Sarge Potteiger
Emotional Damage
Sarge groaned quietly, the bomb next to his bed incessantly beeping down the seconds to his demise. His brilliant, bloody demise. Sleep encroached on the edges of his mind, a fog draping itself over the valleys of his thoughts.
But as the haze began to lift - AND THAT INSIPID BEEPING CONTINUED - he realized that, perhaps, this wasn't a bomb.
It was merely his stupid karking datapad.
Rolling onto his side, eyes protesting against being opened so early in the... what time was it?
He resisted the urge to groan again when he realized he could still be sleeping for another couple of hours. A couple of hours he desperately needed anymore. His life had been on a steady decline and now here he was, waking up hours early for what?
....oh.
Someone had an interest in his whereabouts.
Part of his skillset as a spook was bugging computer systems, and he'd done that with any Republic systems capable of accessing his aliases and files there. Or, rather, figuring out who was trying to access them from where.
Rolling onto his back and silently thankful to have an empty bed for once, he blinked away the fact the light of the pad was hurting his eyes and settled back, tapping away commands at a rapidfire pace.
Whoever it was; they'd been Protectorate.
Not too many Protectorate cared for Republic casualty figures - what a strange thing to try to find him....
Ayden? No, Ayden couldn't give a mynock's defecation about his alive/dead status. Hell, the man had barely batted an eye when he'd been presumed dead on Dagobah.
But there was one person who hadn't.
Snorting, he sent back a simple, easy response.
Naboo. Lake Country.
She'd know. And if it wasn't her... well, what would they care?
But as the haze began to lift - AND THAT INSIPID BEEPING CONTINUED - he realized that, perhaps, this wasn't a bomb.
It was merely his stupid karking datapad.
Rolling onto his side, eyes protesting against being opened so early in the... what time was it?
He resisted the urge to groan again when he realized he could still be sleeping for another couple of hours. A couple of hours he desperately needed anymore. His life had been on a steady decline and now here he was, waking up hours early for what?
....oh.
Someone had an interest in his whereabouts.
Part of his skillset as a spook was bugging computer systems, and he'd done that with any Republic systems capable of accessing his aliases and files there. Or, rather, figuring out who was trying to access them from where.
Rolling onto his back and silently thankful to have an empty bed for once, he blinked away the fact the light of the pad was hurting his eyes and settled back, tapping away commands at a rapidfire pace.
Whoever it was; they'd been Protectorate.
Not too many Protectorate cared for Republic casualty figures - what a strange thing to try to find him....
Ayden? No, Ayden couldn't give a mynock's defecation about his alive/dead status. Hell, the man had barely batted an eye when he'd been presumed dead on Dagobah.
But there was one person who hadn't.
Snorting, he sent back a simple, easy response.
Naboo. Lake Country.
She'd know. And if it wasn't her... well, what would they care?