The End
Mar 25, 2017 18:35:11 GMT -5
DGM Soft Kitty, Lt Cmdr Billie Jo Spencer MD, and 1 more like this
Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 25, 2017 18:35:11 GMT -5
Tolar stared at the door controls for what felt like an eternity.
Perhaps sharing a room with him wasn't the best decision after all.
Still, he needed to return to gather his belongings. It took a lot of nerve to invoke an untested security protocol to remove the Captain from authority, especially during a tense ship to ship stand-off, but it couldn't be left to chance. The slightest possibility of his counterpart being in their midst presented a far greater danger than those pathetic K'Tinga-class scrap heaps. V'Tira understood that, but would Tiberius? Probably not.
Especially not after that kick to the head.
Tolar winced. That wasn't his proudest moment. Normally so measured and professional, he'd allowed the anger to consume him, and acted irrationally. He suspected that the Captain was an imposter, but given that he didn't know, he should have restrained himself. But the adrenaline, the escalation, and the idea of that monster being the one lying there being in the front of his mind, he lost control.
He'd tried to brush his memories of the assaults aside soon after the initial incident, at first attempting to reason with his attacker, but ultimately, it still haunted him. He had no control then, either. He was a puppet, and his free will was useless. That man controlled every aspect of him, his memories, and his emotions. He hadn't felt that helpless since he saw his mother savagely beaten as a young boy. He remembered her cries of agony, her suffering. Only unlike his mother, no one was there to come to his rescue. While he watched from his subconscious mind, his body was used like a toy, consciously unaware.
And the man behind that door shares the same face that held his gaze with a triumphant smirk every time.
His body shook involuntarily at the vivid memory, his eyes glassing over with angry tears as he took a deep breath to try and compose himself. The longer he stood here, the longer he'd dwell on it. Exhaling, he pressed the door chime, looking down at the carpet as he mentally prepared himself for the assuredly interesting interaction that was about to unfold.
Perhaps sharing a room with him wasn't the best decision after all.
Still, he needed to return to gather his belongings. It took a lot of nerve to invoke an untested security protocol to remove the Captain from authority, especially during a tense ship to ship stand-off, but it couldn't be left to chance. The slightest possibility of his counterpart being in their midst presented a far greater danger than those pathetic K'Tinga-class scrap heaps. V'Tira understood that, but would Tiberius? Probably not.
Especially not after that kick to the head.
Tolar winced. That wasn't his proudest moment. Normally so measured and professional, he'd allowed the anger to consume him, and acted irrationally. He suspected that the Captain was an imposter, but given that he didn't know, he should have restrained himself. But the adrenaline, the escalation, and the idea of that monster being the one lying there being in the front of his mind, he lost control.
He'd tried to brush his memories of the assaults aside soon after the initial incident, at first attempting to reason with his attacker, but ultimately, it still haunted him. He had no control then, either. He was a puppet, and his free will was useless. That man controlled every aspect of him, his memories, and his emotions. He hadn't felt that helpless since he saw his mother savagely beaten as a young boy. He remembered her cries of agony, her suffering. Only unlike his mother, no one was there to come to his rescue. While he watched from his subconscious mind, his body was used like a toy, consciously unaware.
And the man behind that door shares the same face that held his gaze with a triumphant smirk every time.
His body shook involuntarily at the vivid memory, his eyes glassing over with angry tears as he took a deep breath to try and compose himself. The longer he stood here, the longer he'd dwell on it. Exhaling, he pressed the door chime, looking down at the carpet as he mentally prepared himself for the assuredly interesting interaction that was about to unfold.