#gurlpilot

@gurlpilot

The light danced back and forth across the woman’s vision, her pupils dancing to the rhythm of miosis and mydriasis. There was a mechanical click as the handheld ophthalmoscope was shut off, allowing the dulled hues of the medical bay’s lightning to dominate the otherwise bland Imperial interior. 

Dallows nodded at her patient, who despite wearing the guise of a human being, was anything but. “That concludes my examination.” She said, removing her examination gloves with a satisfying snap of butyl-rubber. “Your vitals are nominal, and it seems your implants are operating well within acceptable limits, only exhibiting minimal deviance.”

Nine standard months ago, she hadn’t even known what a Gurlanin was, now, she was fast becoming The Empire’s reigning authority on Gurlaninian anatomy. They were a remarkable species. Unlike the humans they attempted to emulate, their polymorphic physiology gifted them with a resilience that made them uniquely suited to extensive biomechanical augmentation, their reclusive and secretive culture was for the most part isolationist, which left many individuals vulnerable to subjugation and subsequently indoctrination.

She wasn’t sure who had issued the orders to integrate Sh’lari as a latecomer into Phase Zero of the Dark Trooper program, it was shadowy at best, and she didn’t even know if her commanding officer was aware of her pursuits in this particular endeavour. But nevertheless the results of her efforts were something truly special.

“How are you feeling?” Dallows asked. “You’ve undertaken an intensive program of cybernetic enhancement over an accelerated timeframe... Perhaps one that might’ve even proved fatal to a lesser individual. I would expect you to be able report at least one negative symptom. Any involuntary muscle contractions? Headaches, seizures, loss of balance, smell, or short-term memory?”  

That isn’t why I wanted to talk to you, the Mandalorian almost says aloud, but there is something in her gesture-- something in the way she stands unmoving, in the conviction of her words-- that almost makes him dizzy.

Mand’alor, she says.

Whenever you call, she promises.

And the Mandalorian doesn’t know what to do with that. Nor does he know what he did to deserve her loyalty, not when they’d only communicated with each other in passing since the first time he’d come here with the kid in tow.

Still, for all that he feels a significant amount of imposter syndrome, in the end the Mandalorian nods his head. And, his own arm mimicking hers, he says, “And I will do all I can to protect you, your Clan, and our people. This is the Way.”

It feels binding. Eternal in a way that the Mandalorian doesn’t know how to cope with. He still doesn’t feel much like a Mand’alor, but this... certainly comes close to what he thinks it should be.

“I didn’t know you were taught of the Werda’kad,” he says once the position is broken, his visor meeting Sh’lari’s gaze as he speaks. “Or its power.

He had been told that military leave was relaxing, but Niner didn’t find that to be the case. Instead, he felt trapped, restless, and most of all, guilty. Every moment he spent sitting on his ass, soldiers died. Memories of a fellow comrade fallen, gasping and crying out for his brothers before disappearing under a storm of blaster fire stirred the anxiety swelling up in his chest. He needed some fresh air.

It was a cold evening for a walk, but Niner didn't mind. It kept his mind awake. It had been drilled into him at such a young age that anyone could be an enemy, even though he was dressed in his civvie clothes. Especially since he was in his civvie clothes.

He drank in the city surroundings. A pair of twi’leks smoking a cigarra- the flickering lights of a bar sign closed hours ago- muffled music coming from one of the resident apartments. He almost found it beautiful in a strange and urban kind of way. He took a deep breath and exhaled a cloud.

MANDO ARMOR WOES!

based on this ooc post by @gurlpilot

Come into my inbox and roast my muse.

“A apprentice! Not to be a father!”