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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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Apr 26, 2018 10:35:55 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Apr 26, 2018 10:35:55 GMT -5
Dashing through the streets of Nystao as late evening turned to night, moving from shadow to shadow, Kol gritted his teeth as the pain continued to wash over him. His mission was a success... to a point. Assigned to assassinate a Republic official on this world, he had been directed to kill without it appearing to have any connection to the Sith. A simple task, perhaps. Coming to the planet via trade ship was no great challenge, his skills in stealth allowing him to slink aboard and steal away without anyone the wiser of his passing.
The city, too, took no effort. People fluttered hither and tither without sparing a glance his way, hidden in the dark from their unconcerned eyes. He recalled slicing the security to the large building his target was based in. He recalled sliding his wristblade into the man's neck, cutting off the yell of surprise and pain before it had a chance to escape his throat.
He recalled the thrill of fear that shot through him as the maid discovered him moments after, as he was preparing to make his exit. This sound was cut short, but the damage was done. Guards came and Kol was forced to leave via a window, a volley of weapon shots following him. Despite drawing deeply from the terror that struck throughout his soul, his abilities were hard pressed to come away unscathed and he had been struck, hot pain singing from the left side of his lower back as solid ammunition hit home.
Holding his injured side, the assassin took temporary shelter in a dark side-alley and pulled up his recollection of the city's layout in his mind. He would need to go somewhere he could gain access to some form of treatment...
Slinking from quiet shadow to quiet shadow, Kol moved silently until he found the building he was looking for: a small medical facility. Slicing the doors open and quietly entering, the Sith inspected the room for medical tools he could use: scalpels, injectors, sprays and clamps, bacta packs and stims. Good.
The pain was coming fast and sharp, and a sheen of sweat was layering across his body. The wound was not fatal, he was sure... so long as he treated it soon. The form-fitting combat bodyglove itched and beads of perspiration tickled at his brow. Reaching up, the young man detached the visor of his mask, setting it down on a nearby surface to mop his face with his hand.
In the reflective surface of a metal tray, he caught sight of his mutilated visage, framed by his now visorless helm. The colour-drained pallor. The dark rings under his tired, grey eyes, so hollow, can't st-. The scar tissue smattered across his features pain, so much pain, make it-. The paralyzed right side, with exposed teeth where the skin of the cheek had been cut away make it stop, please make it-. His limbs shivered as he locked gazes with himself, staring fearfully into his eyes, the terror threatening to overwhelm him, the pain, the ache in his bones, need to climb, can't fall, MAKE IT STO-
Kol hissed as his fingers jabbed into his wounded side, focusing on the pain it caused. I'm still alive, still conscious. Reach down deep and pull from the fear, gain strength from the terror. You will survive. You will climb.
Feeling his spiritual sickness come back under his control, his mind stabilised and Kol began grabbing some of the medical items he needed to start fixing his body.
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
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addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Mar 15, 2024 14:11:39 GMT -5
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Apr 27, 2018 15:41:37 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Apr 27, 2018 15:41:37 GMT -5
[googlefont="News Cycle"]
It had been a long night but, thankfully, also very quiet one. Hours slipped away unmarked as Docter Bellamy copied old paper records by hand into the databank of an old, secondhand console. The machine was a recent donation to the struggling clinic, itself several generations out of date.
A far cry from the tech available back home. Leaning back, she stopped and flexed her hands. Cristine marked a slight numbness, not quite pain. Past time to stop for the day. She marked her place and powered down the console.
For half a moment, she thought she heard something. Nonsense. The doors were locked, the building was empty. Her ears were playing tricks with the absence sound, of the console’s whistling cooling fans. Shouldering her purse, Cris stepped out into the dark hall.
A hiss. Long, tailing off into nothing. Not a machine at all. Someone in pain. That was common enough, familiar. Not beyond the realm of imagination at the end of the day
”Hello? Is someone there?” Exam room one – the door was open, a dark sliver between white-painted door and white-painted frame as her eyes adjusted. And then, reflecting on her situation, she added. ”Marius, is that you?”
Alone and unarmed in a building full of thousands of credits in medical equipment. Shit. Too late to run for the front desk, the door.
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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Apr 28, 2018 18:18:07 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Apr 28, 2018 18:18:07 GMT -5
Just as he was about to start, Kol felt a sensation run through him, like a wire brush being dragged along his skin. A moment later, he heard a voice call out in the hallway beyond the room he was in. The Sith cursed his clumsiness at being heard, or noticed at all. All the training he went through, the pain and suffering and climbing he endured, and he got caught simply because he was injured. It was no excuse. But I can still fix this.
The assassin pulled the Force around himself, making his presence smaller, a mere flicker of life no more than a passing thought, and hid himself next to the door. He heard the steps grow closer, the voice grow nearer. He felt the fear, ever gnawing on his soul, spike higher, sending warning signals through his brain and his heart racing. But he waited, unmoving in body if chattering away in terror in the confines of his own mind. He waited, until he was certain that the voice was not going to turn away.
Kol could almost taste the voice's cautious curiosity in the air; too worried to go into the room, but too stubborn to just leave. This is bad, make it quick make it quiet- He could still feel the blood leaking from his wound, the sweat slowly trailing from his brow. This needed to end make it stop, tear it down, take the silence again MAKE IT ST-
With a slight twinge of concentration, Kol caused a small metal canister of antiseptic to roll off of a nearby table and onto the floor. It made a slight clanging noise, not so much a clamour as an enticing sound out of place, encouraging investigation.
The canister rolled to a slow stop when it made contact with the table Kol left his helm's visor. It sat there, brazen as could be and quite out of place among the sterile medical equipment.
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
711 likes
addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Mar 15, 2024 14:11:39 GMT -5
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May 3, 2018 16:35:34 GMT -5
Post by Neology on May 3, 2018 16:35:34 GMT -5
[googlefont="News Cycle"]
Silence. Or very close to it. The hum of electricity running through the machines and the rush of blood flowing through her ears. The cycling of the air conditioner. Certainly there was no reply from Marius, outing the lie for what it was.
If anyone was there. Cristine hovered uncertainty for a moment longer, jumping at a metallic clatter in the exam room. Reluctantly, she crept to the door and switched on the light, tense and flighty as some tawny beast on the Aldraanian veld.
No one there. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped further in. Cris plucked up the displaced canister, turning it in her hands as she inspected it for damage. Sturdy thing, like much else of this neglected clinic. She put it away, freezing as her gaze fell on something decidedly out of place.
Glittering black plastic, or glass maybe. Some kind of high tech sunglasses? Might’ve belonged to one of the other doctors, she’d never had much of a memory for that sort of thing.
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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May 9, 2018 16:44:43 GMT -5
Post by Blue on May 9, 2018 16:44:43 GMT -5
Steps moved into the room, draw to the sound of the canister. Knowing the darkness would soon be shifted, Kol closed his sensitive eyes to avoid being blinded by the electrical illumination. Sure enough, his prey flicked the switch and light was brought forth. Even scrunched closed, the Sith assassin still felt the pain lance into his eyes, seeing the fleshy inside of his eyelids in the harsh florescent light.
But his eyes were not his only means of bearing witness. Kol heard the hesitant footsteps stride further into the room. A relieved sighed: sentient female? She replaced the fallen canister: clink. He could feel her with his senses in the Force as she froze, seeing his mask's visor and moving her head to focus on the out of place item: bait. The trap was sprung.
Silent footsteps padded forwards. A foot. Half a foot. Mere inches. As he brought up his wristblade, he reached out with the Force. With a click, the room was once more plunged into darkness. His eyes needed no time to adjust; her's would be given no chance to. The sharp metal of the blade was placed upon the throat of his prey, tight against the skin. A single movement from either would spell death for her.
Kill her, take her no- No strength, no, no, no- Quiet, please, make it st- Little fish, no strength, no point- Hush!
"Make no sound," Kol spoke, his voice no higher than a rasping whisper and tinted with an inhuman edge from his voice modulator. "Scream, or attempt to flee, and you will die. Nod slowly if you understand this."
The assassin waited for her response, the fear in his soul tensing higher as he felt more blood escape him, felt more pain strike through him. He pulled from it. It made him stronger. He would not fall from the Chain here. If she tried to Climb over him, she would be kicked down.
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
711 likes
addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Mar 15, 2024 14:11:39 GMT -5
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May 19, 2018 17:01:12 GMT -5
Post by Neology on May 19, 2018 17:01:12 GMT -5
The light shut off, impenetrable dark and green-tinged afterimages. Cristine had half a moment to wonder if the power had been cut before an unseen force grabbed her and roughly shoved something cold and sharp against her throat. A scream died on her lips, terminating in a quite involuntary whimper.
The voice, when it came, was strangely inhuman – though it spoke Basic plainly enough. Cris nodded very slightly. Even that stung. She could feel her own pulse, fluttering wildly against the pressure there.
Indicator lights one the machines proved the power wasn’t off entirely. Not cut outside the building, anyway. If only she had gone through reception instead …
Something warm soaked through the back of her blouse. A slaughterhouse – butcher’s block – operating room smell that she recognized at once, now that she knew to look for it. A slim ribbon of hope; that was a good reason to break into an underfunded and understaffed clinic.
”You’re hurt. I’m a doctor.” She licked her lips, whole mouth suddenly gone dry. ”I can help you if you let me go. Please.”
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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May 31, 2018 14:35:07 GMT -5
Post by Blue on May 31, 2018 14:35:07 GMT -5
She spoke, saying words coated in fear. Conflict tore inside of Kol; is she begging for her life, or begging me to let her help? He considered simply killing her, here and now, and escaping the clinic even with his wound untended. But the injury throbbed, and the assassin knew that he needed to get it attended to before he could leave. The position of the wound was... unfortunate in some regards. While missing any major organs or arteries, it was also near to impossible for him to treat on his own properly due to the awkward angle of it.
As the internal conflict tugged within him, Kol added a little more pressure with his blade kill her now, quick and quiet, it will make it stop and grit him teeth. His fear, that old, black snake in his soul, was screaming at him to slay and flee. At the same time, he gorged himself instinctively on the fear emanating from the female doctor, pulling it in, consuming it and feeling new strength pulse within his wiry, wounded form.
After what felt like an eternity in his mind, more words slipped from the assassin's broken lips.
"Make no attempts to flee, or to call for help. You will be dead long before they find you if you do," he whispered, the robotic module tinting his voice into a flat, matter-of-fact tone. With this said, Kol stepped back slowly before finally releasing the blade from her throat.
He continued to step backwards slowly toward the light switch, still facing her, and turned it back on. The Sith made sure to close his eyes for a moment beforehand so that the harsh illumination would not completely blind him. He reached out with the Force to ensure that self-proclaimed doctor would not try to use his momentary blindness to attempt an escape. After a few seconds, Kol opened his eyes once more and loped forward, past the woman and to the table where he visor was sitting.
Kol grasped the item and gazed down onto it's reflective surface once more, observing the mutilated appearance he presented. He had considered a different helmet at one point, one that revealed his tattered features; all the better to strike fear and disgust into those he fought, and feed upon it. But the mask worked best, the dull mirror sheen allowing his foes to see their own faces staring back at them as they were torn apart, piece by piece.
The assassin dragged his mind back to the present with some difficulty; perhaps the blood loss was causing his attention to fade in and out. Once more he jabbed a digit into the wound, the sharp sting focusing his mind once more. He moved his eyes to meet the doctor's, the pale grey orbs peering out from under the lank, greasy dark brown hair.
She stares, take her eyes, need quiet.
He did not like the way her green gaze struck him. His thin lips drew back over his teeth in a silent snarl on the left side of his face, while the teeth on the right side were already exposed through the large tear in the skin where his cheek should have been. Saliva slowly began to seep from the old, open injury, and the young Sith finally slipped the mask back into place.
Kol nearly sighed with relief as the darkness descended, his visor dimming the lightstrips to a more bearable quality and the sealed helm getting back to work draining the excess fluids from his mouth. He turned the featureless mask back towards the doctor, staring for a few seconds in silence.
"I have been shot," he explained bluntly, the helm doing nothing to tune out the whispery, robotic tone of his voice. "Solid slug weapon. I am confident the bullet went straight through. No major damage. Just... significant bleeding."
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
711 likes
addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Mar 15, 2024 14:11:39 GMT -5
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Jun 7, 2018 19:30:26 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Jun 7, 2018 19:30:26 GMT -5
The knife bit a little deeper, drops of blood beading there and slowly tracking down. Cristine held her breath, hoping stupidly that her murderer’s equipment was at least clean. It did not seem as if she’d live long enough to worry about infection or any nasty coating on the blade.
Just as suddenly, she was free. Or some semblance of it – the knife gone, the restraining grip lifted. She stumbled forward and braced herself on the counter, blinking as the lights came back up. Cris stole a glance. Her would-be killer was surprisingly slight, not at all the impression she’d had a moment ago. Dirty hair, lined face, and hollow-eyes; he could have been anywhere between fifteen and forty.
His disfigurements drew the eye, of course. It was hard to turn Cristine’s stomach and, indeed, this did not. But why had he forgone medical care for that wound? His equipment looked bespoke, without insignia and expensive. That took lack of access out of the equation …
Abruptly, he jammed a dirty finger into his own open wound. Cris stared in horrified bafflement for a moment, then turned her attention back to the room. Confident in her domain, she set out plastic wrapped equipment on a tray and furiously washed her hands.
”Do you want to bleed to death? Collapse a lung? Don’t do that again.”
Putting the mask back on must have meant something. Embarrassment, maybe. Humanization. That was hope, and she clung to it desperately.
”Significant bleeding is major damage.” Her hand hovered uncertainly over the equipment she’d set out. Scanner, medical stunner, cleansing wash, hand tractor. Occlusive dressing coated in a sticky mix of kolto and petroleum jelly.
”Anesthesia?” She asked, doubtful.
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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Jun 14, 2018 10:17:03 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Jun 14, 2018 10:17:03 GMT -5
Kol was quite taken aback by the doctor's sharply worded orders, though his mask hid that fact from view. That she would think to do so when he could clearly and easily take her life indicated a tougher will than he expected. Or perhaps her dedication to her craft outweighed her fear.
It also felt strange to be chastised without the addition of physical and mental pain to drive the point home. It was a novel experience.
"Then you and I differ on our concepts of major damage, doctor," he responded. It was next to impossible to be sure, due to the voice modulator, but there could possibly have been a hint of grim amusement in his voice as he spoke.
When the doctor offered the anesthesia, Kol narrowed his eyes at her from behind his mask. Is this an attempt to drug me? To disable me chemically so that she can summon help? The young Sith felt the urge to reach out with the Force, rip into the woman's mind to seek the answers... but he resisted. There were some trained in the Force who could perform such an act with scalpel-like precision, so expertly that the recipient would not even know they had done so. He was not one of those people. The blunt force he would apply could possibly damage her mind, and he still needed her assistance.
Instead, he simply said, "No, doctor. No drugs. It is only pain."
Kol eyed the various pieces of medical equipment set out before them warily. He knew only a little about medicine and the art of healing; just enough to crudely patch himself back up to a fighting state. Some of the implements looked distinctly weapon-like. The Sith said nothing but felt his body begin internally coiling, sending the Force out to sense any possible malicious intent and ready to snap into action the moment he felt something was amiss, as he awaited further instruction from the doctor.
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Neology
Damsel out of Distress
1,489 posts
711 likes
addicted to bad ideas and all the beauty in this world
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last online Mar 15, 2024 14:11:39 GMT -5
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Jun 20, 2018 17:45:01 GMT -5
Post by Neology on Jun 20, 2018 17:45:01 GMT -5
”Yeah, well, you said it yourself. One of us is a doctor. The other is … Whatever you are.” Thug. Assassin, maybe. Something right out of a bad dream or a big-budget summer movie. Cristine set the medical stunner aside and took up the diagnostic scanner. ”I know who I’d want patching me up, at any rate. Hold still.”
She focused on the readout screen, businesslike. Something scrambling and desperate in the back of her mind was still searching for a way out of this, but she was strangely certain a charming bedside manner wouldn’t do. There was no way to tell how he’d jump, feral as a barn cat. Patience was the only thing.
The scanner revealed no fragments life-threatening enough to demand surgery. Good for her conscience, that. She simply wouldn’t perform surgery on an awake and ornery patient without at least someone to hold them down. Cold antiseptic rinse next, one side and then the other, running red and then only pink tinged.
”No more poking at it, I’m serious.” With the hand tractor aligned, Cristine used it to apply a row of sutures swiftly and neatly, though with somewhat less care than working by hand. It could hardly be worse than what the man seemed willing to do to himself. Finally, she smoothed on the dressing and taped the edges.
Finished, Cristine stepped back. The pleasant clarity that she felt while working on a patient ebbed, letting fatigue and uncertainty back in. She stared at the man’s blank visor, unreadable. In every story – in real life too sometimes – you were supposed to fight in situations like these. As if futile courage could make you a better person.
It all seemed so pointless, from where Cris was standing.
”What now?”
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last online Nov 19, 2022 17:21:47 GMT -5
Knight
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Jun 23, 2018 7:24:05 GMT -5
Post by Blue on Jun 23, 2018 7:24:05 GMT -5
Kol permitted the doctor to touch and prod at him with her medical equipment in silence, sizing up his wound for treatment. The Sith remained alert for any hint of attack or subterfuge in her manner and mind, though what he mostly tasted from her was fear. But that could easily be a cover, a shroud to hide her intent; he knew that trick all too well.
As the doctor started getting to work sealing up his injury, Kol took the sensation in continued silence, feeding off of his own pain as he felt the flesh become bound by the stitching until eventually she was done. A quick job, and a neat one. An efficient woman of her craft.
When the doctor asked him what happened now, Kol rolled his shoulder experimentally, noting the slight tug where his wound was stitched before turning his gaze onto her, the blank visor revealing nothing of the assassin's intent or emotions. After a long, loaded pause, he said one thing in his whispery, mechanical voice:
"Nothing."
Unseen, the Sith assassin reached out with the Force, delving into the doctor's frightened mind with his power. Thoughts bubbled up within her.
"You saw what you thought was a shadow moving. But there was nothing here; just a mess left behind by one of your colleagues. You are a proud physician and cannot allow such disregard for hygiene to stand in your workplace. You will clean up, ensure that all surfaces are sterilized for tomorrow. Then you will go to your bed and rest without dreams."
As the message was lodged within her mind, Kol vanished. He exited the facility silently, turning his thoughts to his next move. He had to return to his masters and report his success, be assigned some new task, gain more strength, climb higher.
As the wound throbbed, Kol was glad; the pain he suffered this day had been a good lesson.
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