A Seam Within the Galaxy • Kylo Ren

Ch.2

Over the course of a week, I had become so well aware of the medical wing and it's staff that I could easily trade in my title, and stitch up the wounded until I die of old age. I found that the more I helped out, the better I felt; better toward mending the wounded they were sending back dozens of times each day. The pain in my leg subsided, but the limp remained whenever I tested out walking on it. As for my ribcage, I had fractured two of them, nearly splitting a third in half. The pulsating ache coming from within struck me with nausea if I twiddled my thumbs for too long, so I made the most of my time helping where I was able to. It was that, or succumb to the imminent madness all of this pain will surely drive me to. I was puzzled by the fact that a Major training officer couldn't get her hands on some decent numbing medication, I made a mental note to push onward with this the next time I came in contact with the Chief of Staff.

After a few days of bed rest in the med wing, I was cleared to give walking a go as long as I had a cane nearby, and took breaks after standing on my feet "for no longer than thirty minutes" as Dr. Hamilton, Chief of Surgery, had mentioned. Most of the time I do right by him, sitting down and giving my leg a rest as instructed.

I find myself getting so wrapped up with the wounded, I don't know how these doctors and nurses do it. Although they have the help of several droids, BB-units, as well as 2-1B surgical droids, everyone around me seemed to scramble at the amount of work there was to be done.

It was vastly difficult to stitch these troopers up, or try to cover gashes in hopes to halt the bleeding as they often cried out in pain. It was even more difficult when I came into contact with the students that had trained beneath me; I got to help some, and others I got to see flatline before my very eyes. Many came in with limbs hanging on by a few ligaments, similar to rubber bands stretching out beyond their capacity. Some were even brought in missing multiple limbs, making miraculous recoveries. I wondered how awful they felt, wondering if they would still have a purpose, or some way to serve the First Order. I somewhat felt the same way, wondering what good I could do with a permanent limp and fractured ribs. As much as I worried about this, it also lit a fire under my ass to work as diligently as possible to put off any further thinking toward it, although it was not an easy task.

I also felt disdain toward those who were subjects in stories told amongst medical staff and other troopers, speaking of those who retreated in fear. Those who were not strong enough to die for this cause; people who were never meant to shoulder to shoulder in any fleet the First Order had rallied together. I had heard talk of storm troopers eliminating their own they found to be traderous, or cowardly. Some had even taken their own life in fear of being slain by the enemy; I couldn't even imagine feeling so gutless while serving under such a magnificent cause.

Observing death on the battlefield was one thing- it can be swift and just, like someone could never see coming. But what filled the medical wing was a different kind of pain that nobody had ever prepared me for. It was sickening, seeing hoards of young fighters of the first order come into the wing. These people were suffering, begging me to put them out of their misery. There were so many of us occupying the Death Star, and yet, it never felt like we had enough medical staff to tend to these brave troopers.

Seeing students I had known for years come in to what seemed to be endlessly was taking a toll on me. I could not bear the thought of meandering around the ship, waiting for all of this to subside. If I wasn't able to fight, or teach, I felt utterly useless. On the other hand, lending a hand to medical was breaking my heart. This was a different pain that I wasn't used to yet, and I had only been helping out for a week.

I slumped down on a bench in the hallway on one side of the med wing, regulating my breathing as well as I could. I had been helping out for around two hours; I genuinely had forgotten about giving myself breaks in between throwing stitches, packing wounds, and taking account of which of my students were dead, recovering, or had not been returned to the Death Star.