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Moff Kapshan stood aboard the hospital ship, the NIV Opulence.
"Moff!" A stormtrooper stood at attention.
"....Report."
"Several shuttles are inbound from the recent conflicts on Jaemus, Dubrillion and Borosk."
"Prepare the medbays."
The NIV Opulence, newly commissioned, had been deployed to this area of space to service veterans and armed forces that had been wounded in the recent conflicts. Like any supply ship, it was their mission to offset any shortages, providing the highest capability of medical service that any ship the Imperial Order deployed could. It was a military vessel - the Opulence was bought and paid for, directed by the very one Moff Kapshan to direct at his whim.
It was Kapshan's direction that they perform these duties for the men and women who had suffered war.
No matter the victors.
Prisoners, soldiers, all the high profile cases would be brought to him.
'What is democracy? what is democracy?'
'It's got something to do with young men killing each other, I believe.'
'When it comes my turn, will you want me to go?'
'For democracy, any man would give his only begotten son.'
The dreams came again. There was no escape, no quarter given. Noxious nightmares inexplicable with mere words leaving behind only the scars of experience Gehenna. The horrors between life and death. Faceless. No eyes, no ears, no limbs. Drifting solely with the desire to be freed through death, to break this infinite cycle of perpetual suffering.
An ice cold fluid pierced my skin and consciousness bust through. A pink-skinned man with wrinkles deep as canyons lingered above me.
I remember the gunship making its final approach to Dubrillion's offensive beachhead designated as Hoth where the 501st was to insert at. We got the order to lock and load. I stood ready to face the battle ahead, though distracted by the piece of red vine that was stuck to my back molar. I should have known better, but it helped to calm my nerves the chewing motion plus I just liked the taste of this licorice.
The forward motion of the gunship slowed, then stopped as it swung around and hovered near where the water breaks into the shoreline. I steeled myself for what was to come next. The indicator light went from red to green, then the military transport's blast doors slid back. Dorn-2 Squad moved out with precision, jumping down from the troop compartment deck to the waiting sand and water, guns blazing. The wet sand actually was much easier to get traction in than the dry as the squad feverously worked to move inland to the shingle bank as quickly as possible through the firestorm greeting them.
I heard my sergeant, Ravraa Vyshraal
, give the order to split up into fireteams. Being the newest Dorn, I was assigned to his along with another newbie, Aerith Castiella, though she had been with them for a previous mission or two from what I gathered. This was to be my debut for the New Imperial Order, but I wasn't naive to battle. I had already served with the Chiss Expeditionary Marine Corps fighting the Killiks, Vagaari, and Ssi-ruuk in the Unknown Regions. With the collapse of the Chiss Ascendancy, I looked for greener pastures as humans say and an ideology that was in line with my own. Yes, I still believed in the ideals of the Red Flame.
And now here I was about to see what mettle my new brothers and sisters-in-arms had firsthand. The incoming defensive fire was fierce on the beachhead. I humped it as hard as I could to the sea wall in a zig-zag pattern attempting to keep my fireteam mates in view as they advanced well ahead...
Ever get that sour pit in your stomach that something really bad is going to happen? I knew at that moment, I was in for a world of hurt... My crimson orbs barely caught the streak of an artillery round in the clear night sky inbound like a homing beacon to my coordinates. There was really nothing I could do but try to get out of the way and take cover, but it was destiny, mine anyway. Oh, how I'd much rather die a meaningful death helping to take the high ground for a victory instead on some stinking beach laying in a mangled heap less than five minutes into the heated battle only to be counted as just another 'faceless' casualty from the Stormtrooper ranks. There would be no accolades allotted for my heartfelt yet dismal performance. Another mark on my very Chissness as if my parents disgrace being Joiners weren't enough.
KA-BOOM!
It was mere seconds in reality though seemed like a lifetime before the searing pain that racked the Chiss female's twisted and melted body from the fiery explosion took her thankfully to oblivion.
Clear skies, Corporal Zsuzsa... or was it hello to hell?
I wanted to post something like this at the end of the Dubrillion invasion as I had to drop out after only one post but didn't get the chance before the deadline for points. So thanks for this thread idea, Zori Kapshan
(Tef the man). It gives me a chance to bring Zsuzsa's short story arc to a close... or a new beginning.
Most of the shuttles arriving at the NIV Opulence were from major battlefields such as Dubrillion and Borosk. However, one of them carried a trooper who had been multiple systems away from the Imperial front line against the Sith. The lone shuttle approached the medical station without any hassle, indistinguishable from the other vessels entering the area. Inside the shuttle was the captain of the 19th Assault Platoon, who had lead the stormtrooper offensive on Carlac.
FN-999 woke up inside a shuttle, its dim interior lights shining above him. He attempted to rise, only to find his body weighed down by a variety of tubes and pipes attached to various points on his bare chest. Upon looking down at his body, the captain's breath caught in his throat. Almost all of his chest was a dark red, as if it had suffered from a massive sunburn. He felt no pain, but suspected that his entire torso was covered in third-degree burns. After all, the Vong on Carlac had fired large fireballs from their organic warships. He had shot one down, but many others had landed and taken the lives of some of his troopers. That was when he remembered what had happened to him.
ONE DAY EARLIER - CARLAC
As the company crested the hill, four shuttles descended down to meet them. Combined, they had enough capacity to fit the entire two hundred trooper company. The only remaining concern was getting everyone inside in time. As dozens of troopers rushed into the shuttles, fireballs continued to rain down and the environment decayed behind them.
"In! NOW!!" yelled FN-999, physically pushing his troopers forwards as they ascended the ramps onto their shuttles.
Ultimately, the captain was too distracted by his own troopers to notice the fireball hurtling his way. This time, he had no rocket launcher to counter it. All he could do was jump to the side, hoping that he could create enough distance to turn a lethal blow into a serious one. When the flaming ball slammed into his side, crushing armor and bone alike, the trooper's vision faded to black.
PRESENT
"D-damn." spat out FN-999, his voice weakened and garbled by his constant yelling in Carlac. It would likely take another few hours and a good drink until the trooper could speak in a normal manner. He slowly looked around in the shuttle, and found its interior to be empty. Perhaps his shuttle was filled with more fortunate troopers, or maybe they had been sent to another hospital facility. Regardless, FN-999 understood that he was now alone in the shuttle, with only the pilots and possibly an attendant to keep him company. The captain longed to be with his company, but he knew that he would have to recover first.
So as the shuttle docked onto the station, FN-999 let himself descend back into his medical bed.
"Gods above," one of the men whispered, looking down at the ripened pile of flesh and bones that was their newest client - Zsuzsa, a Stormtrooper caught in an explosion.
"There is only one God here, Stormtrooper," the commanding voice of Moff Kapshan broke through the corridor. "And he does not indulge your wariness."
"Bring him to Med Bay 12, one of the bacta tanks."
The flesh pile began to scream. Oh, right, he was a person. Treat him like a person.
"It... will be okay, subject."
Moff Kapshan placed a comforting hand on the injured Stomtrooper, causing him to scream louder. The Moff stared at one of the nurse droids.
"Knock him out cold, and stop these distracting noises it's making. I will be along shortly, after you've ascertained the damage."
One of the nurses attending FN-999, exceptionally better looking than the other clients' nurses, looked up as Moff Kapshan was walking into the hangar bay for the latest infirmary shuttle to arrive. How he didn't have a nurse droid, but instead got a wonderfully attractive human assistant, was beyond any of the Stormtroopers accompanying the shuttle. Luck of the draw, I guess. Everyone stiffened up as the Moff approached.
"Status," he grumbled.
"Blunt kinetic trauma, minor burns. An explosion, Moff Kapshan."
He nodded, admiring the wounds.
"Seems to only favor one side, this one's relatively less injured. Med Bay 12, give him a rack and scan the damages. We'll provide bacta salves to the burns, I'm more interested in the internal injuries."
The personnel nodded and began to leave. Moff Kapshan stopped them, raising a hand.
"Trooper," he leaned over the victim. "Can you hear me?"
Zsuzsa had been blissfully in an unconscious state until excruciating pain beyond anything describable brought her back through deaths-near-veil to reality. Was it the mere touch by the Zeltron doctor or his pheromones that exacted the over-exaggerated response?
It was like going along in hyperspace all fine and dandy, then ripped suddenly out by an interdiction field right into a full-on space battle; all synapses firing at the same time. A series of blood-curdling screams were the only thing the injured Dorn could manage as attempts to move just brought more agony. The voice speaking above her was eerily cold and all the Chiss could make out through her tear-filled, glowing red orbs was a pink blur.
The explosive force of the blast had immediately blown off Zsuzsa's lower right leg below the knee and left arm up to just below the shoulder. The remaining limb bones had been shattered. Her Stormtrooper armor had melted into the body glove that then seared onto the Chiss' once velvety smooth, blue-hued skin underneath. There were pieces of shrapnel here and there that had embedded into her thorax. Massive blood loss from the traumatic amputations had caused a shock state and organ failure was beginning. She was circling the drain as they say. The compassionate thing would have been to just put a blaster bolt into her head back on the beach and call it there. But no...
A hypospray of a high dose pain med/sedation combo was the ticket though; the wonder drugs taking effect within mere moments silencing the eardrum-breaking squeals of the agonized woman and sending Zsuzsa back into blissfulness for now. Hell though was most likely just around the corner as the Stormtrooper medic took the female Chiss to Med Bay 12 to one of the bacta tanks as ordered by Zori Kapshan
, the Moff-in-charge of this special medical facility.
His medical bed moved quietly through the hall though an unfamiliar facility. He could tell from the personnel around him and walking nearby that it was definitely a New Imperial military facility, and likely a medical center, but he could not determine much beyond such. Behind him, pushing his bed along on a trolley, was a humanoid female of unusual beauty. Still, in his bruised and battered condition, he lacked the motivation to ogle.
The woman stopped the cart in a room at the end of the hall, where multiple figures surrounded FN-999. They ran a diagnostic report on him and he was assigned to a medical bay, and a red-skinned humanoid called out to him. But before the stormtrooper could reply, he had been carried away by the nurse.
He arrived in a large room labelled "12", and he was deposited onto a rack near one of the room's corners. Curious, the captain rose his head and looked around the bay. It seemed clean and polished, with flat steel walls and small windows looking out into open space. In that case, it seemed as if FN-999 was on a medical station. While about three dozen other cots lined the room, all but six of them were empty. They each contained humanoids wearing only their body gloves or no clothing at all, with various bacta salves and pipes attached to their bodies. Four of them seemed to be suffering from severe superficial wounds, with visible scars or finger-sized scabs. A fifth individual, unconcious, seemed to be missing a leg and had a greater quantity of pipes entering him than FN-999 or the other five troopers. A sixth seemed to be perfectly healthy aside from a small cut, and for a moment, he wondered why the individual was there. Then the being coughed, blood gushing out of their mouth in a violent spurt.
Internal bleeding. Poor soul.
FN-999 waited in Medical Bay 12, with only its brutalized patients to keep him company.
"Shattered bones in all limbs," the Medical Droid reported. "Left arm, amputated. Right leg, amputated below the miniscus."
"Wait, what sort of explosion blew off one limb from each side of the subject?"
"Reports show multiple concussive forces impacted at once," the Droid said.
"Wow, that's very unfortunate."
There was a long silence.
"Can you just imagine, though? Like, was this stormtrooper just T-posing and two simultaneous explosions happened equidistant on either side?"
The droid remained silent, staring blankly at the doctor.
"Moff, this subject is in vital need of immedi-"
"Seriously though, that's just insanely vivid. What poor timing for yo-"
"Moff Kapshan, you digress. This patient requires immed-"
"I wonder what she was thinking, staring at the two explosions in that one split second, wondering what she had done to deserve such ill-fated precise timing to be c-"
"MOFF KAPSHAN," the droid stammered.
"Right, right. Induct her into the Voidtrooper Program, move her to Deck 5 once she's stable here."
Leoric Izes, Imperial Knight, sat on one of the many medical beds and stared into the distance.
He had been unresponsive for some now.
Not by choice, mind.
But something about shrapnel in your brain had a way of making everything more complicated. By the time the medics found him? The entrance wound had already healed itself up. After that the density of the skull increased several times over. Now that was making things hard for the scanners, which had been trying to penetrate the skull for a while.
Nothing.
In the meantime Knight Izes just sat there. Staring. A little bit of drool too.
"Glup." He muttered. Oh, right, sometimes he said a strange word too. "Glip." Sometimes even two.
His brain had been trying to reform itself for days now.
The issue? It's really hard to regrow it around a piece of metal still lodged at the center. No matter how much his instincts were trying, his body didn't consider actually pushing out the shrapnel.
The moans, groans and cries of pain where echoing up and down the hall. Being brought over to various medical professionals who were deciding on who would be marked for emergency procedures, or left alone due to the lack of urgency for their wounds. I just kind of knelt over a trooper who's helmet was bashed in. Not sure if it was an explosion or getting smacked in the helmet hard enough. The white helmet was caved in with blood and dirt covering it. Inspecting the man further, showed he was still alive, and was not in a great mood.
I mean, having a helmet stuck on your head because of swelling, and being caved into your face was... kind of funny to be honest. It was difficult to not start chuckling at the idea of a man being unable to remove his helmet due to being damaged in the face plate.
"Hey uh... dude, it will be okay. Just relax okay?" "Mmmph umm girffffhhh." "Uh... don't talk okay?" "Essshh memmmmm."
An attempt to nod his head broke me with the muffled voice sent my stomach into a fit of chuckling. Standing up, the back of my hand was used to hide the laughter. It took a moment to compose myself once more before another medical trooper came over. Holding the tools necessary to break open the helmet.
"Ma'am, you mind holding his head still?" "Uh sure, but are you gonna like stick him with a needle first?" "Yes, and its a big one. So I will need you to hold him."
Moving my hands to grasp the sides of the helm, I moved his neck over to be exposed for the needle. Lets just say I never want to be stabbed by anything from this medic. He just jammed the damn thing into the guys neck and pushed whatever kind of sedative he was using. The thrashing from the Trooper was difficult. He kept fighting the needle.
Reaching to my side, I grabbed the six shot slug thrower I carried, holding it by the barrel, and slammed it in the side of the man's head. A solid klang sounds echoed a bit and he fell silent.
"The hell are you doing!?" "Knocking him out. Now do what you need to do." "By the Imperator you ar-" "Get it done please. This situation is all kinds of fubar."
Nod of the head and went to work using a plasma cutter to go around the helmet as I looked around. Seeing a Zeltron dressed much like a Moff of the New Imperials, and was talking about a soldier T-posing. I quietly questioned if the man played enough games to know what T-posing was, but the aspect alone made me just shake my head with another rising chuckle.
"This is EGRIS 2 to NIV OPULENCE - we are on approach from Dubrillion with civilian casualties."
Didn't have Order credentials. Didn't have an allied mark. Didn't have much but a shred of hope.
Ivy had been in the vicinity of Dubrillion when the war erupted. Though having long since sworn off taking sides, it had been a relief to see a new entity making a charge head-long into the Sith Empire's turf. Old memories ignited old grudges and a moral oath to be the help that was needed, when it was needed, where it was needed.
So here she was, attempting to help as well as she could. If it meant hauling the wounded into space where their ailments could be tended to and keeping the local hospitals from breaking under the deluge, so be it.
A few minutes of back and forth to explain herself and the Egris was docking.
Droids and medical personnel flocked the ship, helping to offload the patients as more ships continued to pour in. Ivy took up the last helpless victim, a young boy not quite yet in his prime, and carried him down the ramp to follow the lead of the deckhands ushering the way. He was bleeding and it was leaving a splatter trail as she walked.
Moff Kapshan leaned over, peering through his glasses at the subject.
"Fascinating," Kapshan reached out with a hand, touching the drool, letting it stick to his glove. He sniffed it, then wiped it on the subject's face. "Is this an injury or a..."
"Initial scans show brain damage," the medical droid said.
Moff Kapshan stood quiet for a second.
"Initiate the test for external stimuli."
The droid slapped Leoric.
The Moff watched the drool splatter.
"Interesting," Kapshan looked to the droid. "Take the subject to the surgery, I'll be along shortly - I want the MRI Dark Fluid scans as soon as we can. Let's find out more about the damage the subject has suffered."
His head spun to the side and stayed there for a moment.
Then it lulled back, before slowly toppling down and more drool plastered the floor. Other than that no outward response. Internally speaking it was a whole different ballpark. That slap had done a right number to his noggin. It had caused the shrapnel to pull loose just a bit. Not enough to let the brain heal itself completely, but just enough to start that process.
As he was settled on a moving table it began.
His finger tip twitched.
They began to roll.
Finger digits straightened out.
They exited the room.
One eye blinked, as if Leoric was winking at the droid handling his table.
They rolled through the hallway.
"Glo-" And Leoric's tongue stopped there. It knew real words, did it not? Why was it so hard to make them then. Usually it received its orders from above, but that was all out of whack right now. Maybe its shape was bad? No, no, it was fine. It knew it was. Perfectly detailed, exceptional craftsmanship, but too much effort. "Dro...p." It tried. That was better, no? Drop was a word.
"...dry."
Dry! Yes, it needed water. That's what would help. If only the upstairs would help a bit more.
The Moff walked, staring at the trooper that was vomiting blood. He grabbed a towel from the medical droid, gently stepping towards the trooper and motioning for him to lay back in his rack, and began dabbing the man's mouth and wiping away the blood.
"Rest easy now, young man.
You've fought the good fight, you're in good care."
He looked at the medical droid, stepping out of earshot. "Take him down to the level B incinerator, try and make it painless."
"Moff, this is Subject 2-56-B, not 2-56-C."
Kapshan's eyes opened wide, and mouthed the word "ohhhh".
"Throw him back in the bacta ventilator chamber. Meet me down in the Fabricator Facility in an hour... I may have a few ideas for you."
The scientist stopped by the trooper, laying a hand on the bed handle, studying the man, then walked off.
The Moff walked by the woman, through the corridors and compartments and on his way to welcome the new shuttle that had arrived with Ivy Lasranae.
"There are plenty of opportunities here aboard the Opulence. See me after this wave, we can discuss your... employment."
Kapshan was never one to waste new recruits. He made his way down to the hangar, for what felt like the 30th time this day, welcoming yet another batch of clientele and subjects for his experime- cough, medical help.
"Bay 59," the Moff rattled off, tagging injured men and women with his magno-stapler that attached tags and labels to people as they entered. "Bay 47". Zori tagged the next one.
A woman emerged holding another injured subject.
"Bay 47," he uttered, tagging and clicking his stapler on the injured man, as he let out a muffled cry. "Bay 32." He tagged Hazel Scheler
's head.
Another day ranching cattle, cough, New Imperials.
"Son of a schutta!" exploded from the Mercenary the moment that number PING-ed into her forehead. What the actual feth?
She stumbled, nearly dropped the boy in her arms, and staggered into a passing droid with a gurney upon which she carefully deposited the victim in order to free her hands. With a jerking motion Ivy gripped the tag stuck to her head and ripped it off. The regret was painfully immediate.
"Fffffffff-"expletive.
Blood now dribbled down her face. She turned on her heel, eyes wildly scanning the sea of bodies for the man responsible. There he was, Mad Mauve in a labcoat.
"What in the Red Nebula are you-" Ivy dodged another incoming stapler tag and grabbed the thing from him, "stop it!"
Things had been different for a long time, since he and Six Six left behind the shackles of the Sith in pursuit of a more pure order. That was how it'd been sold to them anyway, Redmond didn't care, he just hadn't liked the Sith. The saber weilding zealot they'd been forced to follow had always grated his nerves more than any Jedi, slipping that blade between his ribs had been the most satisfying thing he'd done in ages, he'd even smiled.
The fighting had been hard here, their black armor had been darkened further still by glancing blaster shots that left long gouges in plates, and mud had found its way into places he'd almost forgotten were possible. Still, it'd been so long since they'd been in a proper fight. Their skills had gone to waste under the damned maniacs, Jedi hunting had been good fun, but war was where Six-Six had always thrived, not torching villages to draw out some self-righteous lunatic in a robe. The burning of villages in truth wasn't the issue for him, it was just a bore, but he put up that front all the same.
Being back had felt right, right up until some lucky upstart nailed him in the abdomen, that had felt far less right.
Sitting on the cold table upright, Redmond felt uncomfortably vulnerable with his upper torso now free of its armor, wrapped in bandages after the room had been slathered in bacta. The light was harsh on eyes so used to being behind a visor. He lifted a bare hand to his cheek and felt the stubble beneath his fingertips, the facial hair was out of regulation, he'd need to fix that soon. Somehow that was of more concern than his wound. He wanted to be cleared to go so he could deal with things that mattered.
And he didn't like being out of his damned armor.
The sooner Zori Kapshan
came and gave him his leave to go, the better. Unless the good doctor had other plans, that type always did, he'd undergone plenty of procedures to prove it.
Droids and biologicals scurried outside the door trying to assist their fallen comrades. How I wish I was one of them. Instead I sat partialy deactivated in a maintenance closet.
So thanks for this thread idea, 
