THE RECRUIT

WESK: Risk

Classified Imperial Base
Admiral Rampart Office
Daro
LST: 10:45:10 // DAY: 18
Taipan

"I knew the reports were too good to be true," Rampart says clasping his hands behind his back.

He steps around his desk and squares his shoulders to Taipan. He lifts her chin with a code cylinder from his uniform pocket. His eyes look over her face in admonished disgust.

She twists her head away and bites the code cylinder out of his hand. She makes a rumbling in the back of her throat clamping her jaw together. The metal squishes between her molars and it snaps. She lets it fall to the floor in halves glaring up at the Admiral.

He blinks a flash of surprise crossing his features before his uninterested expression returns.

"Your soldier etiquette still needs work," he says walking back around his desk. "I also can't help noticing your report on Fire Hazard Procedures."

"Is there a problem, sir," Taipan says trying to keep from growling her words.

"No problem, TK-Seven-Sixty. Just wanted to give praise for excellent work. If only the clones were as keen on their attention to detail."

"Thank you, Admiral," Taipan says forcing down a smile. If only he knew. It was Hardcopy's file she just dumbed down the wording to make it sound like an illiterate gladiator was writing the report. Rampart's up to something though. Hoping to stay off his radar, she adds, "Soon, I'm sure, the clones will be one less problem for you to worry about."

"Sooner than you think, Sergeant. On another note, I have things to attend to off world but I will be back to oversee your next treatment to make sure things are going accordingly." He presses a button on the holoprojector and nods. "Three days from now. You are dismissed, trooper."

Taipan clenches her jaw. This is not good.

"You are dismissed," he says firmly, leaning forward.

"Yes, sir," Taipan says, not bothering to keep the venom out of her voice. She salutes and exits the office pulling on her helmet.

Classified Imperial Base
Armory
Daro
LST: 18:17:07 // DAY: 18
RC-5570

After spending hours tossing and turning in his bunk without much rest, Mech heads to the Imperial Base armory.

Walking past the rows of weapons and trooper lockers he stops at the one labeled IC-5570. He opens his locker and notices a picture on the door that wasn't there before. A red Zabrak stares at him through the photograph. Her arms crossed over a chainmail shirt. Her black tattoos are just visible behind the little links of metal. Her hands and forearms are wrapped in dark strips of cloth. The white shoulder plate strapped and the sigil in view. Her accusatory eyes are almost hypnotic.

Mech carefully plucks the picture off the door and flips it over. Written on the back in aurebesh it reads:

Hey Vod,
Thought your locker could use a little company.
Wink. Wink.
—Sparkstick
P.S. Hardcopy helped me pull this from the mugshot records.
P.P.S. Tapcaf suggested it.

Mech smirks shaking his head. I'm gonna kill 'em one day. He looks at the photo one more time before folding it and tucking it behind his chest plate.

He pulls out the toolkit from the locker and shuts the door.

He sits down on a bench and starts scrubbing at his torso armor with a hard wire brush. He slathers on a glob of liquid plastiod composite pressing it into the scuff marks and puncture holes in the plating. He grumbles under his breath as he scrapes off the access and buffs it out.