Arieg
DEFCON Everybody Dies
17th of September, YE34
There had been blood, and a lot of pain, but she'd slept through most of it.
Now, sitting upright against a metal headboard in sickbay, Four Six could move the thin metal band around and around her neck freely. It wasn't exactly broken - just disconnected. She allowed herself to play with it in that manner, sliding it against her damaged skin, just long enough to be satisfied it could no longer do her any harm before she paid any attention to the people whose decision it had been to disconnect it.
It felt so weird. Somehow she'd desperately held onto the idea that somewhere in this metal collar, which had sapped her will and taken her life away, someone had hid her memories and her past and her self. And, maybe she had just lost her key to it.
"So now," she asked, unable to help her own fatalistic curiousity, "It's gone forever, isn't it. Or will I remember on my own?"
Keib was discarding the used surgical tools and the bloody latex gloves, his back was temporarily to the Helashio as he cleaned himself up. "I'm not sure. The memory wiping technology claims to be perfect. I know better: The brain is a resilient thing." He finished washing his hands and wiped them on a hand towel nearby. "Greg, get her some clothing, please."
He knew the Higher Ups and the Matriarchy would have his head if they'd gotten any word of this. To some, this was heretical, and it could've been construed as was alienating a God given right. What was a God to a non-believer, though?
Four curled her tail around her abdomen, and tried not to move her head too sharply when she looked at Keib. White eyes, white skin, short white hair slicked back with some sort of gel and slightly mussed from the pillow, glistening like snow in the bright medical flood lights. A white helashio in white sheets with a pained and slightly worried expression.
The mad scientist knelt in close towards Four Six. That was all they had given him for a name. She might've had an entire past and fourty years behind her, but now all she had was the present. "I can't make any guarantees about your memories. They might come back, they might not. All that matters now is that you're free. You've got every right to be angered." Keib's interest in Nepleslian culture had always rubbed off offensively towards the rigid Lorath castes and religion.
The Helashio smoothed the thin, bristly fur on her tail as she considered Keib in the light. Half his face seemed shadowed, but Four reasoned that it was a decent enough face, overall. "What now?"
"You're on the Black Sheep of the Matriarchy." He stated plainly, "You're on my ship and as far as I'm concerned, you can make yourself at home, or even pick up a gun. That's probably the only thing they left you with." Greg had returned with a standard LSDF uniform. Keib looked it up and down and realised that it was a little too big for her. As far as Helashio went, this one was actually kind of short. But there was no mistaking the musculature of a soldier, or the scars that near faded into her pale complexion. Even for a manual labour slave, this one was a cut above the norm. Definitely a soldier. Maybe, before, even a free one.
The biggest tipoff was the gunshot wound in her gut, like another belly button, fresh and wicked-looking. Someone really hadn't liked this one.
"Your choice."
Greg gave a mumble towards Four Six. The bleary eyed, orange haired, gender-neutral and perpetually mumbly Helashio, dressed in that labcoat, singlet and underpants also had a cup of tea in his hands. He put it on the operating side table, within reach of Four. "Thank you Greg," Keib filled in for it.
"Thank you, Greg," Four echoed, automatically taking the tea and curling her legs in, eying the labcoat, and gradually working her way up to Greg's barren neckline. No collar. No scars. No nothing. Vaguely, Four touched the stitches on the back of her neck beneath the flexible metal, still freshly sewn, and winced.
"It's been bugging me," Four admitted, as a growing feeling of dread began to creep its way into her consciousness. She'd done something wrong already, she somehow felt, something intrinsically and utterly wrong, but she had no idea exactly what it was. "Why you did this. I mean..."
Keib looked away for a moment and sighed, "Something in your file seemed off. Nobody just transfers a lone Helashio. They usually come in, ugh, packs." Unfortunately, the man was guilty of using Helashio, just like most other Lorath, but he made an effort to treat them as equals rather than subservient. Maybe this alone eased his guilty conscience on those sleepless nights, "Point is, free."
He then stood up and took off the surgical apron that he'd been wearing and discarded it in a waste basket. He gave Greg a nod and his assistant fell in line behind him.
Four Six wanted to ask more questions. A lot more questions. She rubbed at an exposed ear, trying to warm her brain some - which was, of course, utterly ridiculous. But she didn't know what else to do about it, and she was suddenly feeling desperate. The warning bells were jangling, but she pressed on anyway. "Wait. Please. Uh, you have to know something. Where did I transfer from?"
Keib was about to leave when he paused, mid step. This was the Higher Up's way of saying 'screw you' to the radical. Omission. But, the brain was a resilient thing: "The file didn't say, but I ran a test on the file when I had a spare moment, and found a digital fingerprint belonging to someone who has it in for me. Captain Her'vak Hunter New Tur'Lista." His grey matter was shining, "I was able to deduce that you came, most likely, from LSDF Ar'esr."
The name struck a chord; she tried to keep it off her face but couldn't. And she strained, strained hard, to try and remember something, anything about the name. But it was hopeless, and she was helpless. With hands almost like claws, she pulled the uniform off the sideboard and into her lap, and fingered the material, and the tab where the little rank epaulette would go, if she had been given one. Soldier, she knew. Fodder.
"I couldn't find anything else. I'm sorry." He said, his tone was laced with regret. He was capable of some amazing leaps of logic when the chips were down, but there were simply some mysteries he couldn't solve, even after he'd forsaken his native religion and dogma to find the truth he was comfortable with. No rank, no previous history, nothing.
"I know him," Four said, with certainty so terrible it almost frightened her, "But I don't know how. I just..."
She pulled the uniform to her chest and shut her mouth. It seemed, suddenly, like the right thing to do. That's right. Think before you speak, and here she was spouting off to someone she had never met just because he'd done her a kindness. "I don't know."
Keib remained in quiet concern. His hand was on the door, but he couldn't will himself to push through. He'd always searched for his own explanations. He'd always found an answer in the end.
What kept him awake at night wasn't what he did or how he treated people, but the things he couldn't properly answer. They were the things that he feared. When a question raises all of the possibilities with no solid leads, it'd only boggle him with the unknown and infinite possibilities. Infinite worlds, infinite resources, infinite terrors.
He just looked down at his shoes and left the room with his concerned assistant in tow.
And he left that one little Helashio to deal with it all, herself.
There had been blood, and a lot of pain, but she'd slept through most of it.
Now, sitting upright against a metal headboard in sickbay, Four Six could move the thin metal band around and around her neck freely. It wasn't exactly broken - just disconnected. She allowed herself to play with it in that manner, sliding it against her damaged skin, just long enough to be satisfied it could no longer do her any harm before she paid any attention to the people whose decision it had been to disconnect it.
It felt so weird. Somehow she'd desperately held onto the idea that somewhere in this metal collar, which had sapped her will and taken her life away, someone had hid her memories and her past and her self. And, maybe she had just lost her key to it.
"So now," she asked, unable to help her own fatalistic curiousity, "It's gone forever, isn't it. Or will I remember on my own?"
Keib was discarding the used surgical tools and the bloody latex gloves, his back was temporarily to the Helashio as he cleaned himself up. "I'm not sure. The memory wiping technology claims to be perfect. I know better: The brain is a resilient thing." He finished washing his hands and wiped them on a hand towel nearby. "Greg, get her some clothing, please."
He knew the Higher Ups and the Matriarchy would have his head if they'd gotten any word of this. To some, this was heretical, and it could've been construed as was alienating a God given right. What was a God to a non-believer, though?
Four curled her tail around her abdomen, and tried not to move her head too sharply when she looked at Keib. White eyes, white skin, short white hair slicked back with some sort of gel and slightly mussed from the pillow, glistening like snow in the bright medical flood lights. A white helashio in white sheets with a pained and slightly worried expression.
The mad scientist knelt in close towards Four Six. That was all they had given him for a name. She might've had an entire past and fourty years behind her, but now all she had was the present. "I can't make any guarantees about your memories. They might come back, they might not. All that matters now is that you're free. You've got every right to be angered." Keib's interest in Nepleslian culture had always rubbed off offensively towards the rigid Lorath castes and religion.
The Helashio smoothed the thin, bristly fur on her tail as she considered Keib in the light. Half his face seemed shadowed, but Four reasoned that it was a decent enough face, overall. "What now?"
"You're on the Black Sheep of the Matriarchy." He stated plainly, "You're on my ship and as far as I'm concerned, you can make yourself at home, or even pick up a gun. That's probably the only thing they left you with." Greg had returned with a standard LSDF uniform. Keib looked it up and down and realised that it was a little too big for her. As far as Helashio went, this one was actually kind of short. But there was no mistaking the musculature of a soldier, or the scars that near faded into her pale complexion. Even for a manual labour slave, this one was a cut above the norm. Definitely a soldier. Maybe, before, even a free one.
The biggest tipoff was the gunshot wound in her gut, like another belly button, fresh and wicked-looking. Someone really hadn't liked this one.
"Your choice."
Greg gave a mumble towards Four Six. The bleary eyed, orange haired, gender-neutral and perpetually mumbly Helashio, dressed in that labcoat, singlet and underpants also had a cup of tea in his hands. He put it on the operating side table, within reach of Four. "Thank you Greg," Keib filled in for it.
"Thank you, Greg," Four echoed, automatically taking the tea and curling her legs in, eying the labcoat, and gradually working her way up to Greg's barren neckline. No collar. No scars. No nothing. Vaguely, Four touched the stitches on the back of her neck beneath the flexible metal, still freshly sewn, and winced.
"It's been bugging me," Four admitted, as a growing feeling of dread began to creep its way into her consciousness. She'd done something wrong already, she somehow felt, something intrinsically and utterly wrong, but she had no idea exactly what it was. "Why you did this. I mean..."
Keib looked away for a moment and sighed, "Something in your file seemed off. Nobody just transfers a lone Helashio. They usually come in, ugh, packs." Unfortunately, the man was guilty of using Helashio, just like most other Lorath, but he made an effort to treat them as equals rather than subservient. Maybe this alone eased his guilty conscience on those sleepless nights, "Point is, free."
He then stood up and took off the surgical apron that he'd been wearing and discarded it in a waste basket. He gave Greg a nod and his assistant fell in line behind him.
Four Six wanted to ask more questions. A lot more questions. She rubbed at an exposed ear, trying to warm her brain some - which was, of course, utterly ridiculous. But she didn't know what else to do about it, and she was suddenly feeling desperate. The warning bells were jangling, but she pressed on anyway. "Wait. Please. Uh, you have to know something. Where did I transfer from?"
Keib was about to leave when he paused, mid step. This was the Higher Up's way of saying 'screw you' to the radical. Omission. But, the brain was a resilient thing: "The file didn't say, but I ran a test on the file when I had a spare moment, and found a digital fingerprint belonging to someone who has it in for me. Captain Her'vak Hunter New Tur'Lista." His grey matter was shining, "I was able to deduce that you came, most likely, from LSDF Ar'esr."
The name struck a chord; she tried to keep it off her face but couldn't. And she strained, strained hard, to try and remember something, anything about the name. But it was hopeless, and she was helpless. With hands almost like claws, she pulled the uniform off the sideboard and into her lap, and fingered the material, and the tab where the little rank epaulette would go, if she had been given one. Soldier, she knew. Fodder.
"I couldn't find anything else. I'm sorry." He said, his tone was laced with regret. He was capable of some amazing leaps of logic when the chips were down, but there were simply some mysteries he couldn't solve, even after he'd forsaken his native religion and dogma to find the truth he was comfortable with. No rank, no previous history, nothing.
"I know him," Four said, with certainty so terrible it almost frightened her, "But I don't know how. I just..."
She pulled the uniform to her chest and shut her mouth. It seemed, suddenly, like the right thing to do. That's right. Think before you speak, and here she was spouting off to someone she had never met just because he'd done her a kindness. "I don't know."
Keib remained in quiet concern. His hand was on the door, but he couldn't will himself to push through. He'd always searched for his own explanations. He'd always found an answer in the end.
What kept him awake at night wasn't what he did or how he treated people, but the things he couldn't properly answer. They were the things that he feared. When a question raises all of the possibilities with no solid leads, it'd only boggle him with the unknown and infinite possibilities. Infinite worlds, infinite resources, infinite terrors.
He just looked down at his shoes and left the room with his concerned assistant in tow.
And he left that one little Helashio to deal with it all, herself.
