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Description

“That’s right, cyar’ika, cough it up, all of it. Breathe.”

    It was the same clear voice that had issued the orders with militant urgency, but it had softened in a way that sounded reminiscent of a mother from one of the holo-vids he’d seen a lifetime ago attempting to soothe a frightened child. Overwhelmed by disgust and immense shame for his vulnerability, he feebly attempted to push himself into a sitting position but throbbing hands pleaded against it.

    From what he could feel his more pressing wounds had been seen to, sutured up in numb, orderly rows, all but the burns, which were likely the reasons he required a bacta tank session to begin with. For the most part they had scabbed over, and as the coldness of the bacta warmed away he could feel the terrible stinging sensation swiftly returning to them, eliciting an involuntary groan from his aching throat. His faceless rescuer gently eased him into a sitting position with his back against the tank for support. Despite the new position the frontal burns continued their merciless ascent to a maddening degree. His breath hitched as they achieved a new level of un-kriffin’-bearable and he instinctively grasped her hand.

    “Easy, just breathe, alright? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

       He squinted bleary-eyed at the source of the voice. He could discern something familiar about her appearance but couldn’t place it. She was Pantoran, a stout woman with indigo skin and dark hair pulled back in a severe bun with a few free-spirited locks hanging about her ears. Intricate tattoos adorned her round face, giving her modest beauty an exotic flair. But it was her eyes that mattered the most in that moment, the kindness in them. She had good eyes.

“Wh…ere am I?” he breathed.

  “A Republic ship receiving treatment,” she replied, “Your ID chip is gone but your DNA says you’re a clone. Do you know how you got here?”

He hadn’t the foggiest.

“No.”

“How about your unit? What do you remember?”

      Suppressed memories of captivity returned with a vengeance – violation, shame, rage and guilt – all of it. He could feel his grasp on consciousness slipping again but he refused to yield this time, for at that moment a second hazy figure materialized beside them. He barely had to squint to recognize that unmistakable silhouette. His eyes widened in utter terror at something just past the woman’s face. A single word was all he could muster.

                  “Everything.”
=====
(continued, to be continued)

Alas, more angst. Hope to start posting more regularly again, more comics definitely.
Well, back to work...

Inspirational songs for this pic:
"Remember Everything" by Five Finger Death Punch
www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-C9SO…
"Love the way you lie" by Skylar Grey
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGVGov…
"I'm with you" (male cover) by Avril Lavigne
www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7IMIk…

OCs created by ZetsubouZed, please don't use without permission, giving credit, and linking back, thanks!
Star Wars (c) George Lucas, Disney, etc.

Description

“That’s right, cyar’ika, cough it up, all of it. Breathe.”

    It was the same clear voice that had issued the orders with militant urgency, but it had softened in a way that sounded reminiscent of a mother from one of the holo-vids he’d seen a lifetime ago attempting to soothe a frightened child. Overwhelmed by disgust and immense shame for his vulnerability, he feebly attempted to push himself into a sitting position but throbbing hands pleaded against it.

    From what he could feel his more pressing wounds had been seen to, sutured up in numb, orderly rows, all but the burns, which were likely the reasons he required a bacta tank session to begin with. For the most part they had scabbed over, and as the coldness of the bacta warmed away he could feel the terrible stinging sensation swiftly returning to them, eliciting an involuntary groan from his aching throat. His faceless rescuer gently eased him into a sitting position with his back against the tank for support. Despite the new position the frontal burns continued their merciless ascent to a maddening degree. His breath hitched as they achieved a new level of un-kriffin’-bearable and he instinctively grasped her hand.

    “Easy, just breathe, alright? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

       He squinted bleary-eyed at the source of the voice. He could discern something familiar about her appearance but couldn’t place it. She was Pantoran, a stout woman with indigo skin and dark hair pulled back in a severe bun with a few free-spirited locks hanging about her ears. Intricate tattoos adorned her round face, giving her modest beauty an exotic flair. But it was her eyes that mattered the most in that moment, the kindness in them. She had good eyes.

“Wh…ere am I?” he breathed.

  “A Republic ship receiving treatment,” she replied, “Your ID chip is gone but your DNA says you’re a clone. Do you know how you got here?”

He hadn’t the foggiest.

“No.”

“How about your unit? What do you remember?”

      Suppressed memories of captivity returned with a vengeance – violation, shame, rage and guilt – all of it. He could feel his grasp on consciousness slipping again but he refused to yield this time, for at that moment a second hazy figure materialized beside them. He barely had to squint to recognize that unmistakable silhouette. His eyes widened in utter terror at something just past the woman’s face. A single word was all he could muster.

                  “Everything.”
=====
(continued, to be continued)

Alas, more angst. Hope to start posting more regularly again, more comics definitely.
Well, back to work...

Inspirational songs for this pic:
"Remember Everything" by Five Finger Death Punch
www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-C9SO…
"Love the way you lie" by Skylar Grey
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGVGov…
"I'm with you" (male cover) by Avril Lavigne
www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7IMIk…

OCs created by ZetsubouZed, please don't use without permission, giving credit, and linking back, thanks!
Star Wars (c) George Lucas, Disney, etc.