Private Splat

[Cassian Fortis]

Decima
The Forge
​

Cassian swept the wet cloth across his brow, a welcome coolness to it. Training had been early this morning, the artificial lights coming on like clockwork in his berth at what was 0500 hours, local Hoth time. He took a deep breath, resting the cloth on the edge of the stainless durasteel sink as he game himself a once over in the mirror. He'd nicked himself at the very edge of his jawline, a delicate scarlet line a few millimeters in length just barely visible. Damn it, he grimaced. With a sigh, he continued getting ready for the day, mentally ticking through the agenda that had appeared earlier on the datascreen in the common area.

0500: Physical Conditioning​

0630: Muster​

0700: Report to Armoury​

0800: Combat Simulations​

There had been more on the schedule but between the early morning maintenance stairwell run and the bustle of sharing a common refresher had made it hard to focus on anything but the next few hours - at best. They'd given them about thirty minutes to down some chow, a schlop of reconstituted protein that was supposed to be "egg" flavored along with some small bits of grit and fat that amounted to "sausage" had been unceremoniously deposited on the tray, lingering only long enough to be consumed before he'd headed back to his quarters. The schedule of a cadet was grueling but it weeded out those who couldn't hack it or didn't have the mental fortitude required of those in leadership positions - especially as it pertained to the continuity of Decima.

Returning to the mirror, Cassian adjusted the tight collar of his cadet's uniform. A legacy uniform, meant to emulate the ancient Galactic Empire, coupled with reminsicient seams of their predecessors, the First Order, the uniform fit snugly. A wide belt circled his waist, the back of his hand wiping away a small drop of spittle as he replaced the toothbrush in its place. A quick glance showed he'd only have a few minutes to get to muster. The trick was, it was three flights up from his current level and the lifts were going to take longer than the stairs. A final once-over and he turned, exiting his berthing onto a main concourse. It was early enough yet that porters, citizens, and the general bustle of Decima hadn't yet filled the corridors. As such, he arrived at the muster point to the rest of his cadre still milling about, loosely holding a formation in the center of an open space.

"Thought you fell in, Fort!" a voice called out above the gentle din. A red flush filled his cheeks as Cassian laid eyes on the source of his momentary embarassment. "Nope! Didn't want to show up to muster looking like that thing you call a mug," he retorted, a grin forming at the edge of his lips. A man wearing the same uniform stood casually at the edge of the mob, leaning against the bulkhead. "Aww, that's a low blow." Jet black hair, deep blue skin, and piercing red eyes met Cassian's as the two men clasped hands and smiled. "Good to see you back in action Braize, thought you'd been dropped to another cadre." Braize, obviously wasn't his real name but it was the easiest to remember - and pronounce. Though they only made up about 3% of the population of Decima, they were commonly among the top performers at The Forge, Decima's command academy. "They really wanted to, I managed to pull some strings," he winked. Braize had always been good at that, leveraging connections to make things happen. He was going to be an excellent officer someday, Cassian knew it.

Before the two could catch up any further, an electronic chime sounded, the gentle murmur of voices coming to a halt and bodies shifting into formation. Finding his own spot, Cassian stood at attention. At the front of the formation, an older man crisply came to a stop in front of the cadets. "Report!" his voice echoed. One by one the squad leaders reported attendance and status, Cassian adding his own voice to the stacatto rhythm. "Third squad, all present and accounted for!" With Braize back from his medical leave, they were once again whole. Though training incidents didn't happen often, when they did it could throw a wrench in planning. Especially if your squad had team duties - someone always had to pick up the slack. Braize was well liked however and there hadn't been any complaining the few weeks he'd been out.

"At ease, Mynock." In a singular motion, the cadets snapped to parade rest. "Seeing as we're whole," the man "report to the armoury. They're expecting you. You'll each be issued your gear and simulation brief will begin at 0800. Any questions, sound off." A few seconds passed before the officer continued. "Mynock, attention!... fall out!"

Another rustle of fabric sounded as the cadets snapped to attention, about faced, then dispersed. Cassian quickly gathered his squad before they headed single file in a rush towards the armoury.

 

[M33P]

Decima
​

Diagnostics: Completed
Maintenance Cycle Reset.
Assignment: Initiated
.
.
.
Assignment received.
Send signal: En Route.

A squeal of rubber wheels echoed in the tight confines of the maintenance tunnels. Designed specifically for the MSE model droid, they left little room for error, or attachments. As such, M33P had retracted its antennae as it quickly raced its way through the maze of mouse sized corridors.

How M33P had ended up at Decima was a bit of a mystery really, even to its own memory banks. There was data from before, a gap, and then data for the past several months. The gap must have been large - years even. Curious. Over its service life, M33P had developed something of a personality, an anomaly among droids of its model, but not entirely unexpected. Whether malfunctions of code or simply evolution of algorithms, it had turned into something more than just a run of the mill maintenance worker. And yet, it found itself tasked with replacing fuses of all things, in yet another Imperial facility.

Technically it wasn't really an Imperial facility, but if it walked like a Sipsk'ud and quacked like a Sipsk'ud... well. Thankfully for the small droid, and much to its delight, this facility had been designed in a manner that was conducive to travel for limbless droids. Once upon a time, M33P had nearly met its end careening up and over a bulkhead only to land on its side, trapped and immobile - and while it had solutions for that now it had been quite the unpleasant experience. If M33P could have smiled, it would have. Instead, it blinked a cheeky purple color across its LED's.

Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Start.

The directions had already been pre-plotted in the units internal positioning system, requiring barely a few hundred bytes of data processing power to direct its four wheels where it needed to go. Soon enough it would arrive and then the work could begin. An odd subroutine alert chirped at M33P, a sudden query arising. Why am I here? It was a query that would have to wait, M33P pushed it to the back of the queue, instead focusing on pulling up the wiring schematics of the zone it was headed to. It could process that later.