Briika knows it's bad news the second he walks into Medical and sees Commander Bacara standing next to CMO Rocker. He knows it's worse when Bacara takes his helmet off and gestures for him to sit with a solemn, pitying look on his face.
He sits. Rocker cuts right to the point.
"You've been marked for decom, Briika. I'm so sorry."
Thing is, Briika knew this was coming. You start losing time on a battlefield, you start panicking, or stop listening, and if you don't die, you can't be a frontliner any more. You're faulty product: the Kaminoans like to brag they removed battle stress from your brothers' genomes, and the Kaminoans can't be wrong. And it's not as if there's anyone to say goodbye to anymore. So he scrunches his eyebrows together, and lets the hope go. It's only fair. He doesn't want to be a danger to his brothers. He just doesn't want to see the pity on their faces.
"Private," says the Commander. Briika looks up.
"This is going to be... a lot to take in. There's another way."
Briika... doesn't process that for a second. There's another way? What-
"What the Commander is trying to say," Rocker cuts in, "is you won't be decommisioned. But you won't be here, either. The Coruscant Guard is taking brothers like you, to keep you away from the frontlines, and keep you out of Decom."
Briika honestly doesn't know how to feel. He won't be a Marine any more.
"No." Commander Bacara replies. Sith-hells, did he say that out loud? "You're a Marine. You'll always be a Marine. Just... on a different front to the rest of us. Coruscant needs good soldiers, kid." He pauses. "You'll do good there."
"That's... I... The General knows?"
Rocker and the Commander share a look.
"He knows, and approves, but he can't say it. The Kaminoans would sue the Republic for... kriff, I don't know what he said, something stupid. But he does."
Briika can feel the hope building in his chest. He stamps it back down as he stands and salutes. It's not as if there's anywhere else to go.
Coruscant is... weird. It's noisy and quiet at the same time, a hubbub of voices and music where artillery and blaster fire would have been a tenday earlier. It's so, so, busy, but that business is filled by squishy organic bodies, not swarming clankers and walkers. The cityscape is tall and neon bright, not crushed and burnt and blasted to metal skeletons and rubble, and there's nothing firing at the transport Briika's in, looking at all of the world going by about its daily business. They're coming in to land at the Depot, ostensibly to pick up a resupply, and the pilot and crew on board will be doing just that. Briika is an unofficial passenger, hopping off at the platform and catching another transport to his new barracks. Ka'ra, his new squad, too. He pushes that particular knot of feelings to the back of his mind.
By all records, there is no CT-5711, nickname Briika, unarmed combat specialist. By all records, that trooper ceased to exist approximately 14 hours ago, Coruscant time. He has a new number, new face, a line added to his barcode, and shiny new kit, and only the scars and memories will connect him back to the Marine he was. But that doesn't matter. He'll fool everyone that doesn't care enough to look beneath the shiny plastoid shell, and anyone who doesn't, doesn't deserve to know. He'll grieve his old life on a new world, by himself.
Riika, CT-7114, hops off the lartie with a cursory thanks to the pilot and crew, and strides into the terminal, trying his damnedest to believe that he belongs here, on this city-planet that couldn't be more different to the hell the Marines are facing in the outer rim. He tries his best to forget that he belongs with them. It's easier that way. The door slides open without a creak, and all he can think is that Commando droids could sneak in without notice, and he's walking into another massacre, and- he stops. Tamps it down, hard. He is not throwing away a second chance this early.
Briika forces eyes up, double time, along odd, swirling bloody carpet flooring to the desk, where a bored looking brother in dress greys is answering calls in between arguing with the natborn in front of him about something... related to an impounded ship, if he's reading lips correctly. He stands back waiting at what he hopes is a respectful distance.
The brother at the desk hisses something as he stamps a sheet of flimsi with angry finality, and the natborn growls something back in return, but turns about face and stomps off quick enough that Briika's not worried about hostilities. At least, until they shove him aside, hissing a "get out of my way, meat droid" as they storm past.
Desk-brother winces as he flags Briika, still reeling a little from the blatant hatred in the natborn's voice, down, and introduces himself as Parker, Corporal, Coruscant Guard. He asks for Briika's name and assignment.
"Uh, B- sorry. Riika, sir. Private, Ma- formerly Galactic Marines. I've been reassigned to the Guard due to injury." He's thiiis close to smacking his head on the desk. It's been five seconds and already a superior officer thinks he's an idiot-
"Right! Heard you'd be coming in today. You'll be with Bes'bev in the Diplomatic Section, but your transport got in a bit late, so you'll've missed the shuttle to the barracks just gone. You're welcome to stay here until the end of this shift at 2200, and catch the shuttle back then." Parker pauses, fingers breaking rhythm above the keys. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry you had to transfer. Whatever reason. And... I hope we can be good brothers to you."
Briika... doesn't know what to say to that. He just nods and takes the datachip Parker hands him, hoping he can read body language in a shell better than Briika himself can express with words. He ducks behind the "Staff Only" door, and sets about finding the person in charge, determined to make himself useful for the four-or-so hours until the shift change.
The person in charge turns out to be an aging, smiling twi'lek, who introduces herself as Tuula. She sends him to Ro, a brother, to help him stacking crates of supplies and imports. Ro tells him a bit about what he can expect on Coruscant, in between demagnetising new pallets and once, actually climbing on Briika's shoulders to get to a shelf, claiming that Marines made great stepladders on account of the whole 5 inches they have on regular clones. Briika finds himself laughing. He can't remember the last time he did that he can and it was Luuka and Blaze and Burn telling stupid jokes and now they're gone but it feels nice. He almost forgot how that felt, too.
The shuttle back to the barracks is full of brothers. They chat, and sleep, and look so peaceful it hurts right to Briika's core, from where he watches half the reflections in the plasteel, half the sparkling megacity sprawling across the horizon like some lazy neon giant. It's so different from the sieges in the rim. It's so much lighter here, but he's never felt this lonely.
The barracks are loud: bigger than any camp the Marines ever set up, and this particular complex houses nearly three companies worth of brothers. The sheer number of them makes Coruscant the ideal place for clones like Briika, who would be decommisioned, or reconditioned otherwise, to disappear, with a new name and number, like a canteen of water dissolving into the sea. The noise and happy, alive buzz of the place reminds him a bit of Kamino, back when everyone was alive back in the cadet barracks. He winds his way through the corridors to the bunkroom listed on the datachip Parker gave him, passing a whole spectra of brothers, in pairs and large groups, smiling, frowning, and it reminds him of the permanent barracks the Marines used to have and walking and laughing with Kando but he's dead too but just so much bigger.
It's not far to the bunkroom, eventually, and Briika's dead tired. He's been awake for... maybe twenty eight hours, and he's more than a little desperate for a sonic and a bunk, and hopefully some sleep. He taps the chip to the lock screen on the door, and goes through the familiar motions of setting his code. It chimes a happy note, and the door slides open silently no not again the commando droids no they're going to be dead and he has to has to breathe has to breathe and he forces a deep breath as he steps through the door-
-and drops to firing position as something flies right past his left ear and thwacks straight into the doorframe, barely registering that the brother yelling "'K'a'pir, Madainn!" after it is, well... a brother, in time to slam the safety back on his rifle and throw it down. There's a second where Briika locks eyes with him, shallow breaths and a heartbeat so, so loud in his ears, this kid he nearly- he almost- he can't. He looks around, and it's just shocked faces of brothers staring back, and he can't. He bolts out, around the corner, straight into another brother walking towards him. He staggers backwards over his own ankle, and there's this sharp pain in his temple as he twists towards the floor, and-
Briika wakes up slowly to light coming in the medbay window, and his head hurts like hell. He wants to call Rocker, or maybe Takk over, ask if there's any low level pain meds he can take, but... he's not with the Marines anymore. Rocker won't be the medic he's signalling, and... Takk is gone. The events of last night come burning back, and he wants to... scream, or cry, or break something. He lifts his hand up to his sightline, and tries not to see the shaking. He wonders if this was the last mistake. Pulling a gun on a brother... no matter his state, that's not something to come back from.
"Oh, you're awake? Madainn said that was a nasty hit you took back there. I reckoned we should let you sleep it off.” Before he can ask anything, Bonesaw picks back up again. "She or they, if you were wondering. And you will be staying right there until you wake back up. And since I know you're thinking it, you are not getting decommed," she cuts off his stammered reply, "or reconditioned. Battle stress is battle stress, and you're a damn Marine. I've had a talk to the squad about checking who's coming in the damn door before they start throwing things at 'em. It's seriously a matter of time before one of them nails a commander in the face and we all get Binks duty as a punishment. Ka'ra, I'm a fucking medic, not a babysitter! Now sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
They shush the further attempts Briika makes at excuses as to why he has to get up right now, going so far as to lay her hand directly over his mouth. He feels the urge to lick it as revenge. He holds himself back, valiantly. But he does want to sleep, and he still has this karking headache, and he feels safe here, with a brother watching over him and he's just so tired...
When he wakes up again, Bonesaw is standing a few metres away, checking dials and buttons on some bizarre medical contraption he assumes is very important. She looks at him, raises her eyebrows, and checks her chrono.
"Seven hours 3 minutes. Acceptable."
Briika snorts. Bonesaw rolls their eyes.
"I'm sending you to the quartermaster's, and then the bunkroom so you can get your kit, and get packed away, since I have it on good authority you didn't get that far yesterday. I'm calling Oidhche, because he needs to apologize- no, do not look at me in that tone, you deserve an apology. He'll be here in a few minutes. Do not sneak off. I will know." Her tone brooks no argument. Briika does not try.
He armours up from the rack next to the cot waiting for Oidhche, who's apparently the squadmate he nearly shot yesterday night. Every time he eyes the door for an escape, Bonesaw moves pointedly into his line of sight. He swears medics must have a sixth sense for runaway patients... Takk was the same. Eventually, Bonesaw opens the door right as a brother goes for the bell- another Medic Mystery Skill Takk was fond of using. She admonishes the brother for being late, and they walk in jabbing each other in the ribs. It reminds him of Blaze and Burn, but this memory doesn't hurt as bad as it did.
"Hi," the brother says. "I'm Oidhche. We, uh, didn't quite meet yesterday. I, um, wanted to apologise for throwing the bacta patch at you. I didn't think... well, I didn't think, full stop. I hope we can be friends?"
Briika is surprised by the genuine apology. He was expecting a coached trainwreck, but the kid really means what he's saying. It's... nice.
"Briika. Short for Briikase. I'm the Marine... transfer. I'm sorry for almost shooting you, I wasn't... all there. It's nice to meet you, little brother."
So many different expressions flash across Oidhche's face it's comical. He settles on incredulous, and mutters something about them being the same age, which makes Briika laugh for the second time in as many days. He refuses to explain just to see the confusion increase past critical levels, which in turn makes him laugh even harder. Bonesaw kicks them out of her medbay for disturbing the peace.
On the way to and from the quartermaster's (he can keep the Marine kit if he paints it red) Oidhche tells him about the other members of his new squad. Sgárlaid, it's called, which Oidhche says is an Iridoni word for red, Diplomatic Section, Coruscant Guard. It's an interesting assortment of personalities and specializations- actually, in the latter it’s a very well rounded squad. They work with Senators on diplomatic away missions enough that they have two ARCs, Bes'bev, the Sargent that Parker told him about, and a Corporal Vega, who uses ARC sign to speak after an injury. Briika's glad there'll be another medical transfer there with him, even if it only means the others will know how to handle it.
There's Tether, the sniper, Jare, a demolitions expert, and Cyrus, a scout. They were undermanned by one, Oidhche explains, with something about how new troops are nearly all sent to the front, now. Apparently, they work with a Jedi General, too, one Knight Anndra Sidhe, often enough that he has a reserved bed in the bunkroom. Briika... doesn't know how to feel about that. The General was never that close with the brothers in the Marines. Oidhche seems to like him, though, he notes as stars start to appear in the kid's eyes as he spins a story about a mission on Orto Plutonia when Knight Sidhe apparently risked being crushed by a falling ice shelf to stop that happening to Oidhche and his younger brother Madainn after knowing them for less than a day, and that makes him okay in Briika's book, at least.
The makeshift tour Oidhche's dragged Briika on covers most of the building, the ops centre on the first floor, elevators, mess halls, training centres and rec rooms on each floor. They skip medical- Briika already knows where it is, and plans to avoid it and Bonesaw's ire as much as possible. The double load of kit is just starting to feel heavy where it's stacked in his arms as they round the corner from yesterday, and Oidhche puts his code in the door panel. It won't be anything like the Marines, nothing at all like the front, Briika's sure, but he's grateful to have these brothers with him, striding forward into his new home.
