was the one who killed his friend. Meanwhile, the pilot will never realize that among the faceless troopers he shot was the the stormtrooper’s bestfriend.

If you think this is some kind of insane fan theory, here’s the full GIF of the scene:

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According to Wookieepedia, the hapless stormtrooper was FN-2003, aka “Slip”. He was the weakest link in Finn’s squad, so that Finn was always bailing his clumsy stormtrooper butt out of trouble:

During a First Order raid on a sacred village on the planet Jakku, Slip was hit by blaster fire from Poe Dameron. FN-2187 went to help his squadmate, but FN-2003’s wound proved fatal, Slip wiping his bloody hand on FN-2187’s helmet before dying. His sudden and violent death contributed to FN-2187’s decision to escape from First Order service.

And so kids, that is why The Force Awakens is the darkest Star Wars movie yet.

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UPDATE: Be sure to check out the alternate universe version! What if Poe hit Finn instead?

The Right Mix

Lora Hex smiled. After six long years, the seeds of her revenge were ready to be planted.

It had taken six long years to turn abstract idea into actionable reality, an idea that began its first stirrings as soon as she was taken from the New Republic world of Poctoris.

It had taken half that long for the First Order to trust her with a task other than mere theory building and paperplast shuffling. On the third year of her forced servitude, the former Sr. Researcher of Profile Training and Psychoanalysis was finally promoted. From mere lab hand, Lora slowly climbed the ladder back to junior analyst in her new home, the Star Destroyer Ravager.

It helped that half of the FO scientists were moronic yes-men who wouldn’t have passed the first year admission exams in a Republic institution, much less wear a lab coat. It also helped that she began sleeping with the vessel’s Director of Science, a morbidly obese man whose academic credentials consisted of being related to the sector Moff.

On the fourth year, she gained clearance to the tightly guarded Recruit Training Program, the First Order’s conditioning process for the conscripted soldiers that formed its military backbone. Lora felt a special kinship with these recruits — like her, they were forcibly taken from their homeworlds, never to see their families again. Unlike her, the “blaster fodders” were taken at a very young age, the better to mold them for a lifetime of unquestioning service to the Order.

At first limited to observer status, within six months Lora became Program Assistant. Her meteoric rise came from improvements she made in the regimen’s Logical Reasoning, Cortex Development and Abstract Thinking classifications.

On the fifth year, the death of her elderly superior catapulted Lora into the position of Program Head, Level 1 Recruit Training and Conditioning. It was the break she was looking for.

She began with minuscule changes to the basic regimen. A slight tweak to the Creativity course here, a small dip in the Obedience programming there. All over her various postings, Lora sabotaged the conditioning process of FO foot soldiers more effectively than any Republic battle fleet or resistance spy. Approximately 120 new graduates of the FC batch on the fortress world of Thosis II received a boost in independent thinking. Onboard the Decimator, 70 recruits of the FL batch were given a sense of survival, while 30 new FN troopers destined for the Finalizer were given a moral conscience. The First Order wanted the perfect stormtrooper: smart, unquestioning, and uncaring. Lora was giving them the exact opposite.

Unfortunately, her sabotage was shortlived. After several incidents of insubordination among the FC batch, the entire wing was sent to a penal colony for reconditioning. Of the FL batch, an attempted mutiny by FL-1366 led to the summary execution of six squads and the whole legion’s quarantine. In her zeal to topple the enemy from within, Lora’s altered troopers stood out like flashing distress beacons and were ruthlessly suppressed.

But not anymore. On her sixth year, Lora Hex finally found the right mix for her revenge. The latest batch was independent enough to think without being hardheaded, creative enough to adapt while seeming obedient, and ethically aware without being obvious. Best of all, they were programmed with a delayed fuse. Instead of being fanatically opposed to tyranny like the first ones, the new ones will blend in and quietly disrupt the First Order from within.

The FU batch was her crowning gift to the powers that destroyed her life.

As Lora closed her datapad, the door to her cabin chimed, announcing the arrival of unexpected guests. On the monitor, two black-clad agents of the dreaded Internal Security Directorate stood waiting outside, alongside a handful of naval troops. After two years of causing havoc, the ISD had finally caught on to her.

Lora Hex looked out her window. She closed her eyes, imagining she could see the emerald seas of Poctoris one last time, rather than the featureless gray of a warship’s bulkhead. She reached for a button under the desk.

The soundless explosion briefly blossomed from the destroyer’s right flank, incinerating Lora, the two ISB agents, a whole detention squad, and all historical records of Recruit Training and Conditioning, Level 1.