Star Wars: Scars

Part 1 - 4

90 stayed a few more hours at the Complex after Haze's story and went over more training techniques with Haze. He let the older man check his leg as well and Haze said it was healing well and so long as he kept it clean and bandaged it should be fine.

Eventually, the two had to part ways, though as 90 was due for dinner in the mess hall, so he headed back to meet up with the rest of his batch and his Sergeant. He arrived early and found the medbay deserted as usual. With only training going on, only a few cases came in each day it seemed and so it was mostly empty half the time.

90 headed to the front entrance, using that time to wring out as much water as he could from his uniform. It hadn't dawned on him until then that someone might ask what he'd been doing in the rain, and for a moment he panicked, but he quickly made up a story before he reached the front.

The Sergeant had said they'd pick him up on their way to the mess hall since they needed to travel as a unit to avoid losing anyone. It was a dumb rule in 90's opinion, but he wasn't the one making the rules so he just went with it.

A few minutes later they all showed up and the Sergeant waved him over. He gave 90 a curious glance, his eyes seeming to rest on the boy's wet uniform but 90 just slipped to the back of the group as was his custom and said nothing. He felt 17 shoulder him, though, and glanced over at him.

"You're all wet. What's with that?"

90 shot him an annoyed look as they started walking again, this time towards the mess hall. "I got the doors mixed up and ended up outside," 90 lied. It wasn't necessarily a good lie, but it was the best he could come up with on short notice. Thankfully, 17 bought it and left him alone for the remainder of their walk to the mess hall.

When they arrived, 90 shuffled to the back of the line as they changed to single file to get their food and he moved slowly, picking up his tray and hardly glancing at the food put on his plate. Half of it was just the jumbled up contents of various ration packs anyway.

When they'd sat down, 90 listened absently to the chatter about training, trying to pick up anything useful, but it was all pretty much just gossip and jokes. 17 elbowed him, though, looking over as he pushed away his empty tray. 90 pushed away his half-empty tray and looked up at 17.

"Yeah?" he asked.

"How was working in the medbay?" 17 asked, seeming genuinely curious.

90 shrugged. He knew 17 didn't mean any harm by the questions, but he couldn't help but feel embarrassed to talk about his punishment rather than his training.

"It was fine. Nothing hard," he said.

"Was it boring?" 17 asked sympathetically.

90 just nodded and looked around. He caught the Sergeant's eye and quickly looked back down, resisting the urge to crawl under the table and hide from the cruel man's gaze.

"Why does he hate me so much?" 90 whispered to 17, looking up at him. He needed an answer. He didn't want to be hated for the rest of his childhood by his own Sergeant.

"I don't know. I think it's because you're just different. You're not a puffed up ball of ego and muscle like everyone else. That's good by the way," 17 said.

90 sighed. "Yeah..." he muttered. Sometimes he wished he was just like the others just so he could at least get on the Sergeant's good side, but he knew it was wrong to wish that. It wasn't like his wish would come true anyway.

"Oh well, I like you the way you are. Screw the Sergeant, we just have to make it out alive," 17 said with a grin.

Mustering a thin smile for 17, 90 nodded and looked up when he saw the Sergeant move over to them, standing stiffly at the end of the table. Suddenly everything became silent. All the chatter stopped as every cadet in the group turned to look at the Sergeant.