What's in a Family?

MIKE and VDM

Once the automatic doors swished open, the sterile environment of the medical wing hit Ezra's nose like a solid smack. 

A short hallway shaped like a cross stretched out before the pair of Jedi, with two modest recovery wards on either side, and a central room used for evaluation and operations at its end. 

Taking a deep breath, and risking a glance back at his master, Ezra steeled his nerves before bracing for the inevitable. 

Here goes nothing.

Forcing himself to push into the next room, the teen's tentative blue eyes scanned his new surroundings.  

The working space inside was small, yet practical.  A few, sparse cabinets and drawers adorned the white walls, while the ever present smell of antiseptic hung in the air.  An examination table hovered innocently in the middle, while a micro-lab station laid at its side. Anchored to it, a FX-7 medical droid hummed idly in standby mode. 

"Greetings. You must be designations Spectre-6 and Spectre-1 of subunit Ghost. Commander Sato has informed me to expect you."

A second droid, what Ezra recognized as a 2-1B medical droid, came to acknowledge them at the entrance. 

"I am 2-1B unit, MIKE. Please, right this way."  The humanoid droid mundanely continued, making a sweeping motion to invite them inside.

"VMD, initiate patient preparation protocols ."

Immediately, lights around the tall, cylindrical FX-7 unit's head lit up. Two, long robotic arms protruded from the symmetrical body, and the mechanical being went to work. It produced a medical datapad, before handing it over. 

"Before addressing the nature of the problem, I'd like you to answer a few basic questions." MIKE informed, accepting the device.  

Ezra grit his teeth and hoisted himself up on the dreaded, examination table. Taking this moment to allow his body to rest and dangle his legs over the side, he held his pounding head in his hands. 

"Why do I feel so out of breath? That trip through the ship shouldn't have exhausted me this bad...I c-can't focus..."

"First, please state your age."

Ezra frowned, reaching up to rub at the sore spot around his throat. "What's that got to do with anything?" He croaked.

"Our database aboard this vessel is incomplete. And given that you are indeed a minor, a legal guardian must be pre--"

Ezra abruptly bristled before the droid could finish.

"What?! I've spent years on my own, no way I need--"

"Easy. It's just following its programming." Kanan swiftly intervened, grounding him with a firm squeeze to his shoulder.  His green gaze casually met the awaiting medical droid. 

"You can put either myself, or Captain Hera Syndulla down for his medical file. We're his commanding officers. As for age, he just turned 15 a few months ago." 

"That is acceptable." The 2-1B droid responded, inserting the new information. "Thank you for clearing that up. You'll find that I've sent the consent forms via electronically to your ship's computer. Now then, please state the nature of the problem."

Ezra grumbled something, but if the droid had heard it, it didn't appear to. In fact, MIKE somehow appeared oblivious towards his attitude all together. 

No emotions chip perhaps...? 

"It started with a sore throat." He reluctantly admitted. "But now my nose is all stuffed up, and I feel kinda achy."