Cold Storage

[Tanomas Graf]

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By right of conquest, Warlord Tuspin is now the de facto leader of the Empire.

You don't deserve the luxury of death, you are being put into carbonite; to suffer as I destroy everything you stood for.

As long as I live, I will always control the Empire.



His body tumbled to the ground with a thud, wrinkled hands grasping feebly at the metal grates embedded in the floor as a groan escaped his mouth. Dull pain radiated throughout his entire being, the man attempting futilely to stand up against the ground, his muscles having atrophied in his hibernation. That much is what he knew, along with the final memory of him being lowered into a carbon freezing pit, the event seeming as if it had happened mere seconds ago.

He looked up, hoping to gain knowledge of surroundings, only to be met with a mix of darkness and blinding light, somehow. The man resorted to feeling around to get a grip on the situation, hands gliding across the grate until it was met with cool, solid metal and finally what felt rounded, the object pulling back from his grasp.

A boot.

"TUSPIN!"

His own voice, barely recognizable, sounded distant and muffled for some reason, the overwhelming ringing in his ears just now becoming noticeable. A trembling hand was brought up to his ear, rubbing the organ in an attempt to alleviate the echoing and improve his hearing, dragging across the warm sweat trailing down his head in the process. He produced a grunt while he exerted his low supply of strength, managing to rise off of his position on the ground and balancing himself on his hands and knees.

He hadn't been grabbed yet and dragged across the floor by gloved hands. Either the person that released him was not a threat, or they were just enjoying his weak attempts to collect himself.

"Where the hell am I?!? What happened!?!" He boomed, the sound still foreign to his senses and causing him to wince slightly when the ringing intensified for a split second.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Robogeber"] | @The First Order​

 

[Seto du Couteau]

Seto Du Coutea, Ren
Status: Attentive, Observitive
Objective: Assure the Grand Moff remains Alive

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Crossed arms and closed eyes, Seto leaned against the bulkhead behind him, his mind rushed through the situation in front of him. The rather nonchalant young Du Couteau heir felt rather unsure of his position, in perhaps the first time he would ever admit to himself. Or others for that matter. Forced calm that Seto placed on himself, he cautiously took a step forward and approached not a man he had ever thought meet. In this life or another.

Eyes fully opened, Seto observed the man he had once served through the Inquisitorial Order and dutifully fulfilled his obligation the end of their Empire. Never had he thought that the Empire would fall and die before Seto's own life, and in such a fashion that had sent him reeling afterwards. Concern flashed across his face, eyes held worry as the Imperial Grand Moff struggled to recover himself from his imprisonment by Carbonite.

With a motion, a trained medical professional quickly moved over to the Grand Moff as Seto stepped closer, the other doctors had begun to prepare their own equipment. Careful with your words, "-You are being treated for Carbonite sickness my Grand Moff." Seto started, his words not too soft, "-You are with allies now, and if you may allow yourself to be assisted." He added, the rest of the medical staff moved closer, unsure whether or not the former Inquisitor's words would calm the Grand Moff.

Seto dared not lie, or even soften any truth, but the delivery certainly could wait until his once Grand Moff had obtained the medical attention needed and perhaps through a different set of lips. Again, the difference in position was not small, it was a sheer vastness of difference between the two that Seto had trouble to fully grasp even as he spoke to his once enigmatic Leader. Pointless if I introduce myself with 'Former' Inquisitor, and maybe I should wait before it is explained to him what happened after the Imperial Civil War.

Even as Seto felt confident that no immediate danger should befall the Grand Moff, he remained attentive to his surroundings. Still, the Former Inquisitor stood ready to protect a man he should have protected months ago. Regret tasted bitter, and now he needed to make amends.

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[member="Tanomas Graf"]​

 

[The Major]

“Why coddle him?” Spoke a malicious voice from another corner of the room. Icy as it was, its tone perfectly fitted the cold atmosphere of the “melting” room. Timed on cue from a waving white gloved hand, a pair of FOSB shadowtroopers pushed into the room, roughly shoving past medical staff who stood stupidly at the sight of heavy blasters and jet black, reflective armor pieces. Behind them came a hooded figure in blue, and from the malevolent presence which flowed from the creature it wasn’t hard for someone in the know to determine it was a force user. And if it was a force user working in conjunction with the now revealed Director of the Security Bureau, then it was highly likely that force user was one of the elite members of Supreme Leader’s Ren.

“There are some challenging days ahead for -what did you call him- the Grand Moff? Pfft.” From behind glowing blue spectacles it wasn’t hard to see the sneer plastered upon the Director’s face, a look which was leveled directly, in all its vile, intense splendor in the former inquisitor Seto’s direction.

“Only one Grand Moff rules these days, and she currently presides by the grace of Supreme Leader.” This of course meant that Director Shepard was definitely in the room for sometime, but how she remained perfectly hidden and out of sense was a major matter for another time and place. “So don’t coddle him with niceties, or in this case falsities. The situation is dire. Otherwise why would we call upon Imperator Graf?” Oddly antiquated in certain ways, the auburn tipped woman approached Tanomas without any form of shame, for the poor man was left naked and shivering when he was most likely still recovering from a horrid ordeal. Nevertheless she produced a thick file filled with papers for the Imperator, slapping them down on a table in front of him.

She then turned to the medical team still held in place by a mixture of fear and confusion.​

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“What are you idiots doing? Treat the Imperator and get him cleaned up, now!”​

[member="Tanomas Graf"] | [member="Seto Du Couteau"]​

 

[Hansen]

TK-0023 "Lothia"
FIV Wrath, Lunor Hospital, Reclamation Room
Nearby: [member="The Major"], [member="Seto Du Couteau"], [member="Tanomas Graf"]

Lothia stands with a baton firmly clapsed in her right hand with its' conducting rods retracted and inert she watched the man's features heat in the Carbonite slab with indifference calmly watching the man fall down from the metal-looking mold down to his knees atop the cool durasteel grate that formed the Reclamation room's floor. Imperator Graf growls a name loudly that the Stormtrooper doesn't recognise which seemed to stun the white-smock wearing medical personnel that filled the room prompting the Master Sergeant to calmly answer the man's question through her annunciator. "Imperator Graf, you are safe aboard a First Imperial vessel." The Stormtrooper speaks with a dry re-assurance and takes a couple steps towards the man away from her three subordinates who likewise held a baton loosely by their side; no telling what mental condition the Imperator was going to be in after his carbonite hibernation.

The Ren 'Seto' as she recalled steps forth beside the Stormtroopers and offers up an explanation while Lothia remains silent she yet held animosity and suspicion for the young man finding that in his presence for some unexplainable reason an unnatural biting chill spell befell her as it did in the presence of most Ren. Lothia is noiselessly impressed by how forthcoming the young man is, perhaps the fear of authority was sufficient to frighten the mystics into Truth she wondered. The room door squeaks open; receeding into the wall prompting Lothia's spheres to cast a look over shoulder and study the newcomer. 'Perfect, more of them.' Lothia's thoughts deride the black-armour wearing pair of Pony Soldiers who were more Spook than Warrior in her view although she would not dare underestimate a 'Shadowtrooper' because of their origin, no. Lothia was not so arrogant and vain to believe herself the best but as with most of the FOSB they fought cloaked in bleak darkness.

The chilling room grew even colder forcing Lothia's jaws to clatter together uncontrollably as another's voice spoke prompting the Stormtrooper Non-Commissioned Officer to raise her baton instinctively not recognising its' source. The pair of Emerald Spheres in their almond-shaped sockets identify the blue cloak wearing woman and the Master Sergeant's hypervigilence born of stress trauma subsides somewhat with the lowering of weapon. Lothia's chittering lips couldn't help but smirk somewhat as the woman chided Seto, her presence explained the arrival of the Shadowtroopers they almost always escorted senior officers. The casual swagger in which the auburn-tipped hair woman saunters towards a senior Galactic Empire officer disappoints Lothia, she expected more mutual respect.

Although, that might have only been Lothia's personal approval for Graf's defiance of the Grand Moff's office who she disdained although allegedly he had been no less of a despot himself. Lothia had resigned herself to the small world of her company, her unit, her family. Years ago she'd been persuaded to serve and wondered now in silence watching the woman's flippant disrespect for the frightened Imperator if she had might the right decision? If the security and stability they purchased is worth the cost to their souls. 'What is worth saving if in saving the Galaxy we destroy our souls?' Lothia indulged her inner philosopher for a moment before refocusing on the here and now.

 

[Tanomas Graf]

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The ringing subsided just enough at that moment for him to just be able to hear something other than his own thoughts: hushed voices and boots clanging against the floor of the room. He craned his head in the direction he perceived the sounds to be emanating from, still as blind as a member of the Confederacy when he did so. The man heard a male voice, possibly young from the tone, informing the old man of the situation at hand. He quickly distinguished this person as a member of his Empire, given the affectionate mentioning of the office he held in the Imperial government. Tanomas thought over the person's words for a moment, before giving a silent nod of consent for the medical personnel present to gently help him up off of the floor, the pain intensifying as his muscles were stretched out.

A robe was draped over his surprisingly stocky frame, thankfully returning the man's dignity to himself as it was tied shut for him. He felt the prick of a needle entering his skin, comparing in no way to the pain he was currently feeling, and the soothing rush of some sort of stimulant enter his bloodstream. The pain panged one final time before vanishing completely, shapes becoming visible among the field of white and black that muddled his vision. The first thing he saw was the sleek helmet of a First Imperial stormtrooper, followed by another, as well as multiple white-coated medical personnel emblazoned with the emblem of his ally. A thousand thoughts and musings bombarded him at once, but they ultimately lead to the same question: Where was Caalgen? Where was Malvern? Where was Kardal?

His gaze trailed away from the stormtroopers, listening but not responding to the trooper that had addressed him by name. No, something else would draw his attention, the object in question being a hooded figure flanked by what appeared to be black-armoured shadowtroopers. Somebody important, no doubt, which he could ascertain from the pretentiousness dripping from their words and their 'enigmatic' appearance. Her speech was augmented with a sneer, coupled with some sort of malignant aura that wrapped around the others but failed to affect him even at his weakest. "Tenacious words for someone who supposedly requires my assistance." Tanomas belittled, a flash of his notorious acrimony breaking through for a moment, "Especially coming from the bespectacled brat herself...Director." His vision went in and out of focus for a second, his eyes finally locking onto the file that had been placed on the table in front of him.

What sort of dire situation did they need him for, anyway? He was allegedly still a traitor in the eyes of the First Order for having run off to start his own nation long ago. Only recently, at least in his head, had relations warmed to a point where they were dedicated allies, assisting each other in the defence of their territory from mutual enemies. Besides, why him specifically? Why didn't they just hand him over to the Empire and contact him after he had gotten up-to-date on the situation, wasn't the Civil War still going on? It dawned upon him that he never bothered to ask how long he had been frozen, but he quietly stored that question in the back of his mind and lifted his foot, taking a slow step towards the table. His body shook slightly, his motor functions still weak and frail from the hibernation.

Graf took another step, this time stumbling even more visible than before. The doctors that were watching him moved to grab his arms, but he held up a hand in a gesture of protest, prompting them to stop in their tracks and just worriedly watch him. Another step was taken, and it was on that third try that he found his strength again, speeding up the pace ever so slightly until he reached the edge of the table and sat down. The Imperator grabbed the file with a trembling hand and opened it, stabilizing his grip enough to begin reading the contents in silence.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Seto Du Couteau"] | [member="TK-0023"]​

 

[Seto du Couteau]

Seto Du Coutea, Ren
Status: Attentive

Perhaps a few years ago, his younger self certainly would have displayed a sense of anxiety to such a presence, but now a seasoned Sabacc player Seto learned to hide his emotions well, both through the Force and physical appearance. Rather Seto tried, he took a step back and masked it as he bowed with an arm crossed over his chest and the other raised behind him in respect. The Robed figure, the presence of authority gave him pause as he slowly rose from his bow. "It is as you say." Seto apologized.

The room silently filled with armed Troopers, the First Order certainly had its appeal, The Gran-Imperator will not want for safety. Seto mused, his eyes traced the movement of his once sole Authority. The strong tone of voice from the Director gave Seto cause for concern, not her distaste of how he handled Imperator Graf, but the reason she gave of why they awoken him. A dire situation. Seto took another step back and observed the still sickly Imperator walk to the table.

Loyalty had been a fickle subject whenever it came up as concern for the young Du Couteau. It is of course how the Galaxy continues to burn into nothing but chaos, he had always chosen adaptability over staunch loyalty. The First Order though had showed him something different, Order and Chaos. Order was not the solution to the Chaos of the Galaxy, but its destruction and from its ashes the heel of the First Order would grind it further down into nothingness. Arms crossed over his chest, the young Du Couteau breathed evenly and paid heed to those in front of him.

This Galaxy was not put into Chaos, but the Galaxy is Chaos. The First Order will be the only ones to correct a wrong no Government, or Jedi 'Order' could ever accomplish.


[member="Tanomas Graf"]
[member="TK-0023"]
[member="The Major"]

 

[Hansen]

TK-0023 "Lothia"
FIV Wrath, Lunor Hospital, Reclamation Room
Nearby: [member="The Major"], [member="Seto Du Couteau"], [member="Tanomas Graf"]

Lothia steps forward ushering one of the Medics towards the former Galactic Empire's Imperator. "Please, Sir. Permit our physicians to treat you." Those white-robed figures aided the Imperator's specter up from the floor and his prostration before the Security Bureau Woman who slunk appropriately out from the shadows. The medical personnel draped a gown over Graf's portly figure; fairly typical for senior officers where Physical standards were often conveniently overlooked for fear of losing valuable leadership to fitness where said Leadership wouldn't be required or expected to run for several kilometers. Stormtroopers were given no such luxury, not that Lothia would have it any other way.

Dimpled lips curl into a smile behind helmet's visage, Lothia listened attentively to Graf's sharp retort towards the Security Bureau woman an attitude that the former appreciated deeply. The Security Bureau bought too much into their own legends of invincibility and omniscience that she found many Agents were surprised by open contempt or defiance from First Imperial Personnel, of course the only individual so brave that Lothia knew personally was herself but then again many who knew the woman might claim that fear was a foreign concept to the woman which obviously wasn't true, she is merely better at concealing it than her compatriots. Lothia positioned herself across the table's surface from Graf standing with blaster rifle clutched in both hands held across abdomen tightly.

'Director?' Lothia's Emerald Green Spheres snap in the woman's direction instantly and for a moment idly glides right index finger over the trigger's enticing edges after Graf identified the woman who she had previously thought was any other agent. The Security Bureau under Shepard's leadership had become something horribly invasive an organisation dedicated to prying into their citizens lives at a level that was simply unacceptable to Lothia's righteous albeit rebellious sensibilities. Lothia's skull cranes upwards somewhat, her almond-shaped spheres looking upon Graf from behind that polarised Visor with an admiration for the man's strength and resilience having just dropped out of a Carbonite slab he went straight to work.

He's got the body of an elderly man who eats too much cake.....But the heart of a Stormtrooper.

 

[Hansen]

(((OOC: The unwanted doublepost strikes)))