MSNPC Lieutenant S'dor Grumm - The dead guy returns.

[Joseph George]

((Solitary Confinement Cell Delta, Hab Block 1, Sheliak Mining Camp))

Lost in the mists of personal history, the awkward adolescent dance with a first love some decades past, more lifetimes ago than most people lived (if only proverbially); the Brikar barely caught the commotion outside of his cell door.  Just as he was coming out of the alluring fog of yesterday, a familiar voice spoke and not in his head.

Sokova: Grumm? 

He knew that voice, it was hard to place though. It had featured in his memories, but always as a side note. An acquaintance, a friend of a friend.  As he desperately tried to organize the memories strown about his fractured psyche like so many old paper folders tossed about a room,  S'dor felt his body lighten significantly. This was even more shocking than a voice from the beforetimes. Somehow, his gravity compensator was near, and the person who the voice belonged to had managed to activate it.

Tentatively, he tried to move his arms. He found them heavy, the muscles had atrophied as he had feared, but he could move them at last. He slunk his right hand around forward, and bent the elbow around to his face, starting to rip the medical tape that held the feeding tube secure. With a rapid rip, the tape easily evacuated his craggy stone cheek. Now he began to pull the tubing out from his esophagus, trying not to gag. Tossing it aside, he took a deep breath as a placed the voice at last.

Grumm: Sokova? What? How . . . did you get here? Why? 

Sokova: I....something's new with them. I-I can't tell what yet, but something has them nervous. I thought maybe...

He heard something as she finished her explanation. One of the few sounds he had heard for the last who knows how long? She'd know, right? The halls echoed with the slimy slinking of several Sheliak. If he could pull himself slowly and silently to his feet he could give them all one hell of a going away party.

 

Grumm: Wait. . . Shhh. Did you hear that?

Sokova: No, I...I didn't...

Grumm: Them. Four, sounds like.

With grim tornadic will, Grumm dragged his arms across the floor until they were spread out like wings at the shoulder, and bent the elbows inward to push up his chest.  Slowly he dragged his left leg, and then right to get on his knees and began to lumber up to his feet. The whole process was unpleasant with plenty of weight still, and more body fat than any respectable Brikar should have. As he stood, immediately needing to stoop to compensate for a low ceiling, his legs burned at having to support his weight after so long without muscle maintenance. On top of this, he was dizzy, his lungs taking in more oxygen now that they weren't as weighed down.

Taking a moment to acclimate to breathing well again, he began to cautiously put foot in front of foot. He placed the weight on his heels, some stealth would be needed. He might have lost his mind, but he'd yet to lose his wits. 

He found they had grown complacent enough to leave his door unlocked. And why shouldn't they? Where was he going? His guard wasn't even back yet, and now he could hear voices coming from the cell where Sokova was. He slid out of the door and along the wall for a relatively small profile, the support was also well appreciated by his back.

The voice was Azo, a particularly loathsome jelly with an attitude to match. Surely he had earned his nickname which was just a pun on a similar word in Federation Standard. 

The Arrow had supposedly stolen something from the Sheliak, and they needed it back. Sokova for her part, was keeping her mouth closed. And the ire in the Sheliak's voice was getting more apparent with every unanswered request. Without the universal translator, he couldn't understand the words that Azo had told the other Sheliak but the tone was obvious. His crewmate was about to be hurt, and mutineer or not, S'dor would not let that stand. 

He rounded the corner, threw open the door and began to release pent up rage on every inky bastard he got in his sights, all thoughts of atrophic muscles or pain cast aside in a whirlwind of fury. Like a stone carving of an avenging angel come to life, with massive firsts in lieu of flaming swords, striking each of them with righteous vengeance and hatred.

Not done lashing out, he pounded the last pile of inanimate goo into the ground repeatedly.

Finally needing to take a rest to breath, he pantingly asked.

Grumm: How long?

Sokova: Reponse

Grumm: How long was I in that cell?

Sokova: Response

Grumm frowned deeply, agonizing.

Grumm: That's it?

It could have been a thousand years, but only about two? That was more shocking.

Sokova: Response

Tag/TBC

Lt. S'dor Grumm

Starfleet Engineering

POW/MIA

Shell of a man

As simmed by: 

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- Lieutenant Commander Artinus Serinus

   Chief of Security

   USS Arrow, 

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