09-28-2017, 06:54 PM
He woke up in a bright, white room.
For a brief moment – in that dumbounded haze that exists between REM sleep and being awake – he thought that he was back home. Then his vision cleared and his nose alerted him to the fact that his current quarters smelled faintly of too much bleach.
That fact, couple with the lack of posters detailing penises or the digestive system, made it clear to Seventeen that he was in a military hospital or clinic. If this were a pedestrian clinic, there would have to be some sort of plastic model of an organ system somewhere. The cyborg was certain a law existed that enforced such things.
“Heaven doesn’t smell like ammonia,” the raven-haired man groaned as he rolled onto his side and glanced at the white brick wall. Bare. Completely barren. “The South City Clinic had these great signs warning against drinking too much.”
Someone who loved booze, Seventeen was happy he was blessed with a cybernetically augmented liver. Even better, he’d been physically dead for most of the last five years, which only made the boozing more carefree. Who cared about trivial stuff when your body would never fail you? On Sundays, he and Minoshia used to kill kegs of vodka by the time they finished their eighteen holes.
From the other side of the room, Seventeen heard the pneumatic whoosh as a door slid open. Heavy soles hit the tiled floor as rhythmic claps until a uniformed woman was staring at the man. The machine-hybrid gave her a weak smile and gestured to the IV in his left arm. “You here to give me the goods, Nurse? I’ve always been partial to opiates.”
The woman scowled—her entire face seeming to twist up in disdain as she glanced at a clipboard in her hand. “Doctor.” She replied sternly. “And you already know that there is nothing but saline solution in that IV drip. Your unique biochemistry renders traditional painkillers mostly moot.”
“Yea, but the wires can get all fritzy… it’s a bitch of a thing, Nurse,” Seventeen shot back as he blinked a few times and sat up from the barely cushioned cot. “Where am I at? Coruscant General? Shiny City Memorial?”
The Doctor Nurse continued to wear that face-scrunching scowl. From her nametag and the insignia on her shoulders, the cybernetic warrior could identify her as Major Everett, but for the moment, he’d keep playing with the buttons tilled he found the one that worked. If anyone gave him flak, he could just blame it on the brain trauma. He probably had endured a solid three concussions amidst all that mouth-punching and gut-kicking.
“This is Military Medical Station One.”
“Very original.”
“Since you are upright and lucid, I am discharging you immediately, Mr. Seventeen.”
The cyborg hid a smirk as the woman scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Just like that? Did you dirty business and decided to throw me out to the streets? You at least giving me taxi fare?”
Major Everett tore off a slip of paper and pushed it into the cyborg’s gown-covered chest. “You’ll find new issue fatigues and armor down the hallway. You are you CO’s business now. Good day.”
The woman was gone in a heartbeat, leaving the raven-haired fighter to chuckle as he watched her depart with rapid, thunder-like claps of her boots on the floor. The departure was more pleasant than the conversation that preceded it.
Ah well, I’m still spoken for. Seventeen swung his legs over the side of the cot. But maybe the good Nurse would prefer hot coffee with someone more along the lines of Trixie’s description?
“No, wait… the blonde.”
The man’s head was jumbled up something fierce, but the little patches of gray were starting to clear.
His boots were somewhere, so when Seventeen slipped off the cot, he landed on cold, naked feet. In a weird way, the sensation was pleasant, because it was a reminder that he was conscious and cognizant of the world around him. Given the nature of time in the Omniverse, he would have to talk to someone to know how long he’d been unconscious. Common sense made it only feel like a few hours—the marks on his sides indicated some extensive triage to repair lacerations.
But in this place? Who the fuck knows.
He would have to find Trixie. Hopefully, the sullen redheaded soldier would be somewhere nearby. If she wasn’t, the cyborg would have to exchange some unpleasant words with the Nurse’s superior.
Before he could find Beatrix Zulenka, Seventeen was ushered into a supply depot. He was issued some standard fatigues and a set of blue-tinted armor devoid of any rank or unit insignias. What the man at the requisition desk told him was that they didn’t issue any personalized attire. That stuff would have to wait until he returned to his unit or shuffled elsewhere in ‘the service.’
“Do you know where I can find Staff Sergeant Zulenka?” Seventeen asked, hoping the man behind the desk would be a little more helpful than the Good Nurse.
“That’s the redhead?” The quartermaster asked before waiting for a nod of confirmation. “She stops by for a few hours a day. I would try the office on the third floor. They’ve had her working on some accounts the last few weeks.”
“Thank you,” Seventeen said before snapping off a salute (you know, just in case the bored-looking man was technically his superior).
Without waiting for a response, the cyborg had spun around and made for the elevator. In his head, the reality was uncomfortable.
Weeks. Fucking weeks. Green dude put me in a coma for weeks.
“Not just the green dude,” Seventeen corrected himself. “Didn’t help tussling with that colossus.”
Although he wanted to mull over things in his head more, Seventeen made his way to where Beatrix Zulenka was supposed to be working today. He found her seated behind a desk staring intently at a sea of numbers. When the shadow fell over her face, her features initially twisted into ire, but upon seeing her visitor, they quickly softened. She stood up, and although it seemed like she was initially going in for a hug, she seemed to catch herself and extend a hand.
“Hello, Staff Sergeant,” Seventeen spoke in his fakest, proudest soldier voice as he shook her hand.
Beatrix shook her head and gestured with her other hand to her shoulder plates. “Sergeant First Class Zulenka now,” she muttered with something that didn’t seem like absolute enthusiasm.
“Congra—”
“Glad to see you’re awake, Staff Sergeant Seventeen,” she replied with a smug grin on her face.
Seventeen’s smile dropped. “Well fuck,” he muttered before they both started to laugh.
For a brief moment – in that dumbounded haze that exists between REM sleep and being awake – he thought that he was back home. Then his vision cleared and his nose alerted him to the fact that his current quarters smelled faintly of too much bleach.
That fact, couple with the lack of posters detailing penises or the digestive system, made it clear to Seventeen that he was in a military hospital or clinic. If this were a pedestrian clinic, there would have to be some sort of plastic model of an organ system somewhere. The cyborg was certain a law existed that enforced such things.
“Heaven doesn’t smell like ammonia,” the raven-haired man groaned as he rolled onto his side and glanced at the white brick wall. Bare. Completely barren. “The South City Clinic had these great signs warning against drinking too much.”
Someone who loved booze, Seventeen was happy he was blessed with a cybernetically augmented liver. Even better, he’d been physically dead for most of the last five years, which only made the boozing more carefree. Who cared about trivial stuff when your body would never fail you? On Sundays, he and Minoshia used to kill kegs of vodka by the time they finished their eighteen holes.
From the other side of the room, Seventeen heard the pneumatic whoosh as a door slid open. Heavy soles hit the tiled floor as rhythmic claps until a uniformed woman was staring at the man. The machine-hybrid gave her a weak smile and gestured to the IV in his left arm. “You here to give me the goods, Nurse? I’ve always been partial to opiates.”
The woman scowled—her entire face seeming to twist up in disdain as she glanced at a clipboard in her hand. “Doctor.” She replied sternly. “And you already know that there is nothing but saline solution in that IV drip. Your unique biochemistry renders traditional painkillers mostly moot.”
“Yea, but the wires can get all fritzy… it’s a bitch of a thing, Nurse,” Seventeen shot back as he blinked a few times and sat up from the barely cushioned cot. “Where am I at? Coruscant General? Shiny City Memorial?”
The Doctor Nurse continued to wear that face-scrunching scowl. From her nametag and the insignia on her shoulders, the cybernetic warrior could identify her as Major Everett, but for the moment, he’d keep playing with the buttons tilled he found the one that worked. If anyone gave him flak, he could just blame it on the brain trauma. He probably had endured a solid three concussions amidst all that mouth-punching and gut-kicking.
“This is Military Medical Station One.”
“Very original.”
“Since you are upright and lucid, I am discharging you immediately, Mr. Seventeen.”
The cyborg hid a smirk as the woman scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Just like that? Did you dirty business and decided to throw me out to the streets? You at least giving me taxi fare?”
Major Everett tore off a slip of paper and pushed it into the cyborg’s gown-covered chest. “You’ll find new issue fatigues and armor down the hallway. You are you CO’s business now. Good day.”
The woman was gone in a heartbeat, leaving the raven-haired fighter to chuckle as he watched her depart with rapid, thunder-like claps of her boots on the floor. The departure was more pleasant than the conversation that preceded it.
Ah well, I’m still spoken for. Seventeen swung his legs over the side of the cot. But maybe the good Nurse would prefer hot coffee with someone more along the lines of Trixie’s description?
“No, wait… the blonde.”
The man’s head was jumbled up something fierce, but the little patches of gray were starting to clear.
His boots were somewhere, so when Seventeen slipped off the cot, he landed on cold, naked feet. In a weird way, the sensation was pleasant, because it was a reminder that he was conscious and cognizant of the world around him. Given the nature of time in the Omniverse, he would have to talk to someone to know how long he’d been unconscious. Common sense made it only feel like a few hours—the marks on his sides indicated some extensive triage to repair lacerations.
But in this place? Who the fuck knows.
He would have to find Trixie. Hopefully, the sullen redheaded soldier would be somewhere nearby. If she wasn’t, the cyborg would have to exchange some unpleasant words with the Nurse’s superior.
Before he could find Beatrix Zulenka, Seventeen was ushered into a supply depot. He was issued some standard fatigues and a set of blue-tinted armor devoid of any rank or unit insignias. What the man at the requisition desk told him was that they didn’t issue any personalized attire. That stuff would have to wait until he returned to his unit or shuffled elsewhere in ‘the service.’
“Do you know where I can find Staff Sergeant Zulenka?” Seventeen asked, hoping the man behind the desk would be a little more helpful than the Good Nurse.
“That’s the redhead?” The quartermaster asked before waiting for a nod of confirmation. “She stops by for a few hours a day. I would try the office on the third floor. They’ve had her working on some accounts the last few weeks.”
“Thank you,” Seventeen said before snapping off a salute (you know, just in case the bored-looking man was technically his superior).
Without waiting for a response, the cyborg had spun around and made for the elevator. In his head, the reality was uncomfortable.
Weeks. Fucking weeks. Green dude put me in a coma for weeks.
“Not just the green dude,” Seventeen corrected himself. “Didn’t help tussling with that colossus.”
Although he wanted to mull over things in his head more, Seventeen made his way to where Beatrix Zulenka was supposed to be working today. He found her seated behind a desk staring intently at a sea of numbers. When the shadow fell over her face, her features initially twisted into ire, but upon seeing her visitor, they quickly softened. She stood up, and although it seemed like she was initially going in for a hug, she seemed to catch herself and extend a hand.
“Hello, Staff Sergeant,” Seventeen spoke in his fakest, proudest soldier voice as he shook her hand.
Beatrix shook her head and gestured with her other hand to her shoulder plates. “Sergeant First Class Zulenka now,” she muttered with something that didn’t seem like absolute enthusiasm.
“Congra—”
“Glad to see you’re awake, Staff Sergeant Seventeen,” she replied with a smug grin on her face.
Seventeen’s smile dropped. “Well fuck,” he muttered before they both started to laugh.
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)