May 18, 2025
me? updating the 111th roster in 2025? more likely than you’d think. here’s a look at the 111th’s commanding officers!
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Australia
seen from Colombia
seen from Russia
seen from China
seen from Sweden
seen from Netherlands
seen from China
seen from Moldova
seen from Germany
seen from Kenya
seen from Netherlands
seen from South Korea
seen from Norway
seen from China
seen from Germany
seen from United States
me? updating the 111th roster in 2025? more likely than you’d think. here’s a look at the 111th’s commanding officers!
ik there's not much about him yet but i actually love razor so much okay bye
2nd lt. razor / reader ; NOT ALL WHO WANDER
a/n: i literally would die for my treasonous activist who is just trying to have human rights. like. god, i love this dramatic bitch so much. also, i have been pining over him in this outfit for like a month now.
"You lost?”
Your voice rises above the bustle on Level 1120, meeting the ears of the soldier in question.
He walks like a soldier. Can’t miss the prickly bastard, Neza had said.
You don’t need to see his face to know he’s the one you’re here for. No, under that jet-black speeder bike helmet, you can tell he’s got the same face as the other men you’ve become well-acquainted with after moving to Coruscant a handful of months ago.
Those two words spark something in the back of Second Lieutenant Razor’s mind — there’s a phrase that follows, one that usually comes from his mouth. Yet... He’s never seen you before.
No, usually he deals with the eclectic Neza Kah. The green-haired criminal from Level 1441. Best slicer below the sun-touched topside. She could cook you up a new chain-code in twenty minutes. She was also one of the pillars of this group of C.R.A.’s. Real good at passing along information without a lick of kick-back.
(Clone Rights Activists — on the core-worlds, they’re pretty common. If you know where to look, that is. Heavily monitored, though. The Senate wasn’t exactly fond of them, nor of how they got their information.
In that moment, the data-drive in the pack on Razor’s back feels heavy.)
He can’t help but wonder where the resident Grand Army of the Republic Naval Academy drop-out is. Wasn’t like Neza to no-show. Wasn’t like Neza to sub in a replacement either.
This level is busy — always is. It was home to a lot of off-campus housing facilities for the University of Coruscant. Razor was always surprised to find that the lack of daylight seemed to allow for parties constantly down here. This level had earned the title of being a party district — the bars and clubs seem to have constant streams of patrons.
Razor crosses the street, long legs carrying him away from the lamp he’d parked the speeder-bike below.
You’re pretty — with eyes that strike him straight in the chest. There’s a curiosity there.
This man’s voice is lower than the other’s you’ve heard, with a sharp rasp. Different. Cold. There’s a measured tempo of caution to his words, too.
“Right where I need to be.”
You nod. And you pull out your data-pad. “Not all who wander.”
“Not all who wander,” he affirms, satisfied with your response, shrugging his pack off his broad shoulders quickly.
You get a better look at him now — dressed head to toe in black. The lights from the club across the street dance across the black helmet on his head and you watch his gloved hands unclip the small pack on his back. He’s not as bulky as the other troopers you’ve met. No, he’s athletic but tall. Lean.
Must be upper echelon. Involved with command. Maybe logistics.
He digs out a slim, gun-metal colored data-drive from his pack. Between his gloved thumb and forefinger, he holds it out.
Then, he pauses.
“Where’s Neza?”
You shift from boot to boot. You eye him, yielding nothing from the blank canvas of the speeder-bike helmet. His posture alone is hard to read — nearly impossible.
“Coghive 4 for a two-month stint,” you explain, “Caught an assault charge last week — territory dispute with another slicer.”
“Causko?” Razor asks. She’d mentioned the Rodian before. Off-handed. But, it was Razor’s job to remember information like that. Could come in handy. He didn’t anticipate this sort of outcome from the usual back-and-forth of underworld criminals. Not Neza.
“She mentioned him to you before?”
“Once or twice,” his voice is clipped, “She’ll be fine.”
“She always is.”
Razor hands over the data-drive finally. You take it and begin the upload. You notice, in the drive’s properties, that this little gadget has been properly scrubbed. No ID-tags anywhere. It’s clearly GAR tech, but...
God, Neza was good. You were glad she was teaching you everything she knew. With her mentioning a possible gig on Drongar (something about a trooper she knew who ran logistics on that outpost), she’d wanted someone to hold down her trade on Coruscant. It was good money, really. If you kept your head down.
“She said you walked like a soldier,” you say once the upload is finished with a wry smile, “Said I’d spot you a mile away.”
“Did she?” there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice.
“Mm,” you mumble, jutting your chin his way as he takes the drive and shrugs his pack back on, “Maybe slouch a little.”
Looming over you, the trooper leans in. You catch a glimpse — in the right casting of light — of a silver iris through the tinted visor.
“That’s against regulation.”
With a wink, Second Lieutenant Razor is off — long legs carrying him across the street as he starts up the speeder-bike with a throaty roar.
You wonder if you’ll see him again soon.
WHO IS HEEEEE
hehe, so, this man is 2nd lt. razor !!!
we all know and love our talon squadron boys, but razor is in command of talon’s sister squadron within the 111th called wing squadron. they’re currently comprised of five troopers — razor, kilo, croc, condor, and nitro — but previously had nine members like talon.
they fall under the direct order of commander nyx.
wing squadron runs special operations for the 111th — so things that typically require a bit more finesse. a bit more discretion. they usually end up scouting on deployments and running intelligence missions.
razor is......................... a piece of work.
he’s the sort of leader that the troopers of the 111th whisper rumors about — he stalks around, seemingly brutal and cold and ruthless. he is, truly, thought to be unhinged by some troopers. his armor decorated in his kill count.
he’s an ARC, just like lt. fennec complete with a kama and pauldron! and him and fennec....... listen, fennec sees razor as competition and razor thinks fennec as an entire meter stick up his ass but razor also knows nyx respects the ever-loving fuck out of fennec and therefore razor and him sort of.... act civil. it’s LT versus 2nd LT.
anyways i love my silver-haired bad bitch he’s so fun
RAZOR AND FENNEC KJSDNFKJSDNF DO THEY FIGHT OH MY GOD
“I want Wing to handle this.”
That, spoken from Commander Nyx who is plucking at his bottom lip with his tattoed fingers, startles a snap of the head out of Fennec.
The Lieutenant squints, a mild grimace flashing across his features as he watches his Commander pace around the blue, holo-projection of a single trooper.
CT-0098. AWOL. POTENTIALLY COMPROMISED.
It’s a glaring idea to stare at — and Fennec and Nyx have been grappling with the fact that one of their own could have gone rogue for the last three hours. After all, it’s plain to see there’s been an information leak. The casualties of the last deployment speak to ambushes, to strategic counter-intelligence, to kinks in the supply line.
“You’re kidding.”
“No,” Nyx sighs, rubbing his jaw, “No, I want Razor to handle it.”
"What, so he can skin the poor piece of cannon fodder?” Fennec rolls his shoulders back, pushing from the desk across the room and striding forward.
Fen’s protests apparently fall on stubborn ears — and before he can say anymore, Nyx is bending to dial in the 2nd Lt.’s comm-code into his gauntlet’s system. The look the two share is a bit tense, but Fennec concedes when the signature sound of Razor’s comm-code connects.
“Sir?”
“Second Lieutenant,” Nyx is toeing the projector with his boot, “Have a moment to meet me and Lieutenant Fennec at Command?”
“Yes sir.”
The ping signals a disconnect. Fennec wastes no time.
“I think this is a bad idea.”
“Mm.”
“A horrible one, actually.”
Sure enough, in a few minute's time, there’s a single rap of knuckles on the slanted doorway of the mobile HQ — when Nyx barks a command to enter, the night seems to try and swim into the small space. The harvest moon hangs overhead, and the signature silver paint of Razor’s armor looks brighter than usual.
Must have just been touching it up.
“Commander,” a nod, heels clicked tight together in attention; shoulders back, helmet forward, “Lieutenant.”
“At ease, Razor.”
He exhales. Gloved hands move to pop his helmet off. Bright locks of silver-white hair follow; mussed, and chaotic. His eyes are eerie silver color, pupils looking larger — it’s the byproduct of some back-alley iris coloration he had done back on Coruscant.
Maker knows the man is a bleeding heart for aesthetics.
“How can I be of assistance, gentlemen?”
God, Fennec hates this.
on a related but seperate note, i’ve been working on flushing out 3/5 of talon’s sister spec ops squadron: wing. we’ve got 2nd lt. razor, the sniper condor, and our local jet pack boy nitro!