[font=Courier New]Imperator Mk-V Star Destroyer Visectus[/font]
[font=Courier New]Physical Training Room Alpha[/font]
[font=Courier New]Imperial time: 0302 hours[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]His stance was low and contained in a small, low-profile posture. Contrary to this outward appearance, however, his emotions were running high…especially the ones related to stress and tensions. How he could continue to deal with the stress was beyond him; it seemed to him like everything--at least, on this side of the galaxy--was out to get him.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]The problems were fortunately all limited to something he could effectively control, for the moment. Tianna was pissed off at him, because of the fact that he’d pulled her off of the deployment for the coming operation…and, due to the extent of her injuries, for the foreseeable future. He’d done the exact same to Ruby, for similar reasons, and taken a very low, hard kick as his reward.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]And the absolute back-breaker of his entire week lay in an incident that struck him closer than anything else had ever been able to: betrayal…infidelity…the undying sting of shattered faith. He couldn’t, nay, wouldn’t believe it…[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]…But it was the truth, plain and simple, and the grief it caused him hurt to no end.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]The only sounds in the training hall were the deceptively soft sounds of a furious man striking a punching bag with vast quantities of force, and the equally soft strains of a mournful, subdued rendition of the glorious Imperial March, their somber nature matching perfectly with the righteously angry man’s broken spirit. Oh, how he longed to have a living victim…perhaps, he dared to think, the one who’d wronged him so grievously.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]As he began to swing himself into the next punch, there came a gentle knock on the door to the training room. It could have been anyone, really, though he could only imagine four people who, at this moment, would brave coming near him, and he could even further reduce that list. The biggest surprise out of those four would have been Captain Tribek, but even that wasn’t a long-shot, given who it really was. As the door opened, he could almost instantly tell, and he was quite unpleasantly surprised at exactly who it was.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]…Tiffany.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]“We’re not speaking,” he said, the controlled fury in his voice far beyond anything she’d ever been subjected to before. The hit still landed on the target, square and true, and it shook all over for a few seconds from the impact. Very briefly, as the punching bag shook, he locked eyes with her, staring without concern or remorse into the black gemstones in her head. No more words escaped him; just the aura of hatred that had developed over the past week.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]He knew well already that she’d never cry over the issue; that required tear ducts, which her childhood surgery had taken from her. Still, she mimed the gesture well enough, and one could easily tell when she was truly sad. There was thusly, despite his hating her for what she’d done, one last thing he could do to show some concern for her: silently collecting all of his loose gear, he stormed out of the room, not even so much as touching her…if only to keep her safe. Had he remained in there a moment longer…[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]…She would have been hurt, immensely.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]Without showing much patience, he made his way quickly to the briefing room, having already surmised that she had arrived to speak with him for that very reason. Whatever she wanted to talk to him about, though, could wait until he found out through someone else; he had no interested in speaking with her any further, and wanted so badly to put her through some insane level of torment, much like she’d done to him. It had hurt so badly...so intensely…it wasn’t something he enjoyed remembering, but it was so recent that he couldn’t help but think of it every waking second. Sighing, he stormed through the halls, even going so far as to push through a small grouping of some of the ship’s higher-ranking fleet officers to get where he was going. Of course, they didn’t seem to mind…it wasn’t that they had much of a choice in the matter at all, anyway. They could be upset, but it wasn’t going to stop him.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]“Report,” he said as soon as he was in the room. His tone was brief, short-tempered, and to the point.[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]“Good to see, colonel,” his XO began, “that you feel it acceptable to come in out of uniform.” The preamble aside, Harlow got down to business. “We’ve been tasked with taking In’chion. Nothing special about that planet, as far as technological advancements go; they’re outdated really, much like Wakde. They’re in a civil war, but it’s something we can easily shift in our favor. The minority, which currently rules the planet, is made up of displaced refugees from Concord Dawn.”[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]Jarred almost smiled. “Didn’t the Empire kick their collective ass once already?”[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]“Yes, sir. It appears they need another lesson. Again, most of the planet is outdated, compared to the rest of the galaxy. The majority can be pulled to our side…and we can probably give them equipment that’ll make the government think twice about continuing the war.”[/font]
[font=High Tower Text]T[/font][font=High Tower Text]he grin that Jarred was suppressing about the campaign finally came onto his face. “Better idea, Harlow… Rally the troops, and prepare a fully detailed briefing on the sitauton. We’re going to fight alongside them, our way.”[/font]