The Sidewinder
Plucked from the ground and carried far from where it was she had been collected, Mogra'teksa was by all rights, dead to the world. Her exhaustive efforts had left her body beaten and bruised, littered with gashes and scrapes from the harsh floor she had fought the Imperial Knight desperately on, and what's worse, were the burns covering her lower arms and palms. At least he had the courtesy not to kill her, or allow the troopers assigned with him to. His choice to spare her went unrecognized and unacknowledged for the time, however, as she slept. And slept. Her wounds had been somewhat tended to, leaving her better off than when she had been initially cuffed as a prisoner in the medbay of the ship, but even with the bacta seeping into them and the bandages maintaining pressure, the worse would take time to heal.
Two broken ribs. A fractured clavicle. A concussion. Second degree burns from her elbows to her wrists and curling up in partial web along her palms and the bottoms of her fingers. Not to mention the contusions her face had suffered beneath his vengeful fists.
And despite it, she had fought him. His blood stained her hand, still- soaked into the beds beneath her painted fingernails, and was painted across her maroon skin in a dark, telling stain. He had earned his beating just as much as she had earned hers. Hours dragged on without a stir from her, as was expected. Rattled, struggling breaths swelled and deflated her chest, that motion itself stuttered and weak with the damage that lay beneath her skin. This respite would not last forever. It couldn't keep her forever.
The distant sounds of pitched beeping pinged at her in the darkness she dreamt in. Some shuffled boots padded by. Metal struck metal faintly. The sharp, sterile smell of bacta and chrome assaulted her stubborn senses, rousing them further, and finally, she was goaded into opening her bloodshot eyes. The harsh fluorescent light overhead preyed upon her sensitivity, forcing her to squint against its beam, and she winced. Every echo of her heart was felt tenfold in her skull, reverberating so intensely she could barely hear the pulsing beep of the monitors next to her or the faint hum of the engines propelling them slowly through space.
Mogs lifted a hand from the surface of the bed she had been tucked into, only to feel a sudden and abrupt pressure on her heavily bandaged arm. It was enough to make her yelp loudly and gulp after- swallowing down the sound. Her half-open eyes turned down to her wrist, catching the blurry glint of steel curled around her joint, and the tail edge of binding threading back beneath the bed's rail and under it.
She was a prisoner.
What little adrenaline she had left surged to the surface, sending the heart monitor connected to her into a frenzy.
"H-hello?" the twi'lek croaked out, struggling to sit upright, only to fall right back down as pain erupted in her side and shoulder. She hissed, clenching her teeth in an attempt to smother the sound and get her breathing under control before it caused her even more horrible pain. She had to stay calm and steady and evaluate her situation. Panic served no purpose. This was the mantra she used to silently coach herself back into a soothed state, and only then, did she look more closely at her surroundings.
The Iron Sun she recognized immediately lay etched and painted into the durasteel doors at the far side of the room. The New Imperial Order. Wait...
The Mirialan.
Realization struck her at once and she twisted her head about on her neck, searching the room she had been thrust into.
Was he here, too?
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