Faction Diagnosis: A Perfect Opportunity [ME]

[Trimantium]

Diagnosis: A Perfect Opportunity
"When opportunity strikes, make something of it."​

Sundari, Mandalore
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

After the unexpected assault on the Monroe Homestead, the Warmaster of the Great Heathen Army—Mia Monroe—was critically injured and in need of additional care that could not be provided by those who arrived on site to treat her. Acting quickly to ensure her survival and continued health, Itzhal Volkihar, Lawkeeper of the Mandalorian Protectors, authorised an emergency landing within the perimeter of Sundari's Royal Infirmary, bypassing many of the traditional checkpoints that covered the famous domed city. It was necessary. And yet, it was also a sign of weakness from an Empire defined by its strength.​

​

Tac Hesald did not smile as he approached the main entrance of the Royal Infirmary; his expression was a thin line, reflected in the clear sheen of the window that framed the sleek white outline of the sliding door, itself a minimalistic frame for the beautiful glass that shimmered in the morning sunlight. His boots clacked over the laminate with a satisfying reverb, one after another, past the security checkpoint with scanners that assessed each face and piece of armour—even here, some of the Mandalorians dared to wear their beskar'gam, whether out of habit or the sense of security that beskar provided. He'd never dared to ask. Now, he lacked the time.​

​

Above his head, the hospital sprawled into different wards and facilities, the same assortment of architectural features that dominated the skyline outside replicated in miniature, with segments of the facility packaged into blocks that clung to the side of larger wards. While bridges and elevated causeways intersected in the space between, infrequently enough to allow the pillar of light that flowed through the windows and landed in the centre of the open lobby. To the side, a small reception desk sat only a few feet from what appeared to be a cafe on the ground floor, with a spiralling staircase made primarily of glass and steel railings that ascended to a grand dining hall on the second level.​

​

He ignored it as he turned away from the reception desk, past a sign marked with different medical wards—his eyes flickered over them: Species Adaptation, Environmental Exposure Unit, Cybernetic Reconstruction Ward, Advanced Trauma Ward, Toxicology & Venom Unit. The list went on. With one final glance, he continued on, stepping into one of the side corridors that led to a junction between a stairwell to the right and a set of elevators to the left, while straight ahead, a set of doors beckoned towards one of the wards. Radiological Medicine, if the sign that hung above was correct. He didn't bother to check.​

​

With a sharp press of the elevator call sign, he strolled to a stop, leaning against the panel as the sign above started to tick down.​

​

12... 11... 10... 9... 8... it paused.​

​

Idly, he reached down to the sleeve of his coat, his fingers brushing against the worn fabric as he pulled back the fraying cuff. Hidden beneath the layers, a brutish chronometer caught the sterile light, its face reflecting the time.​

​

13:22​

​

Not particularly bad, he mused, but still far too much time for complications to arise. He clicked his tongue in frustration, allowing the cuff to fall back into place, obscuring the timepiece as his arm returned to rest at his side. Just then, the sharp sound of the elevator doors sliding open filled the air, interrupting his brief moment of contemplation.​

​

On the other side of the doors, a green-skinned woman smiled faintly at him before she departed, sliding past with a shared murmur of acknowledgement as he stepped inside, another set of boots nearing closer. A sly grin crept across his face as he leaned back, his fingers gliding over the control panel, then jabbing forward as he watched the two layers of metal intersect just moments before the Mandalorian figure outside could reach him. He could almost hear the faint protest of the stranger on the other side as he started to ascend, a faint pressure in his stomach building before he released a chuckle.​

​

In the corner of the elevator, the monitor light flickered once, then twice.​

​

They passed the second floor outright, then stopped at the third, the door opening wide as a hulking figure twice his size stepped inside—still leaving plenty of room for the elevator, though Tac's eyes strayed towards the weight and population limit. Thirty people of human proportions.​

​

"Sunny day," the figure growled, flab on either side of their jowls shaking as they glanced his way. In turn, Tac tilted the wide brim of his hat to cover himself against the stream of spittle that escaped the source of a voice that sounded like they chewed nails for a living.​

​

On the fourth floor, two twins stepped inside with barely a glance for the current occupants, dropping their heads in quiet conversation, horns overlapping as Tac responded to the brute with a shrug of his shoulders and a faint, "I hadn't noticed; Sundari shines regardless."​

​

Whatever they wanted, it seemed to be enough for the moment, as the mass of muscle leaned back, his backplate connecting against the side of the elevator with a muffled thump that did little to hide the way metal flexed beneath his frame. Their purple eyes roamed over the rest of them, a haze of violent emotions boiling beneath the surface, barely held in check.​

​

Tac glanced once more towards the screen, watching as the elevator bypassed the fifth and sixth floors.​

​

With a sharp ping of the doors opening once again, an old man stepped forward, held at the elbow by a younger woman with the same pallor of deathly white skin—the cane in his hand gliding over the tiles before he settled to the side, far from the hulking brute that had finally decided to hold a spot in the rear, directly facing the door and clearly aware of the sight he provided as he smiled wide.​

​

Next, the door opened to the sight of a Mandalorian in shining gold, their body covered from head to toe. They said nothing as they stepped inside, with only a nod of acknowledgement to the slowly filling elevator.​

​

Above their head, the light flickered once, bypassing the tenth floor, then stopping with a click that opened up to​

​

"I'm just saying Baron Killovolt should have stomped them there and then..."​

​

"...And I'm telling you that he's not had a good game in the last two years; face it, his days in Huttball are over."​

​

Quietly, Tac had to agree, even if the three Rodians that entered the elevator were a little loud for his tastes—Baron Killovolt really had no reason to have missed the number of shots that he had this season. Thankfully, the moment the elevator door sealed shut, so did their mouths.​

​

Swaying into the elevator on the twelfth floor, a Jawa knocked into Tac's knee, regardless of the plentiful space that remained. With a careless flick of his hand, he skelped them over the head to a sequence of Jawaese that he deeply regretted knowing. His lips twisted into a harsh frown as the insults began to steer closer to the topic of his mother; with a sharp glare, the stream of expletives slowed, then finally died as the cloaked figure slipped into place.​

​

Seconds later, the sequence of gears and mechanisms ascended once more, straight past the thirteenth floor as Tac looked over the rest of them, his gaze aligning with the twins before they shot a look towards the slowing elevator. Then, with a hiss of brakes, the metal casket came to a stop.​

​

"Sunny Day," echoed again, with only the faint response of a sharp inhale from Tac.​

​

With a quivering lip, one of the Rodians, speckled with a rainbow of warm colours, smiled. "I hadn't noticed; Sundari shines regardless."​

​

Then, after what felt like a few minutes of silence but was probably less than one, the elevator shuddered, reversing the momentum they'd all grown used to as it descended to the thirteenth floor.​

​

Outside, an orderly stood, the set of medical scrubs pinned to their slender silhouette as they bowed over the expansive frame of the trolley that just barely cleared the outline of the door, forcing all of them to pin to the sides as the door clicked behind them. Their blue-tinted skin and yellow markings shone under the bright light of the elevator and the reflective sheen of the cover that spread over the top of the trolley.​

​

Without uttering a word, Tac reached for the elevator switch, initiating a rapid ascent towards the fifteenth floor. As the elevator began to rise, the orderly, taking advantage of the brief moment of stillness, stretched their arms high above their head with an audible series of pops and cracks that rattled through their vertebrae like dry twigs snapping underfoot. With a fluid motion, they flung their arms downwards, sending the cover of the trolley over the side in a dramatic swoosh, revealing the contents beneath.​

​

Tac smiled, "Well, I think it's time for a little bit of shade on Sundari."​

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Itzhal Volkihar Allyson Locke Taiia Locke Adelle Bastiel | OPEN

TWO DAYS AFTER THE ATTACK

Dreams blurred into memory, her head hazy with the pain killers and sedatives the doctors kept pumping into her, at some point she wondered if it was simply to make sure she stayed put between sessions in the bacta tank, but the thought drifted away from her again as she slid back into dreams.

Allyson Locke was here somewhere, being treated for her own wounds, despite protest that she didn’t deserve it. Mia didn’t fault her and she was also not afraid to pull rank to make sure she got the treatment she needed. She was family, and that was the end of it.

She dreamt of Ember, of old conversations and campaigns they’d fought together. Of Allyson and her stubborn chin jutting out as she scolded her for stealing one of her tools, and her smile when she had slid her sweets when Ember wasn’t looking. She dreamt of pain, reliving his death over and over, sometimes in reverse like she was watching it on a holoprojector trying to see if there had been a way to save him.

There wasn’t. She’d done the same thing when he’d died over fifty years ago. Part of her believed she deserved every wound Allyson had inflicted, even if her reasoning behind them had been built upon misjudgement. She hadn’t been able to bring her father home to her.

Now, she stood on the Field of Blades, beskad in her hand dripping with blood, Ember beside her as they watched the Sith move towards them. A never ending supply of enemies to be cut down. He turned to her, face lined with age, a sad smile on his face.

Wake up Mia, they are coming.

A durasteel beam ripped through his chest, tearing his spine before he exploded with a powerful surge of darkness.

Mia woke with a shout, eyes snapping open as she surged upwards, shoulder and chest protesting at the sharp movement, her right arm flying out to grab the person nearest to her. The adrenaline jolt left her trembling, nausea washing over her as her head pounded but she felt the unease, the tremor that told her something was out of place.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

| Location | Mandalore, Outer Rim Territories.

It still felt like a dream, almost too surreal to grasp—locked in a clash between a blessed lie and the nightmare that would rip it apart.

Two long years spent wandering through a landscape devoid of all but the rarest of connections, lacking the deep roots and bonds forged in the fires of brotherhood or shared experiences. Instead, he had been tethered only by the fragile threads of what it meant to be Mandalorian—a cultural identity that sometimes felt more like an echo than a foundation, with how often others changed what it meant. Still, for a time, it had been enough. He'd taken every day as it was, one step after another, a deliberate movement, always marching forward because if he didn't, the echoes of his past would catch up. Not in the form of death marks planted between his shoulders like a target, nor in grudges held by those he'd ruined in the days he tried best to discard, but rather in the more crippling grip of ennui, which threatened to consume all he had left, leaving him nothing more than a fading wraith.

Then, unexpectedly, in a seemingly trivial moment that could have slipped by unnoticed, he had found her. Ni dasa'na braniyr par gar sa'lanr, a Ni narir va mirdir at jorir e. What an insignificant line for the gathering of kinder spirits, the woman whose presence lit up his days, infusing them with meaning beyond mere survival. She was a firehawk, a luminous beacon burning herself from the inside out for the sake of her people, for the sake of him, and even for the sake of those who would harm her.

He tried not to be bitter about the last part.

It didn't require an extensive background in investigative techniques to realise that his current approach was failing; really, they just rubbed in the dirt, yet still he stubbornly pressed on regardless. Over the past two days, he had meticulously adjusted his schedule to accommodate his frequent visits to the hospital. Thankfully, for the sake of his job, it was hardly an inconvenience; the majority of his responsibilities within the Mandalorian Protectorate could be efficiently managed from the comfort of his office in Sundari just as effectively as if he were aboard his ship, gliding through the stars towards whatever problem he'd decided warranted his personal attention. Technically, it was even improving the flow of his administration. Though there was still the crucial element he knew was lacking; after all, he could hardly observe and evaluate the individuals that he'd tasked with upholding the law from worlds away, not properly.

At least, a few days wouldn't ruin the system that existed by much.

Well, that was what he told himself, at least, as he walked through the main entrance. His footsteps echoed softly on the polished floor, leading him through the bustling lobby filled with the vibrant hum of visitors and staff. To the left, the main reception desk sat, occupied by a quartet of receptionists engaged in animated conversation with one another and with those who came near. Himself included, as his steps slowly glided towards the side of the desk, a single hand settling over the marble cover.

"Well, well, well, look who it is," started a humanoid male with bright red skin, a smirk spread across his lips, even as he flopped over the counter, half out of his chair to complete the insolent pose. "I'm starting to wonder if you're really here for a patient or just to gab with little old me."

"The patient," Itzhal responded, with a curt answer that didn't so much as gently deny the statement as outright killed any further speculation. "I also had a few names of other individuals I want to check up on, they should be under Protectorate purview."

Tags: Mia Monroe​

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Tags: Mia Monroe | Itzhal Volkihar | Open

It had been a couple days since the attack on Monroe. Adelle pressed her thumb into the dermatoglyphic verifier on the datapad, signing off that she had read and understood the discharge instructions. Much to her chagrin, Monroe and Locke hadn’t been the only ones to be admitted. She had, intentionally, overdosed on epinephrine in order to heal the two well enough to be transported to one of Sundari’s hospitals. The look on the orderlies’ faces when she’d taken off her helmet had been enough to convince Adelle that, okay, maybe she needed some assistance. She remembered having a splitting headache and walking behind a medical droid through a doorway.

Then she remembered waking up in a bed with a couple of I.V.s in her.

Adelle rubbed her forehead, a dull ache still present, but that had more to do with pushing closer to her limits than she had in a while than the overdose. Exhaustion still weighed down her limbs and she still felt ravenous, but these were problems she could solve without medical attention. The medical droid beeped and blatted at her—Adelle assumed that meant she was free to go. Good. She needed to clean the armorweave bodysuit as soon as humanly possible. It still smelled of smoke.

No sooner had she started striding down the hallway than she felt panic spike through her. Not her own, it had the uncanny echo-like quality of someone else’s emotions. Someone she either worked on or spent time around. A strong scent of rain mixed with a coppery tang underlying it came to mind. Adelle clenched her jaw even as she quickened her pace down the hall.

Warmaster Monroe.

The panic subsided as soon as she reached the nurse’s station, but it didn’t make her any less antsy. Adelle cracked the knuckles on her right hand using only that hand, her left clenching and unclenching, while she waited for the orderly to verify her identity. She didn’t like it. Didn’t like that panic had gone through Monroe, didn’t like that she was starting to feel echoes of the Warmaster’s emotions, and definitely didn’t like that she could almost smell that peculiar mix of scents that followed Monroe.

“Ram’alor Monroe cuyi o’r yamika solus ta'raysholan raysh'olan dah'yra,” he said.

Adelle nodded, even though it took her a moment longer than normal to process the Mando’a. Room 1513. She would have found the room easily enough, even though a protocol droid insisted on escorting her there. Monroe sat in bed, her good hand—her only hand gripping the shirt of some poor orderly that had been checking on her.

“Udesii, Ram’alor,” Adelle said, her voice even and steady unlike the pounding of her heart. Her chest ached, reminding her of the stunt she pulled forty-eight hours ago. Adelle nodded the orderly off.

“How are you feeling?”

Something didn't feel right. The currents of the Force felt like the tide receding before a tidal wave.

 

[Sylor]

Tags: Open
Indirect: Mia Monroe Itzhal Volkihar Adelle Bastiel ​

"How could this happen?"

There was the question that lingered on some minds. Sylor thought nothing of it, just a small sense of anger that someone had harmed one of their own. Boot walked along the hallway, sweeping through, keeping an eye on things. Questioning anyone and everyone who seemed remotely suspicious, in particular those that he didn't know or hadn't seen. They were to be questioned thoroughly.

After several hours of back and forth, he finally came to a stop. Not just in the sense of moving, but to where he could breathe and not allow all manner of thoughts to overwhelm him.

He raised his hands, removing his helmet and placing it to the side. He rubbed his forehead for a few seconds, eyes closed. Before long, banter was heard nearby, nothing malicious or anything of that sort. At most, they were poking fun at the situation. He looked up in their direction, his eyes catching sight of the few individuals. He placed his helmet back on before moving in that direction. His words were quick and to the point.

"Mind your tongue, or I will have it removed."

The banter ceased immediately as they looked toward Artorious. "If you have the gall to attack someone in the comfort of their own home, that makes you a coward... nothing more."

Artorious maneuvered his way through the Mandalorians grouped up as they soon dispersed.

"Coward, and smart, unfortunately." Sylor whispered as he moved down the halls once more.

 

[Kurayami Bloodborn]

Location: Sundari, Mandalore

Tag: Itzhal Volkihar | Adelle Bastiel | Mia Monroe | Allyson Locke | Sylor

Sundari. The sky was serene at this time of day, normal traffic calm and unhurried as though the galaxy beyond didn't exist. Of course beyond they viel of order was controlled chaos, there always was when it came to such things, as the Corellian had come to learn. His ship drifted through the lanes of traffic, in no apparent hurry as Kuratamimade his way to the hospital complex here. He transmitted his clearance and landed where directed.

Armor and lightsaber only today. He was unafraid of an attack here.

The standard chaos of a medcenter greeted him as he entered the doors, nurses triaging new arrivals and checking on patients in their rooms in turn. Approaching the desk he inquired as to the room of Warmaster Mia Monroe. The orderly hesitated a few moments while double checking it was okay to give him the information. And he couldn't blame her, security protocols made sense even if they were a pain. Eventually though he was given the information and he set off down the hall with a quiet thank you.

Word had reached Kurayami that an old friend had been involved in a bit of a brawl. Okay a skirmish...fine, Allyson Locke had tried to assassinate Mia Monroe and Kurayami couldn't say that he wasn't curious as to why the hell that had happened. Clearly there was some sort of history and it was deeper than, 'Mia is a Dark Sider.' because last Kurayami knew, Allyson had a bit of a Dark streak. Granted the specifics were never clear to him, but he also never really cared about such things if the truth were told.

He sighed in the elevator as he removed his helmet and pinched the bridge of his nose. Grabbing his flask, he took a long draught right before the 'ding' sounded and the doors slid soundlessly open. He had been told by the front desk where to find the Warmaster and her would be assassin. In time he would visit both, see what had transpired to bring them here, not for judgement or anything so banal. No, he simply wanted to know why. The sound of his boots against the sterile floors as he approached was slow and measured, respecting the fact that he was the outsider here, even being one of the Mando'ade.


The scars and cybernetic made for a harsh sight for those who hadn't seen him since Takodana. But he was here for them, to wish them well. A deep breath to center himself in the Force before he entered the room. Because from what he had heard the confrontation had been hell. And he had a...less than stellar history with hospitals if he was entirely honest with himself. A momentary flaring of his Force presence would be the only hint of the memories that washed over him.

He stood outside the door and raised his hand to knock, lowering it and stepping aside when he felt the presence of another approaching. This one, seemed to have a reason to see Mia. And another was already within the room. A third approaching as well. Something urgent perhaps.

Maybe it would be best to defer for now, go see Allyson and get her side of the story, if she would talk to him that was, one could never be too sure. Or careful. He was unsure for once. The Drunken Savant who would burst into a room and gladly own the consequences of doing so, was worried about checking on an old friend in the hospital and overwhelming her. Odd.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Taiia Locke //: Kurayami Bloodborn //:
//: Mia Monroe //: Adelle Bastiel //: Itzhal Volkihar //: Sylor //:

The whispers echoed through the hallways. She could see it in the eyes of those who cared for her. The woman that she had hunted was something of importance to the Mandalorians. Allyson scoffed quietly; it was in her nature to draw those around her. Mia was always good at that; she could sway a crowd by just showing up.

Rolling over, she tucked her arm under her pillow and tried to find some comfort as the whispers disappeared.

Coward…

She kept hearing the word linger in her mind. It wasn't the first time she was called it, and Allyson figured it wouldn't be the last. Though the only time it really hurt was the first time. She could understand the frustration then, seeing your hero knocked down a few pegs — but then what did that leave Allyson?

Nothing.

Her revenge meant nothing because the man who killed Ember was dead and Mia Monroe was not the problem. Then why did it still hurt as badly as it did? How could she make that hurt go away? She had convinced herself this was the way to get revenge for Ember, to make things feel better now that she can't bring him back. If only Allyson could have ended the life that took him away from her… it would make the hurt go away.

Groaning, Allyson shut her eyes, trying to find a way to bullshit her way out of it. A part of her was happy they didn't just kill her the moment they could. Though she assumed Taiia being there had helped her cause. But what waited for her after she healed? Would the Mandalorian Empire imprison her, trial her? That wouldn't bode well for her current mission. She fell inward in her mind; she hadn't checked in — did her handler care?

Allyson chuckled to herself. Why would she care?

Rolling back onto her back, she looked towards the redhead who hadn't left her side. Maybe she should have been more honest with Taiia. Allyson knew, though, if she had, the woman would have stopped her before she left Odessen. Revenge was never the answer, but it would have made Allyson feel a whole lot more accomplished.

Allyson watched her instead of looking for the safest exit. With the Eldorai here, there was no need to. She felt oddly safe… at ease as much as she could with the different bacta patches and such on her. It always worked slowly; Allyson wondered if her overuse of the healing stimulant had given her a resistance. Kolto often was negated by her wounds and never provided the relief, maybe only as a cool compress.

Still, at least the bacta worked—even if slowly.

Breathing still was horrible, but she was able to work herself upwards — holding her breath long enough to allow her to focus. She exhaled and winced; the boulder that Mia had thrown at her did its job… except kill her.

With each breath, she somewhat wished it had.

"Taiia," she spoke, pain rattling her voice as she reached out for her wife.

"You should be on Odessen… What about the academy?" It was easier to deflect; Allyson was good at it… Except with Taiia.

She paused for a moment, her ears perking at the right moment. Footsteps, ones that she didn't recognize from the doctor or anyone else. Another was heading her way, but she focused on Taiia for the time being.

"Also, why are you so far away… I already apologized for almost killing the medic…"

 

[Trimantium]

​

Sundari, Mandalore
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

The straps of the face mask wrapped around the back of Tac's head, moulding to the contours of his scalp with a firm, satisfying click as the seals locked into place. Pressure built around the sides of his cheeks and scalp, the silver framework of the mask sculpted to the shape of his grim expression. Reflective glass, strikingly red like freshly spilled blood, glimmered in the place of eyes. An intense gaze magnified through the lenses stared over each of the gathered individuals, focused on their own final checks: armour plates magnetised to holders, blaster calibrated, equipment catalogued across bandoliers and utility belts.

Slowly, he reached up towards the side of his mask, pressing down into the slight divot that ran across the back of his jawline.

"Assault Team in place, Barcode, how's it looking inside?" he asked, eyes wandering towards the rapidly escalating set of numbers on the elevator.

"All green here, systems ready, priority alarms rerouted to blockade programs, should give you five minutes before anyone notices. Locke's still in place. Just waiting for you to start the party," answered a woman's voice on the other side of the comms, her fingers tapping across the stretch of a keyboard.

With another tap against his mask, Tac spoke again, "Stake, are you in place?"

The next response was from a voice that didn't sound organic, almost like air seeping from a rebreather, "I have identified and acquired the optimum location for a firing arc, yes. Unfortunately, without up-to-date readings, the nature of the building will limit my engagements. Might I suggest a recon grenade once the target is confirmed?"

"Understood, Rollcage, how far are you from pick-up?"

"I've got engines running hot; should be able to pick you up within two minutes. Call me when you need that evac."

With that, he deactivated the commlink, his attention returning to the rest of the elevator as they finally settled on the hulking figure at the back, their second set of arms wrapped around a blaster cannon that would take two ordinary men to carry. Not that he seemed to notice the weight. He was far too preoccupied with the mostly gutted trolley, four strange cylinders poking out around the corners.

"Operation Sunset is ready to commence. Bulwark, you're clear to engage," Tac announced, only moments before they reached the fifteenth floor with the soft ping of the elevator doors opening.

Encased in imposing grey steel plates, the brutish figure lifted his massive boot and struck the metal container with a force that echoed through the air, a high-pitched whine that ended in a metallic ding. In an explosive burst, the container was propelled from the elevator, hurtling into the reception area like a makeshift missile. It careened across the floor, through an orderly who sprawled out, their body falling limp with the crack of bone, while the cylinders began to hiss and release a thick, sickly green mist that spiralled outwards.

Tac stepped forward, one hand wrapped around the grip of a hand cannon that buckled with the first silent shot that slammed into the nearest Mandalorian, their armoured form stumbling back, the beskar holding up, even as a second shot punched through their bodysuit and the fragile flesh of their neck as they collapsed to the ground. Around them, others reached towards their blasters and armaments, only to be mowed down by the sudden yet quiet assault, while most reached towards their faces and necks, gasping on air that provided no relief.

"Haggle, send yourself and Mischief to negotiate with Locke; see if she'd like to help finish the job, the rest on me."

Inches away from the gathering of Warmaster and Ambassador, the medical droid's optics flickered.

Tag: Mia Monroe Itzhal Volkihar Adelle Bastiel Sylor Kurayami Bloodborn Allyson Locke​

 

[Taiia Locke]

//: Allyson Locke //: Kurayami Bloodborn //: Mia Monroe
//: Adelle Bastiel //: Itzhal Volkihar //: Sylor //:


​

She had said little since the healers finished their work, content to remain nearby while Allyson drifted between sleep and whatever restless place waited beneath it. There had been moments where her expression tightened despite the medication, others where she seemed to retreat so completely inward that Taiia wondered what memory had found her there. There would be time enough for questions when breathing did not hurt, and every movement did not threaten to undo whatever work the bacta had managed.

Apparently Allyson had decided the Academy was a safer subject. Taiia's eyebrow rose.

"The Academy will survive without me for a few days."

Her gaze moved pointedly over the bacta patches, the bruising, and the way Allyson had needed to hold her breath simply to push herself upright.

"You, on the other hand, are making a fairly compelling argument for supervision."

The faint smile that followed softened when Allyson complained about the distance between them. Taiia glanced toward the chair as though only then realizing the tremendous offense she had apparently committed before pushing herself to her feet.

"Well, since you apologized for trying to kill the medic..."

She crossed the room without further protest and settled carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful of the injuries beneath the sheets. Her hand found Allyson's almost immediately, fingers slipping between hers as Taiia leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against her lips.

"Better?"

She was about to say something more when Allyson's attention shifted. It was subtle. The slight turn of her head. The way her ears seemed to catch something beyond the room. Taiia followed her gaze toward the door, though at first she heard nothing beyond the ordinary sounds of the hospital.

Then the Force changed.

Taiia went still.

Fear rippled through it first.

Sudden.

Sharp.

Pain and uncertainty lived behind almost every door; it was a hospital after all, but this was different.

Then came panic.

Pain.

And several presences simply disappeared; Taiia's head turned fully toward the door. For a moment, she didn't move or speak.

Then her expression hardened. Allyson had attacked the Warmaster of the Mandalorians in her own home and somehow survived long enough to be brought here. Now she lay injured, medicated, barely capable of sitting upright without pain, surrounded by people who knew exactly what she had done.

Someone had decided this was the easier way to finish it; that was her first thought. Taiia released Allyson's hand and stood. The movement was immediate enough that whatever softness had occupied her expression only moments before disappeared with it.

Another life vanished through the Force.

Then another.

Something struck the floor beyond the room with enough force that Taiia heard the impact through the wall. Voices followed, confusion turning rapidly into shouting, and beneath it all came the unmistakable sound of violence.

It was coordinated.

Taiia stepped away from the bed and placed herself squarely between Allyson and the door.

"Stay there. Please."

Her attention returned to the door.

A faint hiss reached her ears from somewhere outside, followed by coughing.

Gas.

Taiia's eyes narrowed.

Her hand lowered toward the saber at her hip, her fingers closed around the hilt. The Force stretched carefully outward from her, following the violence moving through the floor. Fear scattered ahead of it. People were running. Others were falling.

And whatever was responsible was coming closer. Taiia shifted slightly, putting herself more completely between Allyson and the entrance. For all the questions she still had about Mia, Ember, revenge, and whatever Allyson thought she might have accomplished by killing the woman, none of them mattered anymore.

Someone was coming for her wife. They had chosen a moment when Allyson was broken, medicated, and trapped in a bed to do it.

Taiia felt anger begin to rise, not on the surface but close enough that her grip around the saber tightened. Taiia drew the saber from her belt but left the blade dark at her side. She stood quietly between the bed and the door, crimson hair falling loose around her shoulders, posture relaxed enough that anyone entering might have mistaken her for something less dangerous than she was.

They would only make that mistake once.

 

[Mia Monroe]

Tags: Adelle Bastiel Allyson Locke Taiia Locke Kurayami Bloodborn Sylor Itzhal Volkihar

Adelle’s words did not register immediately, she was breathing hard, a deep frown set on her brow as her the orderly slipped from her fingers, the grip she’d had on their shirt loosening. Something was wrong, out of place, a threat looming that she couldn’t place her finger on. Her eyes moved around the room before she swung her legs out of bed, Adelle’s voice finally reaching her ears.

“Something is coming.” she answered. Sliding from the bed with a grunt as her leg protested. “Do you have a comm? I need to call-”

A crash echoed down the corridor, pain and fear exploded through the force seconds later as shouts erupted. The crack of a gun made her swear as she looked at Adelle. To be caught unarmed and without armour once was bad enough, but twice in less than a week? Word had gotten out. They, whoever they were, were here to see the job finished.

Mia exhaled a heavy irritated sigh, closing her eyes for a second. “Alright,” she said softly “Let’s give them what they want. See if you can’t get the orderly’s moving patients who can be moved and sealing the rest in, let's contain this bantha shit quickly and minimilise casualties.”

As she spoke she opened herself to the force, letting it fill her, feeding the anger that was quietly bubbling under the surface, drawing on its strength silencing her pain before moving towards the door.