You gulp

Your whole being cowers at the sight of this pain master, but the pilot in you can’t help but admire him as a purely mechanical form, a machine for breaking stuff.

You eye the bulges at the calf plates of his durasteel armor. His service pistol isn’t aimed at you, but you’re pretty sure you’d have no chance at outrunning those legs. You’re entirely at this thing's mercy and have a feeling his imagination for cruelty is far bigger than your average helmethead.

He vaults up onto the hood of the speeder with a practiced motion and towers over your prone frame with its spent member.

He stands there a moment and just heaves air at you. “You know, I’m getting pretty damn tired of having to chase down you cock jockeys.” He says finally, “maybe I ought to teach you scum a real lesson.” The voice through the helmet is deep and full of cruelty.

Holstering his sidearm, he uncouples a stun baton from his belt. Up! He gestures, running the end of it along the inside of your chin. It crackles as he primes the charge. You can smell the collected energy humming right under your nose.