Threads of Silver

String

You remained motionless as the doctor continued to unhook you the medical devices. The two Stormtroopers remained at attention, their rigid stance telling of their impatience. With the removal of the final attachment, the machine beeping in rhythm to your heart rate flatlined and then shut off. 

As if this was signal for the Troopers to take over, the doctor stepped to the side, giving them space to come to the side.

"She still cannot walk on her right leg." He stated, matter-of-factly as the two soldiers reached your bedside. They appeared to listen, halting but keeping their attention on you. Their stance was an unspoken order: Get. Up.

You were still too frightened to move. With a masked sigh, one of them moved to your side, shoving an armored arm somewhat roughly under your own, nearly dragging you to the side of the bed.This push was firm enough for you to will your feed over the side of the bed, yelping as your wounded leg met the ground. The blood rushed downwards towards the still-painful lacerations and punctures, and you felt a rush of warm wetness as the blood continued to seep through the bandages. 

Immediately, the Troopers were at your side, and a part of you was grateful for their firm grasp on you, giving you support so that you could apply as little weight on your injury as possible. 

Slowly, you made your way through the hospital door, pale-faced from the exertion and the lightheadedness. You could barely put two toes down on your injured leg, and your heavy stride on your good leg jarred through your weakened body. The pain had long overridden any thoughts of hunger, but as far as you could remember, this would be day four without a warm meal. 

Your head pounded as you continued to be escorted down a metallic hallway. Although the corridor was lined with doors-hospital rooms, you assumed- it was oddly quiet. Only the footfalls of the Troopers boots could be heard, and your heavy-landing foot fall. They were somewhat alert and aware of the pain you were in, tolerating your limp, but you could feel they were biting at the bit to pick up the pace. By now, you were leaning heavily onto their support, even though their cold, armored touch was sending shivers up your spine.  

You had been so focused on walking, breathing and pacing through the gnawing pain, you almost forgot the destination. Turning a sharp corner, you were suddenly faced with a heavy-looking metal door. One Trooper keyed in a code on the pin pad to the side of the door, and within a moment it slid open. The room that lay before you was cloaked in shadows and dim light. It appeared to be a sort of conference room, a long table that could easily seat fourteen stretched along its' center. A florescent light shone down from the center of the ceiling, icy rays of white glimmering in the black glossy table top. 

You were held stilled, halted alongside the Troopers. They were waiting for permission to enter, you gathered. Your eyes felt wide, like prey discovering a predator's lair. 

While you heart beat rapidly in anticipation, hot blood coursing through your veins and still leaking out your leg, your inner chest felt the familiar tug. A thin thread, as if tied and wrapped throughout your ribs, pulled and tightened, like a fish testing a lure before taking a bite. 

"Enter." A familiar deep, modulated voice sliced through the thick silence, still not giving away his location. You felt frozen, but the Troopers had no problem half-dragging you into the room. They led you to the front of the table, pulling a chair out and firmly pressed you into the seat. 

You were grateful to have the weight off of your leg, but the cold, taut leather of the chair bit into your legs and through your thin gown. You shivered, but weren't sure if it was from the chill, or the danger that filled the air. Whatever room you had been brought to, didn't feel safe. It was cold and icy, tension thick in the air.