The sounds of Kolivan’s non-verbal complaints could be heard echoed through the med-bay. His grunts and grumbles the only real sound aside from the quiet hustle and bustle of busy workers making their way along the confusing floor plan of the Marmora headquarters.

He’d gotten hurt on a mission. It was dangerous. Direct infiltration of an Empire ship. It was a simple plan; get in, get intel, get out, blow it up. Simple, but dangerous. And, unfortunately, things hadn’t gone exactly to plan.

There were more guards than anticipated, routes were slightly off, patrols weren’t scouted properly. It was nothing that a covert operation couldn’t handle, working in the shadows meant margin for error, but it had gone south. More South than it otherwise would have. Usually, an extra patrol of Galra soldiers was an easy enough to overcome obstacle, but that one had been right in their exit path. Directive was completed and explosive planted, there were mere minutes to run back to the Marmora pod. But guards were in the way. Kolivan couldn’t run from them, the only other way to go except through was back towards the ticking bomb. The only option was a five-on-one fight with alarm bells and more opposition to come the longer he waited.

Kolivan was good at his job, leader for a reason. With little time to spare, he’d gotten back to the single-seat ship and into nearby space before the explosion set off. Unfortunately, he’d been a little too close still and the machinery was damaged, sending him spinning out and crashing into something or other–what was probably debris.

When he was found, the pod was damaged and so was he. But he was breathing. Broken, cut up, bruised, but okay. After some urgent care, he was conscious enough for the rest of the process to be a more or less routine medbay visit. And as tough as he was on the field, he was rather whiny in the infirmary, unable to control every hiss or grunt whenever the antiseptic hit his split skin.

“I don’t need stitches for that one.”

He most certainly did.