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Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

[Ehfva Feynri | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy] @Eden  @Dumedion

The fighting had been over for nearly an hour.

The corridors of deck six were muted now in the way only aftermath ever was—too quiet, systems humming where weapons had roared, the air still thick with the acrid tang of burned conduits and coppery blood. Ehfva moved through it slowly, her steps measured, deliberate, as if forcing her body to remember restraint.

The Savi’s work clung to her in muscle and bone, trapping her between states that refused to settle. Patches of coarse timber wolf fur bristled along her arms and spine, breaking through torn sections of what was left of her uniform, while exposed humanoid skin pulled painfully tight elsewhere. Her jaw remained elongated just enough to bare fangs when she breathed too hard, her voice a garbled, fractured thing whenever she tried to speak. Neither fully Vulpinian nor Vulcine. Neither truly feral nor fully humanoid.

Her body ached with every movement, the pain constant but oddly… manageable. Familiar, even. Combat had done that. The violence—brutal, necessary, unrelenting—had forced her fractured physiology into alignment through sheer demand. Old instincts, drilled into her during the Vulpinian civil war, had overridden the fog the Savi had left in her mind.

For the first time since the experiments , she could think clearly. Though, that clarity came at a cost.

Romulan blood stained her hands, dark and tacky now where it had dried into the creases of her claws and the fur along her forearms. More flecked her muzzle and jawline despite her attempts to clean herself afterward. She could still taste it—metallic and sharp—lingering at the back of her throat. She had killed at close range. Too close. Close enough to feel bone give and bodies go slack beneath her weight. She did not dwell on it.

An Andorian voice echoed faintly behind her from an intersection she’d already passed—orders being issued, damage assessments underway. Security had things well in hand now. Boarders accounted for. Survivors beamed off. The ship bruised but breathing.

She had been relieved of responsibility. That, more than the pain, had left her feeling unmoored. There were so many emotions she had yet to process, without the freedom to process them yet, and besides that, she had no place to BE here.

Ehfva flexed her claws reflexively, then forced them to retract as much as her unstable physiology allowed. Her discomfort remained, a constant grinding sensation beneath her skin, but it no longer threatened to overwhelm her. If anything, she felt present—as if part of her mind that had been muffled and distant since the Savi experiments had finally been dragged back into focus by necessity.

She turned toward Sickbay. Doctor Leux had been short on time before the battle, but she needed answers—needed to know if there was any way to bring her back into a single form. Or at least closer to one. Even a partial solution would be something.

Her gait remained uneven, her center of balance shifting unpredictably as she walked, but she adjusted without thinking. Adaptation was second nature.

By the time Sickbay doors slid open ahead of her, the smell of antiseptics and ozone bleeding into the corridor air, Ehfva had already pushed the blood, the violence, and the pain into their proper mental compartments.

Biobeds were occupied faster than they could be cleared. Medics moved with clipped urgency. The air felt heavy with pain. Doctor Leux was there. She saw him immediately—across the room, sleeves rolled, hands already deep in work she knew better than to interrupt. Whatever time she had hoped he might have for her… it was not now.

Ehfva paused only a moment. Then her gaze shifted. A female android stood near one of the diagnostic stations, cranial lens bright with layered readouts, arms moving with precise efficiency as she coordinated intake and prioritization. If there was judgment in her movements, it was purely clinical. Ehfva approached her instead.

“I have corpsman training,” she said, voice rough, distorted by the uneven structure of her throat and jaw. Words came out with a faint harmonic undertone—too many shapes trying to share the same space. “I can assist. Until this…” She gestured vaguely at the room. “…is less chaotic.”

The android's primary lens focused on her. For a fraction of a second, Ehfva wondered—not for the first time—what the android saw when she looked at her. Not revulsion. Not curiosity. Assessment.

“Training verified,” she replied calmly. “Physical limitations acknowledged. Assignment appropriate.” No hesitation. No pity. “Follow me.”

They moved to a biobed newly wheeled in from the hangar bay. The patient was a pilot—flight suit cut away, lower body immobilized in a temporary field. Even at a glance, Ehfva could see the damage. Crushed legs. Multiple fractures. Vascular trauma. Burns.

Can we fix that? she wondered. Really fix it.

Starfleet medicine was miraculous, yes—but piloting was unforgiving. Even the slightest permanent gait deviation, reduced proprioception, or residual pain could ground someone permanently.  She pushed the thought aside.

Her hands moved with practiced familiarity, activating the triage scanner, reviewing vitals, confirming stabilization protocols. She had done this before—on the Cayuga and before that the war and before that…it seemed she’d always been picking up some trade or another. The tools were always different. The principles were (typically) the same.

Ehfva hummed as she worked, calling on the therapeutic singing she’d used to calm and center Sasch in their prison cell. She doubted V-Nine or even Doctor Leux would concur with the reality she’d lived, that of healing found through communal singing. But that didn’t stop her from emitting the rhythmic beat from her chest, her strained vocal cords not able to push the soung further than this man’s biobed.

She was just finishing her assessment when the pilot stirred. A sharp intake of breath. Fingers twitching. His eyes opened. Ehfva froze for half a heartbeat. Then leaned into his field of view deliberately, refusing to retreat from the moment.

“You are safe,” she said quickly, gently, aware of how her voice fractured the words. “USS Theurgy. Sickbay. You were transferred from the hangar.”

His gaze locked on her face. On the fur that did not belong where it was. On the shape of her eyes. On the way her jaw did not quite move correctly when she spoke. The exposed fangs, and likely, the blood still caked on the bits of fur she had on her face and neck. She did not know how he would react. She had no control over that.

“I am assisting with triage,” she continued, steady despite the tension coiling in her chest. “Your injuries are being treated. Please remain still.”

She waited. Whatever came next—fear, confusion, silence—she would handle it. She always had

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #1 –
Lt. JG Callax Valin | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion
[Show/Hide]
Cal was on a cloud.

A grand white and puffy cumulus cloud that crawled across the Ardanan sky, cradling the city-dweller scion in its folds. The cloud was a pillow, condensed water vapor instead taking its proper form of eiderdown wrapped in spun cloud-silk. The fabric felt soft against the his bare skin, almost taking on an ethereal quality. He needed no clothes for he was alone up, the cloud providing both warmth and safety as he connected dots in the clear night sky. Constellations, different from those on Earth, drew themselves across his drifting mind.

The Seat of Winds. The Veiled Singer. Twin Kites.

What began as lines of light softened, unfolding into the forms they represented. They danced across the sky as if performers on a stage. His stage. This world was his. The planet. The stars. The cities with their lights twinkling in the twilight below. If he just closed his eyes he knew he could stay here forever. Never feel pain again. Never have to worry about loss or the tribulations of life.

It was time, he thought to himself, to let go. There was no shame in that, right? He had done good works. Saved people. Served a greater cause. Sure, there were people he would miss. Loved ones. Family. Shipmates. Would they begrudge him this one selfish act? His body was broken. His mind not much far behind. What would life be like if he lived? Would it be life or just a prolongment of death?

The cloud would provide. He would want for nothing and exist in a state of perpetual delight. It was said he could even come across the clouds of others, bearing souls of their own that had passed on.

Passed on.

The word promised a journey, not an end. An adventure. He liked adventure.

The Ardanan laid back on the cloud, stretching out and sinking deeper into the folds. In that moment he felt peace. Warmth. The sun that had begun to set now blazed above him, filling his vision. It was there to guide him. A comfort.

Cal closed his eyes. He was ready. Ready to move on for one final adventure...

FLASH.

The Ardanan instead opened his eyes to a blurry world. A world of shouting, sterile smells, and misery. His vision focused quickly, unfortunately focusing first upon nearest object in view. His pupils immediately dilated.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

Despite the creature's words, he did not remain still. Terror gripped Cal as he struggled to pull free and away from the monstrous being standing over him. He was restrained, trapped against a table where this travesty of life was no doubt about to conduct vile experiments upon him. Fight mode kicked in and he attempted to kick Frankenstein's monster in the face only to find his legs did not respond. Instead, he threw a punch, relieved to find one of his limbs still had motor function although the movement was sluggish and weak, as if a noodle moving through water.

"What did you do to me?!"

Again he struggled, unable to make it even a centimeter from where he lay. Immobilized. Damaged.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #2 –
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Eden
[Show/Hide]
Arven finished wrapping the thigh he'd just extracted a rather nasty bit of shrapnel from with an exhausted sigh, while he ignored the patient's groaning. Her name escaped him; the Doctor couldn’t really be bothered with it, anyway - yet she wore a single dull pip on a grime-caked golden collar and was rather striking, minus all the blood. Luex blinked at her, then realized she'd asked a question, and wasn’t sure how long he'd sat there looking at the curves of her snug uniform, either.

“Frightfully sorry. Come again?”

The ensign, with streaks of blood in her rats-nest of unkempt hair, grit her teeth as she tried to sit up. Admirably, she was successful, which prompted the Doctor to lean in from where he sat. In the chaos going on around them, he doubted whatever she desired to say could be heard by anyone other than them, but he played along out of bone tired weariness.

“I said, my ass still hurts – around the entrance – should I be worried?”

This bloody ship. Leux’ dark brows rose as he blinked again, slowly, then got to his feet with a grunt of effort. “Right, first: its an exit, not an entrance,” he answered the question in a tired monotone. “Turn the traffic around, see if that helps,” the Doctor added as he moved on to the next patient. Ensign butt-pain looked aghast and pissed off in equal measure, but Arven’s attention was already elsewhere.

“Doctor,” a nurse called out suddenly, just as Arven had started scanning the next biobed occupant. “Command is still waiting for updated casualty lists.”

“I'm busy,” Luex growled, prepping a hypo.

“Sir?”

“They can bloody well count themselves!” He barked, louder, then jabbed the hypo into the thigh meat of an unconscious Crewman, the majority of his face wrapped up in a patchwork of bloody bandages and synth-skin. Then he ran a hand over his face, marking the unfamiliar roughness of the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. Shut it – do your damned job, he scolded himself, then turned to the nurse with a sigh. “Give them the numbers we have, emphasize the fact that these are estimates. I'll update the figures when I can.”

A sudden ruckus across the ward, from near the entrance to the ICU, drew his attention and a frown. The scene wasn’t so out of place: a patient, mauled and bloody, was in the process of being tended to. However, (and Arven had to blink and shake his head at the sight of who was attending said patient) there was clearly something amiss. Questions sprang to his mind as the Doctor moved to intervene – which he promptly blurted out without filter or care - he simply couldn’t muster the energy to muzzle himself:

“Oi! Get back – walking wounded are getting seen outside at the aid station. How’d you get in here?” – was aimed at the Vulpinian.

“Oh do shut it - she didn’t do anything to you that I won’t make worse if you don’t calm down,” – was aimed at Mr. Mangled-Legs.

“Somebody get me the status on OR 2!” – was shouted at everyone after he glanced over the man’s injuries.

“Where’s your bloody chart,” – was aimed at no one, as Arven searched for a second, then discarded the attempt. “Hell with it,” he added, then snatched the tricorder from wolf-lady and looked it over.

“You stabilized him? Well, mostly,” Luex muttered, arching a brow at the drooling, blood-flecked visage of the Vulpinian. His tone changed then, only becoming slightly less ragged and slightly more clinical. “I’ll see to you once I get him sealed up. You look bloody awful.”

Duly ignoring both of their reactions, Arven proceeded to glove up – the man had third degree burns to his hands and arms that needed regeneration – something he could do while the OR was being prepped and sterilized.

A quick tap on the biobed shifted the neural block higher up along the patient’s body, to the base of his neck – rendering him effectively numb from the excruciating pain – before he started rummaging around under the bed with an incoherent grumble. A few seconds later, Arven’s head and shoulders popped up suddenly.

“Is there a tissue regenerator on your side? In the storage bin under the bed? I cant find anything over here,” he asked wolf-lady.

"OR 2 - two minutes," a nurse called out from down near the wreckage of reception and quarantine.

"Tell Vi I'm bumping this gent up the line," Arven shouted back over his shoulder, then popped the tendons in his neck with a grunt before returning his tired eyes to the task at hand. He poked around the ragged remains of the man's legs while he waited impatiently. "Fucking hell, mate. How'd you end up in such a state?"

He didnt even realize he'd just spoken aloud.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #3 –
[Ehfva Feynri | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | USS Theurgy] @Eden @Dumedion

“What the fuck are you?”

Of course.

From his perspective, he had awakened from paradise into a nightmare. From clouds into claws.

He thrashed, terror overwhelming pain, his body straining against restraints meant to protect him, not imprison him. When his legs failed to respond, the fear sharpened into something raw and animal. One arm flailed weakly, a punch thrown more in desperation than threat.

Ehfva stepped back at once.

The movement was careful and deliberate—slow enough not to provoke. She lifted her hands slightly, claws visible but spread, empty. Blood—Romulan blood, dried now—still stained her fur and skin despite her attempts to clean herself before entering Sickbay. She was acutely aware of it in that moment, a grotesque punctuation she could not erase.

Her voice, when she spoke, came out fractured and rough, dragged through a throat that could not decide what shape it wanted to be.

“Easy,” she said, each syllable distorted, threaded with a faint growl she could not fully suppress. She hated that. “You… are safe. Sickbay. USS Theurgy.”

His gaze fixed on her face—her wrong jaw, her fangs, the uneven symmetry of her eyes—and the terror spiked again.

She swallowed and forced herself to continue.

“I am… corpsman-trained. Volunteering.” A pause, then softer—not apologetic, but honest. “I know I look… alarming.”

Doctor Leux arrived like a storm front, his presence sharp and unmistakable even before his voice cut through the chaos. Ehfva did not bristle at his tone or his brusque assumption of control. If anything, relief loosened something tight in her chest.

Good. Someone else could take this now.

She relinquished the tricorder without protest as he took it from her, stepping aside immediately to give him space. She remained still while he assessed her work—head bowed slightly, posture controlled—accepting judgment without flinch.

“You stabilized him. Well—mostly.”

The words were not praise, but they were not condemnation either. She accepted them as they were.

When Leux told her he would see to her later, that she looked “bloody awful,” she inclined her head in acknowledgment. She had no energy left to argue, and no part of her disagreed.

As he turned back to the pilot—barking orders, shifting neural blocks, demanding equipment—Ehfva moved automatically to assist when asked. She retrieved supplies, checked bins, answered questions with clipped efficiency. She did not look at the pilot unless necessary. She did not want to see his fear reflected back at her.

Ehfva did not retreat.

Where another might have stepped back under the weight of scrutiny, she straightened instead, planting her boots more firmly against the deck as if the ship itself were demanding proof that she belonged.

She remained exactly where she was, blood—fresh and dried alike—streaked across her armor and skin. Romulan green stood out starkly against the dark fabric. It was not something she tried to hide. If anything, she carried it openly, a silent record of what she had already done to keep the ship standing.

Her gaze stayed level with Leux’s, steady and unflinching, the focus of a predator long after the hunt had ended.

“The blood isn’t mine,” she said calmly, as if delivering a clinical report rather than explaining the aftermath of violence. “It belongs to enemies who won’t be getting back up. Aside from the damage the Savi caused, I’m unharmed.” She gestured briefly to herself, then back to him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m volunteering to support until things stabilize. You can revisit my condition once you’re no longer carrying this situation alone.”

She stepped closer—not to crowd him, not to intimidate, but close enough to be useful—and pressed a compact tissue regenerator into his hand before he could ask. Almost immediately, a second device followed, placed with deliberate care, her timing precise.

“You’ll need this for his legs,” she added, already anticipating the need.

There was no bravado in her posture, and no apology either. Only resolve, sharpened by the violence she had already committed and survived.

She was not asking for trust. She was proving she was worth it by standing her ground.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #4 –
Lt. JG Callax Valin | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion
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Fear subsided quickly once the wolf monster introduced themselves, albeit just their training and credentials for taking care of him. It did not take long for Cal to take in his surroundings and conclude that he was 1) alive and 2) in sickbay on board the USS Theurgy. That conclusion was confirmed by the appearance of Arven who Cal recognized immediately. Even if Cal could not see, he would have known the doctor was there by their ever cheerful bedside manner.

That solved the question of whether he was in immediate danger. As far as safety, he was probably in the safest place he could be given his present condition. Speaking of his condition... it was only then that Cal began to take measure of his present condition.

It was bad.

He did not need to be a medical professional to determine that. Beyond his general dislike of sickbay, he was really beat up. Legs a mess, arm burned, miscellaneous other scrapes, cuts, and other breaks. All courtesy of that damned Romulan fighter, no doubt. They had scored one too many lucky hits on his Valkyrie which he was just remembering now was a flaming heap of metal.

And the others?

"What happened to the rest of my flight?"

The words were spoken with painful effort, as if his lungs could not carry enough air to form the words. He did not apologize for his previous outburst. He did not much care. If apologies needed to be made they would be made later if he managed to live to make them.

"What is our status?"

He coughed up blood as he spoke, directing the spray to his side away from the doctor.

Was the battle still underway? Had they won? Or was he looking at the remnants of a defeated crew?

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #5 –
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Ellen Fitz  @Eden
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All things considered, Arven had to admit that the situation could always have turned out worse. Still, he couldn’t help but groan then suck his teeth with an annoyed tsk after the patient spat a mouthful of blood all over the side of the biobed. Great. You know how many times has this thing been cleaned and sterilized, he grumbled silently while he procured a towel from under the bed to swipe the splatter of crimson fluid up, then mushed it up against the patient’s face.
 
“Wonderful. Open up,” Luex deadpanned before gripping the man’s jaw, while his other hand called up a detailed internal scan of his chest cavity. Seeing no lacerations to the tongue or obstructions, Arven’s eyes flicked to the scan imagery – and recognized the problem immediately. A quick glance at she-wolf preceded a curt gesture to the cabinets behind her as he talked. “Tension pneumothorax – third shelf up, white triangle, blue button in the middle. Slap it over the gap between his third and fourth rib,” Arven instructed as he typed away on the biobed’s control interface, then moved quickly to prep two hypos and jabbed them into the man’s neck.

He hadn’t had time or the inclination to engage with either of them directly, but he’d heard and saw their reactions. The patient seemed concerned for his people, which was admirable enough; the issue was, unfortunately for him, that the Doctor had no definitive answers to give – so he did what most people did: he bought himself time. “I’ll look into your people when I can,” the Doctor replied neutrally. “For now, it seems, we’re enjoying a bit of reprieve from hostilities. Best focus on yourself now.” He nodded then, then watched the patient’s vitals as his half-canine assistant activated the internal regulator to the pilots chest. “Vi, OR2 ready yet,” he turned and yelled, then placed a O2 mask over the pilot’s nose and mouth. “Deep breaths, take a nap. You'll be fine," he told the pilot dismissively - while the man's eyes rolled up into the back of his head.

Vi-Nine appeared in the Doctor's peripheral suddenly, occular lens blinking as she scanned the patient. She spoke in a tone of hurried tone of patient authority, like a parent reminding a child of chores that needed to be done before playtime. “Sterilization cycle completion in 70 seconds. We have an issue in cryogenics, however. A...ah, power issue – I've initiated emergency retro-suspension of one of the patients. You'll need to supervise his revival and follow up examinations while I," the droid bent over the wounded pilot and stoked his breather mask gently with a single silver finger, "take special care of this one."

Arven looked at her like the android had just spoken a string of incoherent nonsense, blinked, then cleared his throat. "Wait, what? In the middle of all this? Really?"

“Oh," the droid waved a hand as she stood again, "There appears to be a...creature…chewing up the conduits,” Vi-Nine clarified, then hefted one of her mechanical limbs, which morphed with a series of clicks and whirling servos into an active, blue flamed torch. “Some manner of mole-like specimen from one of the science labs, I believe. I can initiate termination protocols, if you require.”

Arven felt the blood drain from his face. “Absolutely not – stand down, right now,” he pointed at the wounded pilot. “You fix him,” then he gestured to himself and wolf-lady. “We’ll handle cryo.”

Vi-Nine seemed to sag a bit, then un-transformed her arm back to normal. “Very well.”

"First though," he addressed she-wolf, "go get cleaned up. CMO's office has a wash room, back that way. Meet me in cryo when you don't look like you just ate a Romulan." Arven wiped a hand across his face with an exhausted breath, then nodded to all of them. “Lets go, chron's ticking - Vi, what's the unit number in cryo?"

The android was already moving the biobed towards surgery, humming to herself. She turned her head all the way around to face Arven as she kept walking. "Hm? Oh," her occular lens flashed brightly and rapidly for a half a second. "Row D, Bravo-Four. Ferasan male - full details transmitted to your PADD," she waved, then disappeared into OR 2 with her ward. "Have fun - I know we will."

Another giant cat, how wonderful, Arven frowned with a grumble, then set off to cryo.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #6 –
[Lt (JG) XamotZark zh’Ptrell (Lt. Zark) | Somewhere in the vicinity of the USS Theurgy. Maybe Donatra's ship?] @Ellen Fitz @Eden @Dumedion

Her body hurt.  That was all she knew.  It was a strange distant sort of pain.  Something was blocking it.  Her mind worked with a sluggish slowness as she tried to analyze the effect.  Lights passed quickly the hallway.  Maybe Anestazine? Her mind tried to ponder.  She let out an involuntary moan as the pain bypassed the chemical signal block.  Her body wracked with an involuntary cough.  Why is my mouth wet?

Voices penetrated the haze and she looked up and saw a pair of unfamiliar faces.  I think they're worried.  Oh yeah. That's Helena.  She remembered as her head lolled.  The armored security woman wiped away the blue liquid. "Shit!  Hang in there Lieutenant!  We're going home!  You hang in there!"  The raven haired chief looked at a battered and bloodied Asian woman.  A battered human man joined them.  The man looked at her desperately as he grabbed her arm and examined the LCARS readout.  It's readings were fluctuating madly.  He looked up somewhere. "Lieutenant Madsen!  We're leaving! Lieutenant Zark is critical!"  He yelled with full authority far beyond whatever rank he was.

He's talking about me?  What about the Enyd?  The man looked to Chief Helena Prince.  "You stay with the Lieutenant." 

The Asian woman spoke up next without waiting. "Theurgy, emergency transport to sickbay, Lieutenant Zark is critically injured!"

There wasn't even an acknowledgement as the world shimmered out of existence then reappeared in a Starfleet sickbay.  Someone rushed over to her.  "I've got you Zark.  Focus on my voice!" He yelled. That's.....Brown. the Andorian thought as he quickly ran a tricorder over her prone form.  "Not good, we need to get her in to surgery.  But..."  Nurse Brown hesitated. "What?"  The man demanded sharply.  "I don't know how to remove the armour."  The nurse admitted as he tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.  "I can get her out, help me get her on the bio bed."  He can? That's nice. Wait, I'm on the deck.  Zark thought for just one moment before she let out a shriek of pure agony as she was roughly lifted off the deck and deposited on to the biobed.  The Andorian passed out before she hit the mattress and Chief Petty Officer Dominic Lau began to undo the critical bits of armour that would allow the medics to save her life.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #7 –
[ Lt.Thane Va’rek ] | Cryobay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Eden

(Warning for folks: May contain references of something akin to sleep paralysis. Cryo-Paralysis?)

Flashes of impulse, of emotion that wafted by his mind like a faint dream, almost like smoke carried across the wind. Raw, base emotions of rage, terror, sadness, and hope. His mind tried to latch onto these passing strands at first, but it was too weak. Then came the quiet feeling of a chill crawling through his body as his mind began to awaken from a frozen sleep. He was met with darkness for his eyes could not open, and his body would not respond. More raw emotions were picked up as he tried to focus on what was going on around him and not fall into the panic of being as far as he could feel, buried alive.

His mind latched onto those powerful emotions around him that echoed throughout the ship during the battle, trying to interpret what was going on around his frozen cell. As he did latch onto these emotions, he struggled to interpret them all beyond those base feelings. It's like moving through fog with earmuffs on while trying to listen for animals, and it felt like an eternity trying to navigate this fog. Over time, the fog began to turn into an ocean of despair and exhaustion, and Thane struggled to find his way through. Then the biting cold hit and the sound of something off in the distance. His body was starting to respond, and those minuscule moments of cold and noise were enough for him to latch hold of mentally and draw himself out of the well of emotion and back to the moment at hand.

"...gency thaw in progress... An alarm sounded distant to him as Thane's eyes began to open. Everything was blurry, his breath was cold, and a certain feeling of sickness welled up in his stomach. He was greeted by the interior view of the cryo chamber that was thoroughly fogged over. Thane's heart rate spiked as a sense of worry came over him as he tested his body to try and move. Nothing responded, not even his tail, and that had a mind of its own! His right arm began to respond with jerky movements and made impact with the glass cover. It was a chore to try to reach for the emergency release inside, and eventually he grabbed hold of it and yanked hard on it. With a sudden pop, the lid disengaged, and a thick, frozen fog began to waft out.

His frosted hand gripped the edge of the lid and with some serious struggle, began to pry the thing open like some kind of frosty monster. "Gonna be.. G-gonna be..sick..Need-Need out.." He stammered out from a mix of cold and raspy tones. The critter that chewed the lines had unfortunately triggered an emergency decant of the poor guy and he's probably going to need help.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #8 –
Lt. JG Callax Valin | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Krajin 
[Show/Hide]
Another wave of pain hit the injured pilot as nerve endings were healed and restored. He clenched his jaw, not wanting to give the others to satisfaction of hearing him shout in pain. He was far too proud for that.

Perhaps it was pride that did him in. The details of the battle were still fuzzy, returning only in fragments that had yet to fill in the entire puzzle. He could remember the disruptors, flashing green across his canopy as he maneuvered between explosions and debris.

He hoped that debris had not come from one of their own. Statistically he knew it was possible, even likely, but he did not want to stomach the thought of it now. The Wolves were a tight-knit pack. Few in number, each was known to Cal in a way far more personally than other members of the crew. Each and every single one would be missed -- a loss in their 'family' that could not be replaced.

Cal glanced around the room through pain-filled eyes. How many had made it? Sickbay was full of the wounded, uniforms indicating each of their departments. Of those in his own 'color', he could make out none. Was that good news or an ill omen?

The Ardanan settled back on the biobed, every slight movement creating waves of pain that threatened to knock him into unconsciousness again. He closed his eyes, the lights now causing his head to ache.

"Doctor," Cal managed to groan. What's up with the wolf-man lady?"

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #9 –
[ Ehfva Feynri | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Eden  @Dumedion  @Krajin  @RyeTanker

Ehfva didn’t bristle at Arven’s words. If anything, there was a flicker of dry acceptance in her eyes—humorless, exhausted, but not offended. She inclined her head once, a short bow of acknowledgment, tail giving a faint, weary swish behind her.

“I’ll… try,” she said quietly, voice roughened by pain and dried blood. “No promises.”

She turned when dismissed, padding away down the corridor toward the CMO’s washroom. Each step sent a reminder through her body that something fundamental was wrong—muscles lagging behind intent, nerves lighting too slowly, too brightly. The cleanup helped only in the most technical sense. The worst of the blood was gone. The chunks of Romulan flesh embedded beneath her half-clawed nails were carefully pried free and discarded. Her fur, once silver-white, now lay matted and dull despite her efforts, and the damage beneath her skin still twisted her posture into something that looked… wrong. Less horrific, perhaps. Marginally. But still unmistakably broken.

On her way back out, she slowed. A transporter shimmer resolved ahead—security, medics, panic—and a badly injured Andorian woman appeared on the deck in a flash of blue light and pain. Ehfva’s ears flattened instantly, body angling toward them on instinct alone. Someone was dying. She could *feel* it, a raw spike of agony and fear that tugged at her chest like a hook.

She took two steps forward—then stopped. A human male was already there, hands steady despite the chaos, voice cutting through the noise with purpose. He knew what he was doing. He was helping. For a heartbeat, Ehfva wrestled with the urge to insert herself anyway, to *do something*, anything—but the corridor behind her was filled with others just as broken, just as urgent.

She forced herself to turn away. Later, she told herself. If needed.

Cryogenics.

The air grew colder as she approached, the hum of systems layered with alarms and raised voices. She was just stepping into the periphery when she heard it—pain-strained, sharp with frustration and confusion.

“Doctor… what’s up with the wolf-man lady?”

Ehfva stopped. She turned slowly, meeting the pilot’s gaze. Whatever humor might once have lived in her expression was gone, replaced by a calm, steady stillness. She approached the biobed at an unhurried pace, clearly favoring one side.

“My name is Ehfva,” she said evenly. No bite. No anger. Just fact.

She rested one clawed hand lightly against the edge of the bed before continuing. “I was abducted by the Savi Scions. When they discovered I possess four distinct physiological forms—a natural Vulpinian bipedal form like this one, a fully feral form resembling a Terran timber wolf, and two Vulcine humanoid forms, male and female—they became… interested.”

Her ears flicked back briefly, a tell she didn’t quite suppress.

“They forced me to shift. Repeatedly. Faster and more frequently than my biology allows. They wished to understand how the changes occur at a molecular level.” Her jaw tightened. “They were not gentle.”

She paused then, eyes drifting—unintentionally—to his legs, the way his body held itself, the subtle cues of someone who knew exactly what he might have lost.

“The damage may be temporary,” she said after a moment. “Or permanent. I don’t yet know.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “If it is permanent… then I will live with pain. With being nothing and everything all at once.” She straightened, drawing herself back into professional stillness. “If you have further needs, I will stay,” she said calmly. “Otherwise, Doctor Leux may require my assistance in the cryo section.”

Her gaze lingered a moment longer—acknowledging, not pitying—before she waited for his answer.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #10 –
[LT Arven Leux | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @RyeTanker @Ellen Fitz  @Eden @Krajin
[Show/Hide]
As soon as the door opened to cryo, Arven caught sight of the situation unfolding back near the intersection of reception and the ward – another bad case, by the sound of it. He hesitated mid-stride, violet eyes narrowed in a wince. Shit. His head turned back to cryo and assessed the situation: the Ferasan had half-hauled himself up out of the freezer, against all odds, and seemed to be mid-battle with a hairball. Non-critical.

“Stay there, don’t move,” Leux pointed at him as he turned back at a brisk pace, at full stride, long limbs rocketing him back towards Vi-Nine, wolf-lady, and the semi-conscious pilot. Arven snapped his fingers as he passed, interrupting their conversation without slowing down. “Get to cryo – big black cat will need a trauma blanket to get his temp up and 5cc’s of Somnam. Keep him calm till I get back,” was directed at wolf-lady. “Vi, work fast this looks bad,” he added to the android.

"Oh dear," he heard Vi exhale in an insanely human expression of worry.

Once he was in the thick of it, Arven moved to join the others already working on the patient. “Talk to me,” he spoke aloud, already gloving up as sections of her armor were pulled away.

“Andorian zhen, ALOC, multiple disruptor wounds. BP seventy-three over twenty-nine – pulse, eight-two BPM and falling,” a dark-freckled man reported from the other side of the biobed near the patient’s head. Arven’s eyes flicked to him then to the digital display on the bed to confirm, then darted up to the unknown redshirt that was pulling her armor off – the inside of which was coated in various shades of bluish vitae. “02 levels in decline. She’s tanking,” the nurse, Brown, Arven remembered, finished.

“Save the commentary,” the Doctor assessed as he dug into the worst of the wounds: a charred and bloody mess of a hole almost directly centerline of the patient’s chest. “Start a recirc IV, max 02, 15 cc’s of Follitropin, stat. Get the replicator spinning up her blood type we’ll need it once we stop these bleeds,” he spoke quickly – already working to seal up the damaged arteries he could see. Two other nurses worked at similar wounds, at a thigh and shoulder, respectively.

Long seconds passed. Arven was aware the patient was speaking, or trying to – fading in and out of consciousness. He tuned it out; tuned out everything but what he needed to do to save her life. “Zark – come back. Somebody talk to her. Keep her awake.” They’d already lost so many. He had lost so many. If they could only get her stable enough, Vi could easily handle the cosmetics. He just had to focus and work fast.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it wasn’t long before they all heard the last thing anyone in sickbay wanted to hear: the shrill tone of a flatline. Arven swore louder than he meant to while his bloody fingers tapped across the control interface. “Prepping defib – Brown – on the breather,” he growled, pulling up a full haptic interface of the patient’s vascular network. The control chimed, and he ordered everyone clear.

Zap.

The tone continued.

“20cc’s durolophrine, stat,” Arven ordered, charging the defib again. Once it was primed and the drugs administered, he hit her again. “Come on, damn it.”

Zap.

The Andorian’s heart thumped a few times, the beat weak and irregular.

“Plasma and recyc IV’s are in,” someone called out. "Pulse and BP marginal."

It's a start.

Arven watched the holographic display as her heart fought on, weakly at first – but then stronger as the drugs flooded in. His eyes darted to her vitals, then back to the wounds. “Get these bleeds under control, now. You,” he lifted his chin at the unknown Chief, the one that had pried the armor off, “stand by on that console in case she crashes again. Do exactly what I say when I say it.” The Doctor didn’t care to make polite with people on the best of days. He’d lost enough patients already; he wasn’t in the mood to lose another. "Zark's not dying today," he spoke aloud - as much a promise to himself as it was to her.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #11 –
[Vigenary Model I-9 Surgical Android | Surgery Suite 02 | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Eden @Ellen Fitz @RyeTanker @Krajin
[Show/Hide]
In the privacy of the operating room, backlit with warm-toned lighting and the hum of the distant warp cores, she worked with urgent but methodical haste. The patient – Ardanan male, designation: Valin, Callax – had been prepped and positioned comfortably upon the operating table, suitably dressed in a surgical gown which allowed adequate access to treatment whilst maintaining an appropriate level of dignity within acceptable cultural respect for exposure. Such data varied from species to species, circumstance to circumstance, yet the attempt to ensure adherence to what might appear to be a ‘minor concern’ had been coded into her highest operating sub-routines; trust and respect were paramount – healing required a functional, mutually efficient co-operative relation between patient and practitioner.

Still, it was...enjoyable.

Vi-Nine turned her ocular lens down to the patient with a purred tilt of her head, followed by a slow nod of reassurance. Within her field of vision, white screeds of text flowed at the border of the visual feed: vital stats, cortical activity, atmospheric data – all fed directly into her primary processing matrix via high-rate proximity upload.

“I must say, you have the most beautifully unique neurological chemistry,” Vi confessed, tone and speech pattern accented with the emotional and physical equivalent of a woman speaking through a shy smile of honest appreciation. The back of her hand rested on the patient’s forehead in a gentle press, sensoria plates within scanning deep into the electric soup of biochemical signals within. She read a mixed emotional state there, clouded with an altered state of consciousness, all within acceptable parameters. “I encourage you to relax and trust in me to perform my function now, Mr. Valin. Nice, slow breaths – you will discover the atmospheric composition altered to that of your home world – a curtesy I hope you find... pleasurable.”

While she spoke, beyond the wounded pilot’s line of sight, Vi-Nine quietly deployed a multitude of mechanized surgical devices from the tips of her ceramite-sheathed fingers: various tendrils of black and white plated tools of her trade. Slowly, the bio-bed altered position, locking the patient in a spread-eagled position as various neuro-block shackles clicked into place at the biceps and thighs.

The surgeon emitted a soft sigh, vocalized as a purr of contentment at the pilot’s reaction. “Oh, there’s no reason to fret,” her lens blinked slowly, as his wounds were encased in a bio-synthetic mix of restorative jelly, cool to the touch. Vi-Nine initiated contact with his chest wound via a port interface, tissue regenerators and micro-vesicular replicators working in a blur of nano-scaled choreography to repair and reconstruct the wound with a hum of pleasure, while the fingers of her free hand stroked the pilot’s cheek tenderly. “This won’t take long at all, I promise.”

Slowly, the wound began to seal from within.

“Such a rarity, having a patient to talk to,” Vi-Nine giggled shyly. “Over 92 percent are unconscious or rendered so by necessity. I hope you agree with this vocal exchange of information? Perhaps…would you tell me a story? Something of your home world, or…yourself,” she whispered dreamily, curiosity at odds with the throaty huskiness of pleasure. “Data recollection of historically emotional significance is among the highest proven cognitive method of temporal disassociation among organics, after all,” the android added through a breathy exhalation, while her free hand lifted from the patient’s head with a hum of assurance.

While she waited for his response, that same hand deployed its own arrangement of tools as it moved across the pilot’s torso on its path south, then slipped into the bloodied mess of his left thigh to begin the restorative work therein without further preamble.
 
[…Meanwhile | LT Arven Leux | Outside Surgical Suite 01]
[Show/Hide]

In the moments of frantic but controlled activity that had followed Zark’s crash and subsequent revival, the team had managed to stabilize the zhen enough to move the patient. Arven’s sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, splattered with blue-black blood while he worked.

“Lets go, OR1 is primed,” someone called out as the door swished open.

“Move,” Leux nodded, then waved everyone not essential off. “Brown, with me.”

Together they slid the bed into position and locked the unconscious Andorian into place, then promptly began to suit up and scrub up for surgery. Arven spoke over his shoulder before the door closed, pausing to wipe the sweat from his stubbled face and chin on his sleeve.

“Have a space cleared in ICU – swap someone to one of the other vector’s bays if needed – full hookups, the works; and stand-by for code so don’t get busy,” he told them, then glanced at the other’s Zark had come in with. “Non-essentials clear the area, unless their useful,” he added with a nod to his staff just as the doors closed.

It would be some time later before the Doctor emerged; the exact duration of time proved elusive to Arven’s memory. Zark, whom he counted among the most capable and valued members of the ship’s dwindling medical personnel, would be interred into the ICU for the foreseeable future while her body healed in a medically induced coma; such was the gravity of her wounds and the necessary consequence thereof - its duration unknown. The next twenty-four hours would determine much, and require constant observation, but Arven stood by what he had declared earlier:

Zark didn’t die today, he sighed, washing the blood from his wrists. “Good work,” the Doctor nodded to the Nurse beside him, almost as an afterthought. Brown, for his part, visibly frowned at the comment due to its absolute rarity - after all, this was praise coming from a man who couldn't be bothered to remember the names of people he worked with on a daily basis.

The moment passed however, as Arven turned and left the suite without another word, bound for cryo, to see what he’d missed in his absence.

OOC - realized I left everyone in awkward postions, so I hope this is better. @RyeTanker as discussed, I leave the length of Zark's sleepy-time up to you. @Eden have fun lol

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #12 –
Lt. JG Callax Valin | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Krajin  @RyeTanker
[Show/Hide]
Cal just blinked.

He expected a name, not a full background history. Not that he was not interested in knowing. Quite the opposite. Alien menageries were popular for a reason. People, despite possible moral objections, were often drawn to the weird and abnormal. Cal was no exception. Whether it was chisme or a barely concealed secret, he wanted to know the details.

“They forced me to shift. Repeatedly. Faster and more frequently than my biology allows. They wished to understand how the changes occur at a molecular level.” Her jaw tightened. “They were not gentle.”

Before he could respond, she continued with an assessment of his legs.

“The damage may be temporary,” she said after a moment. “Or permanent. I don’t yet know.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “If it is permanent… then I will live with pain. With being nothing and everything all at once.” She straightened, drawing herself back into professional stillness. “If you have further needs, I will stay,” she said calmly. “Otherwise, Doctor Leux may require my assistance in the cryo section.”

Again, he was about to reply when a less friendly voice chimed in. A voice he recognized.

“Get to cryo – big black cat will need a trauma blanket to get his temp up and 5cc’s of Somnam. Keep him calm till I get back,” he said to the wolf-lady. “Vi, work fast this looks bad,” he added to the medical android.

"Oh dear," the android said.

Well that can't be good.

The organics moved off leaving him with the android.

“I must say, you have the most beautifully unique neurological chemistry,” Vi confessed. “I encourage you to relax and trust in me to perform my function now, Mr. Valin. Nice, slow breaths – you will discover the atmospheric composition altered to that of your home world – a curtesy I hope you find... pleasurable.”

Was the android flirting with him?

He knew there were androids with programming to do... that. Certainly in the red light districts of some seedier planets, but he did not expect it on a Starfleet vessel. Of course, his cognitive abilities were still impacted by the cocktail of sedatives in his system so maybe he was misreading the situation. If not... well, some robot 'parts' were better than their organic counterparts. Or so he's heard.

"Thank you?"

His hesitation was partially due to the sudden movement of the bio-bed forcing himself into a spread-eagle position. Yep, this is how those holovids usually began...

“Oh, there’s no reason to fret,” her lens blinked slowly, as his wounds were encased in a bio-synthetic mix of restorative jelly, cool to the touch. Vi-Nine initiated contact with his chest wound via a port interface. The fingers of her free hand stroked the pilot’s cheek tenderly. “This won’t take long at all, I promise.”

"If you say so..."

He was not yet convinced.

“Such a rarity, having a patient to talk to,” Vi-Nine giggled shyly. “Over 92 percent are unconscious or rendered so by necessity. I hope you agree with this vocal exchange of information? Perhaps…would you tell me a story? Something of your home world, or…yourself,” she whispered dreamily, curiosity at odds with the throaty huskiness of pleasure. “Data recollection of historically emotional significance is among the highest proven cognitive method of temporal disassociation among organics, after all,” the android added through a breathy exhalation, while her free hand lifted from the patient’s head with a hum of assurance.

Ah yes. Temporal disassociation is just what he needed.

"Was there some sort of obscure consent form I accidentally signed?" He managed to groan through gritted teeth. The pain was reduced but still present. Though he could not 'feel' it as much, his mind was still hyper aware of its presence.

He didn't want for an answer before continuing. If they wanted a story, he would give them a story. "Well, there was that one time I misjudged a threesome with an Andorian and a Risan on Risa. It turned out they were not looking to 'jump my bones', so to speak, but were actually interested in the balcony access my room provided to the adjacent suite. They were undercover law enforcement and rather than meeting my expectations, I instead returned to Ardana with an amusing story and a citation for excessive consumption of Romulan ale."

The android was right. Recalling memories of historically emotional significance did put him in a better mood and he smiled at the recollection.

"I still have never been with an Andorian. What about yourself? How is the android dating scene these days?"

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #13 –
[ Ehfva Feynri | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ]  @Eden  @Dumedion  @Krajin   @RyeTanker

The corridor outside Sickbay was only marginally quieter than the ward itself. The distant rhythm of biobeds, shouted orders, and the low hum of surgical fields bled through the open doors behind her as Ehfva moved toward the cryogenics section.

She had made it only a few steps before a familiar voice drifted from one of the surgical suites.

"…misjudged a threesome with an Andorian and a Risan on Risa…" Ehfva stopped. The story continued in a strained, half-groaned cadence that carried just enough clarity to be understood through the doorway. Sedatives had softened the edges of the words, but not the personality behind them.

She turned her head slightly, ears angling toward the sound without conscious instruction. An old habit. Her grandparents had called it the first gift — the body listening before the mind agreed to.

"…instead returned to Ardana with an amusing story and a citation for excessive consumption of Romulan ale."

For a moment she simply stood there. Then, despite everything — the deep ache that had settled into the long muscles of her legs after the battle, the lingering copper taste of recycled emergency air still coating the back of her throat, the particular exhaustion that came not from injury but from the ongoing tax of keeping herself from trying to shift and causing more pain for herself when every instinct underneath said shift, drop, go to ground — a small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of her muzzle.

Cute. Drug-fogged, half-disassembled by surgery, and the pilot was still trying to flirt with a medical android. Good.

That meant his mind was still reaching outward instead of folding inward on itself. She had seen both. Knew the difference between the two kinds of quiet. She had shared a bunk with soldiers the night before their deployment who told jokes until their voices went hoarse, and she had held soldiers in the dirt of Kyodai Obi who stared at nothing and made no sound at all. The ones who kept talking lived longer — not always in body, but in the parts that mattered most. No spiraling self-pity. No quiet resignation. Just humor and questionable judgment.

He would recover.

Keokuk would have laughed at that story. The thought arrived without warning, the way his memory sometimes did — not with grief's usual weight but with something more like the impression of warmth left on a surface after a hand had been withdrawn. He'd had a gift for finding the absurd in the most ill-timed places. He would have stored the pilot's Risan misadventure and reproduced it later, embellished, at the worst possible moment.

Ehfva allowed herself that small conclusion before turning away again. The moment passed as quickly as it had come. She was learning not to chase them.

She continued on towards cryo and noted how the air changed as she entered the cryo section. Colder. Sharper. The sterile bite of it registered first on the inside of her nose — different from the cold of Okashii Atama's asteroid mornings, different from the pressurized chill of battle-damaged corridors she'd moved through in her feral form during the civil war, belly low, breath controlled. This cold was manufactured. Maintained. It had no weather in it.

Emergency indicators blinked along one of the rows of pods, pale light reflecting off drifting vapor that curled slowly across the deck like something trying to decide which direction was down. And there. A Ferasan male had already forced his pod partially open, frost clinging to dark fur and bare skin alike. One arm gripped the edge of the chamber while his body fought the sluggish betrayal of muscles only beginning to remember warmth. Ehfva had watched a kit from her grandparents' colony fall through ice once on a frozen run — that same thrashing quality, that same body-wide confusion that predated coherent thought.

She closed the distance quickly.

"Easy."

She reached him just as his balance faltered, both hands coming up to steady him before gravity could finish the job. Her claws curled inward automatically, gripping fabric and the solid ridge of his shoulder rather than flesh — a precision that had taken years to develop. She guided him back against the rim of the cryo unit, taking the weight without comment.

Up close, she could feel the cold radiating off him in waves. Not just the ambient chill of the cryo pod but the deep cold carried in his skin itself, in the slow tissue of a body that had been suspended and was not yet certain it wanted to be otherwise.

"Don't fight it," she said, voice rough but steady. "Slow breaths."

Her grip shifted, firming as his body trembled with the violent shivers of reawakening metabolism. She had felt this before — not stasis-reawakening but a different version of the same betrayal, the body recalling itself after the mind had already moved on. It was not comfortable. It was not meant to be comfortable. But it ended.

"In — through your nose." She demonstrated, drawing a slow breath herself, filling her lungs with deliberate patience. "Out through the mouth. Again."

The fog of his breath thickened in the cold air. She kept one hand braced behind his shoulder blades, preventing him from collapsing forward, her other hand steady at his arm. She didn't speak to fill the silence. She had learned silence early, raised among elders who considered noise a form of waste, and she had relearned it later in the field, where silence was survival. She used it now as a tool — letting him hear his own breathing over her voice, letting his nervous system find its own rhythm rather than chase hers.

"You're safe," she continued, when the first sharp peak of disorientation seemed to crest. She lowered her voice into something calmer — something meant to anchor rather than command. "USS Theurgy. Cryogenics bay."

Her ears angled back briefly as a distant alarm chirped somewhere deeper in the medical deck, reflexive and involuntary, tracking the sound and categorizing it as non-immediate before her expression registered anything at all.

"We've recently come through a battle," she added evenly. "Which means things are loud at the moment." A pause — not uncertainty, but the deliberate spacing of information, the way her grandparents had once parceled out instruction to the kits: one thing at a time, until the thing was held. "But you're among professionals. You're not alone."

She did not know him. He did not know her. That was fine. She had sat with strangers in worse states than this on the dirt floors of captured outposts in Kyodai Obi. She had learned, through those years and the ones that followed, that it was not kinship that a person needed in those first disoriented moments after something terrible. It was simply presence. A body that was not a threat. A voice that was not asking anything.

"Your body just came out of stasis. It will feel wrong for a few minutes. That is normal. Take your time."

She held him steady through another shuddering breath cycle, watching his pupils — dilation, tracking, the slow return of voluntary focus — watching the posture of his shoulders, the changing quality of the tremors as they moved from the deep involuntary shaking of cold reawakening toward the finer, more manageable trembling of a body finding its edges again.

"Good," she murmured, when the breathing began to stabilize. "Just like that."

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #14 –
[ Lt.Thane Va’rek ] | Cryobay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Eden

The struggle was real as the body refused to work the way he knew it should. Muscles and nerves were not firing in what his mind demanded them to do, and what did fire, only fired in a very limited capacity. The strange humanoid assisted him as his limbs gave out beneath him. Her body was an amalgam of something and Human, an odd snout, and other bits. His cold ears twitched, and as she instructed him on breathing, Thane followed the instruction. In through his very, very cold nose and out through the mouth. It didn't come easy by any means, as his body trembled from the cold and his instinct to breathe rapidly to try and get warm air in.

Thane got a weird feeling in his mouth as he felt that urge to puke come, though nothing was coming up at that moment. "T-Theurgy.. Yes..T-Thane.. Va..Va.. Va'rek.. S-s-security.." He managed out between cold, trembling breaths and chattering teeth. His pupils were wide like full moons, his body still reacting to the weird flight response from being trapped in the cryo pod. Then came the issue of the injuries he had suffered when he had been placed in the pod in the first place. The plasma scorched cybernetic. His arm, while mostly functional, still bore the marks of a plasma discharge with melted Skyn and flesh, though it lacked the smell of such thankfully. With that came the burns on his shoulder, touching up near the neck and onto part of his torso like fingers reaching out for his heart. Most of which was covered by the burnt undershirt he had on. It honestly looked horrifying to those who had never seen what a partially degloved limb looked like.

His fleshy hand trembled as he tried to lift it and place it upon Ehfva's shoulder. The pain was starting to return, and while he couldn't make up his mind on what it was caused by, the man did not look at himself. He vaguely remembered what had happened and knew he was not to look at it, lest his brain suddenly remember and he go into shock. Instead, he stared at the nurse before him despite knowing that something was wrong with him, and it wasn't just the cold. "H-How long...?" He asked between shaky breaths.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #15 –
[Vigenary Model I-9 Surgical Android | Surgery Suite 02 | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] Attn: @Eden  @Ellen Fitz  @Krajin 

Organics never ceased to amaze; their durability, while no where near equal in terms of raw physicality, had always proved fascinating. Vi-Nine listened with a tilt of her head, the ocular lens focused on Valin's features – which had started with what appeared to be a mix of pain-induced anxiety – but softened into a nebulous mask of humor.

Fascinating, Vi nearly giggled.

There was no need to break ‘eye contact’ with him; the blurred movements of her right hand proceeded apace – guided by the intrinsically linked sensors of the surgical table uploaded directly into her internal feeds. These guided the microsurgical tools built into the tips of her fingers as they danced just within and around the pilots wound, literally weaving the flesh together with regrowth. While this primary function required a majority of her processing capability, the android activated a brief memory search sub-routine for sufficient data, and considered her response. Based on the sum of every encounter with organics thus far, she deduced (with a marginal rate of error) that the Lieutenant’s question had been intended as humorous, perhaps rhetorically flavored; .089 seconds later, Vi-Nine processed and initiated what she calculated as an optimal response.

“Oh my,” she tisked and waved a glowing fingertip at him, her voice modulated in mimicry of one speaking admonishingly through a smile, “overindulgence with a substance as potent as Romulan ale? Gracious, I hope you learned your lesson, Mr. Valin,” a slight pause, as her voice dropped to a conspicuous whisper, “although, I would have loved to have been tapped into that rooms surveillance sensors to watch that scenario play out,” a playful wink followed, before another blurt of mechanized giggles at the absurdity of his final question.

“Although I’d relish the opportunity, I fear I’d wear the poor things out,” Vi teased, then tilted her head a bit in consideration. “I have operated on several, does that count? Oh, they’re often quite regulars in here; especially Zark - have you met Zark? You’ll love her, everyone does,” Vi patted his bare chest with her free hand casually. “I’ll put in a word for you with her, don’t you worry.”

Vi’s sensor-fed visual display lit up with accelerated checkpoints as the biometric readouts from the table and her own internal arrays verified subnormal reconstruction completion approaching 80 percent, with the patients bone grafts and corresponding musculature repair proceeding likewise within acceptable parameters.

Vi-Nine blinked at him reassuringly. “Almost done. A few more minutes, then a quick tickle test, and you’ll be on your way to the ward,” again, she used the same smiling tone of voice, as she raised her left hand and transformed her fingers into a series of mechanical tendrils – three from each finger, writhing with miniscule flickers of electrical current.
 
[LT Arven Leux | en route to Cryobay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy]

He sprayed his hands with cleansing solution as he walked, pausing only to secure a few items from a nearby storage locker: heat pads, another foil blanket, and a fresh hypo. There wasn’t time to dwell on Zark; Arven trusted his people to get her where she needed to be and to do their jobs – they knew what to do.

Closing the locker, he allowed himself a second to run a hand over his face, trying to take a second to decompress. Things had gotten dicey; that was as close to losing someone as it got. A deep breath followed that admission.

Later, he told himself.

Compartmentalization took over; a mental coping mechanism that was as natural to him as cracking ones knuckles or a long stretch – Zark, and all the emotional baggage associated with those frantic moments that just transpired – was filed away into a box in his mind. One box among uncounted others, and all of them never, ever, touched each other - that was essential.

And it was just that easy; Arven’s mind cleared and focused on the next task at hand – he resumed his pace to cryo, the door opening with a spill of frigid air into the hall. Wasting no time, he draped the foil blanket over the patient, taking some of his weight from wolf-lady, and did a quick physical assessment.

“He’s going into shock,” Leux stated, “out into the hall,” he grunted. They needed to move him out of the freezing air. Cold wetness registered on his hand and arm, linked around the patients damp furry torso and limp arm. “Wounds are still open, dammit,” Arven grimaced; he’d never even completed surgery for why he’d been placed in stasis to begin with!

“Hypo,” Luex nodded to Ehfva once they got the patient into the hall and on a makeshift stretcher, then started stuffing the warming packs under the giant cat’s armpits and between his thighs. An audible hiss told him she’d used the hypo; he didn’t turn to meet her lupine eyes while he spoke. “We’ll have to seal these up as he comes to. Once Vi finishes he can go in for deeper work – stabilize and treat what we can for now.”

With deft movements, Leux tore the blanket back from the ravaged wounds to the patients arm and set about removing the melted uniform from flesh. If the Feresan had spoken, the Doctor hadn’t been paying much attention – he sounded like a sputtering digital record of ticking teeth and half-formed nonsensical words.

“Handle that burnt tissue on the head and neck,” Leux half asked, half stated, passing a dermal regenerator over to Ehfva with a glance down at the patient, just to verify his cognitive state. “Listen, just focus on breathing – you're coming out of months of cryostasis. If you need to throw up, tell us first,” he stated, then went back to work.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #16 –
Lt. JG Callax Valin | Main Sickbay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy] @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Krajin  @RyeTanker
[Show/Hide]
“Oh my... Overindulgence with a substance as potent as Romulan ale? Gracious, I hope you learned your lesson, Mr. Valin... although, I would have loved to have been tapped into that rooms surveillance sensors to watch that scenario play out."

He would have shrugged if he could. Instead, the best he could offer was what he hoped appeared to be a sassy-ish shifting of his head. "I just wish they did not confiscate the ale. I was only halfway finished with that bottle..."

The conversation continued onto the topic of Andorians and androids.

“Although I’d relish the opportunity, I fear I’d wear the poor things out,” the android teased. “I have operated on several, does that count? Oh, they’re often quite regulars in here; especially Zark - have you met Zark? You’ll love her, everyone does,” Vi patted his bare chest with her free hand casually. “I’ll put in a word for you with her, don’t you worry.”

Now he did his best to feign insult, looking as prideful as one could look given present circumstances. "Who says I need the help?"

Cal was grateful he could not feel whatever it was the android was doing to repair his body. Without an anesthetic, he would undoubtedly be in excruciating pain.

“Almost done. A few more minutes, then a quick tickle test, and you’ll be on your way to the ward.”

"I normally insist on dinner first before any tickle tests," he mused, coughing slightly from hoarse throat. His earlier outburst was rewarded with a dry mouth. "Hey... How long do you think I will be out of it? I am itching to get back into the action."

...and to his fellow pilots. Wolves did not do well separated from their pack.
 

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #17 –
[ Ehfva Feynri | Corridor | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] @Eden  @Dumedion  @Krajin  @RyeTanker

She heard Leux before she saw him, foil blanket going over the Feresan's shoulders in the same motion as his physical assessment. He took the patient's weight from her side without a word and she let him, shifting her grip to compensate so the transfer was clean.

"He's going into shock. Out into the hall."

She was already pivoting. They got the Feresan down onto the deck — no stretcher cart in reach, so the corridor floor would do — and Leux began working the warming packs into position with the efficiency of someone who had done this in worse places than a ship corridor. Ehfva kept one hand on the patient's shoulder, steadying him as another wave of shivering moved through him, and received the hypo Leux extended without him needing to look at her.

She pressed it to the Feresan's neck and held it until the hiss completed.

"Wounds are still open, dammit." Leux had the blanket back and was working at the melted uniform, his jaw set. "We'll have to seal these as he comes to. Once Vi finishes he can go in for deeper work — stabilize and treat what we can for now."

The dermal regenerator came next, passed across without ceremony, and she took it the same way.

"Handle that burnt tissue on the head and neck."

She set the regenerator to a conservative output — aggressive enough to close what was actively weeping, conservative enough not to compound the shock load — and began working the worst of the burn tissue along the jaw and up toward the temple. Up close, the damage was more extensive than the cryobay's light had shown. Plasma discharge, close range. The cybernetic arm had taken the brunt of it, but the heat had spread, and whatever had hit him had hit him before someone had gotten around to finishing the surgery for it. She did not say this. Leux knew it better than she did.

"Focus on breathing," Leux told the patient, not looking up from the arm. "You're coming out of months of cryostasis. If you need to throw up, tell us first."

The Feresan's teeth were still chattering — less violently now, the warming packs and the hypo beginning to do their work — and his pupils had come down slightly from the blown-wide terror response she'd first seen in the pod. He was tracking. Not well, but tracking.

Ehfva kept her movements slow and her voice quiet, pitched below the register that would require him to work to follow it. "The doctor's right. Just breathe. We have you." She moved the regenerator along the neck with steady passes. "You're on the Theurgy. You came out of stasis. Both of those things are good."

She was aware of how little she actually knew about how he'd gotten here, why he'd been placed in cryo with injuries still open, and what the last thing he remembered was. She did not ask. Not now. There would be time for history later, when he was warm, and the wounds were sealed, and he had enough blood pressure to care about the answers.

Re: Epi: S [Day 03 | 0145] By these wounds...

Reply #18 –
[ Lt.Thane Va’rek ] | Corridor outside Cryobay | Deck 11 | Vector 02 | USS Theurgy ] Attn: @Ellen Fitz @Dumedion @Eden


Thane laid on the makeshift stretcher as the doc peeled off the burnt sections of his uniform to get access to the burns to his body. At least what parts of the uniform that had survived the plasma exposure. The regenerator worked its magic in repairing the tissues along his face, and he looked far less like an impersonator of Two-Face. He stared up at the ceiling as the warmth of the heating packs got parked in his armpits and between his thighs. "Come on now... at least a drink before that eh?" He managed out between breaths as the cold began to fade. Fortunately, it was the cold that had kept him going and numbed the nerves near the burn sites that had survived the damage. As his body warmed up from the heat packs, his nerves began to fire off again. It was slow at first and began to build. At the very least, the administered painkillers kept him from feeling the worst of it.

Removing the melted and charred remains of the uniform showed the extent of the damage to his body. The plasma burns were significant on that side of his body. Aside from the cybernetic appendage the damage had spread across a portion of his torso. Getting less severe the further away from his arm. The burns were like watching fingers stretching across like a lightning strike.

His teeth stopped chattering now, and his breathing continued to even out. The wide pupils slowly shrank further and Thane began to look around. Though turning his head still hurt. "Both are good.. means I wasn't kidnapped in cryo. That would be weird though. Eh?"  At least he could converse while riding the effects of whatever drugs they had injected him with.
 
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