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Topic:  Me, My Demons and I
Jamasis
ComNet Member
 
Jamasis
 
[VE-ARMY] Sergeant
[VE-ICS] Pirate Swabbie
 
Post Number:  489
Total Posts:  515
Joined:  Jun 2009
Status:  Offline
  Me, My Demons and I
March 23, 2013 10:41:17 AM    View the profile of Jamasis 
The crowd demanded blood. Nestled deep in the heart of Tadath, the Lucky Soldier was going to give them what they wanted. A constant supply of soldiers on leave kept hundreds of illegal bars and clubs in business despite the mild disapproval of many senior officers. The soldiers spent every credit they had on watered down alcohol, friendly women and whatever narcotics they could get their hands on.

Sometimes they even provided the entertainment.

Over a hundred people crowded around a poorly erected boxing ring in the middle of the room. Smoke from cheap cigars drifted through the air and the incessant chatter of bets being struck filled the bar. Tonight, they knew, should be interesting. A real SCOPE trooper, still in active service, was here to take on any and all comers. The consensus seemed to be he would outlast five, maybe even ten opponents. Imperial propaganda had done an admirable job of painting the fighting men and women of the armed forces in a superhuman light.

What mattered to Jamasis was none of this. He was only here to train. Punching bags and training drills were one thing but fighting a real person, albeit an untrained and intoxicated one, was a different thing entirely. If he wanted to stay the best, he had to prepare for any eventuality. He stared out with apathy, his eyes seemingly detached from any emotions he was feeling. In truth there were none; he was just waiting.

His first opponent, a Rodian, was already drunk and stumbled forward towards Jamasis with his arms far too low. He swung wildly at Jamasis, who calmly stepped out of reach of the blows before responding with a strong elbow to the temple. His opponent went down and couldn't get back to his feet.

The second opponent was another young human, slightly older than Jamasis with his black hair gelled into modest spikes. He was also a much better fighter. He began to circle around, and Jamasis followed, staying just out of arms range and studying his opponent. His guard was good; his hands stayed up, elbows protected his sides and he was patient. He didn’t flinch when Jamasis shot a jab out, he just waited. His opponent faked a move forwards, Jamasis shot out another jab, missed and barely managed to avoid a flurry of punches.

He kept Spikes at a distance, dodging, blocking and finding no opening. He found himself backed into the corner, but his opponent backed away and let him out with a cocky smile. What the hell? Jamasis launched himself into an attack, but every punch missed, every hook was blocked and gradually he was forced onto the defensive. Every time Jamasis blocked one punch another came, followed by three more. Some found their way through; after a few minutes he was exhausted, bruises beginning to form on his body.

Spikes just shrugged, “It’s nothing personal.” He attacked again but this time Jamasis knew what to expect. Instead of moving backwards he moved forwards, blocked the incoming punch, and landing several quick jabs to his foe’s head. Somehow he still slipped away and responded with a strong uppercut to Jamasis’ chin. The blow staggered him, knocked him off balance; then to the disbelief of everyone in attendance, Spikes left the ring with a mock salute.

Jamasis massaged his jaw and tried to work out what had happened. The only thing that mattered was that he would have lost; he needed to get better. The next fight was against a much larger opponent. Jamasis kept him at bay by always staying just out of range before launching himself forwards, getting in a few quick shots, and then moving away before the other man’s meaty fists could connect with anything solid. He ducked under another wild punch and turned, danced away from his opponent and circled again.

Instinct forced him to glance into the crowd. Spikes was standing in the crowd, watching him with cold green eyes as Jamasis inhaled a waft of smoke.

-------------------------------

He couldn’t see. Smoke was getting into his eyes and his lungs and he couldn’t see. He managed to pull himself off the floor and look around.  The building was made of cold stone walls, crumbling as the timber that supported them burnt away. In the distance, somebody was screaming but he couldn’t see who or why. Jamasis forced himself to move towards natural light, painful steps through the searing heat to the end of the corridor. He burst free of the building and sank back to his knees. He coughed and looked behind him. Kaspar’s home was burning to the ground. His home. Kaspar was one of the most powerful criminals on Bothawui, and suddenly Jamasis knew he had met him. He knew he had worked for him for years and that this, the complete destruction of the man's home was impossible. Kaspar had made his share of enemies but the few who lived would never have dared to do this.

Yet somebody had just destroyed his empire. And another feeling was nagging at Jamasis, that this was not just Kaspar's but also his own home.

“Jamasis! Jamasis, come on,” gasped a nearby figure. It was Salken. Salken who had removed his memories. He lifted Jamasis on to his shoulder and pulled him away. “I’m sorry. Kaspar’s dead. They took Amelia. I tried, I swear, but she’s dead. That psycho killed her.”

-------------------------------

His opponent caught him with a punch to the face which knocked Jamasis back. His temporary confusion turned to anger and frustration, and he launched himself into his foe. He didn’t obey the vague rules of the bout; he simply grabbed his opponent and shoved him into the side of the ring, pounding him down to the floor. He was pulled away by the referee and Jamasis lashed out at him. A security guard tried to take him down with a stun baton. Jamasis sidestepped, grabbed the guard’s wrists and threw him over his shoulder, seizing the weapon. He slammed it down on the man’s torso and looked around the arena.

The crowd was silent. Spikes was nowhere to be seen.

-------------------------------

Doctor Onser Corenlo had been a medic in the Army through a turbulent time. He had served for the majority of Emperor Palpatine’s reign and miraculously survived on to live and fight in the Vast Empire. Now he was retired and ran his own clinic in Tadath.

Corenlo was rudely awoken as somebody dragged him from his bed and threw him to the floor. The lights were turned on whilst a hooded figure pointed a DC-15 pistol straight at him.

“Dr. Corenlo?” asked the man. He was not happy.

“Yes I’m the Doctor. Who are you?” His question was ignored.

“What do you know about amnesia?” The query seemed so unusual that Onser was momentarily confused. Then the hooded figure moved the gun closer to his head and he began to recite his textbook definition of memory loss.

“Yeah whatever,” the man interrupted, “can you fix it?”

“I assume you mean bring the memories back? Well, that depends. It depends on how the amnesia came about, in certain cases the way trauma that caused the memory loss can lead to lifelong brain damage and other times a memory is repressed by the patient themselves to protect the mind from simply going mad.”

“What about making somebody lose their memory? Can that be done by a doctor?”

“I’m sorry, but I will not perform that sort of a procedure no matter what threats or money may be inv-”

“But it can be done?”

“To an extent. To completely wipe a memory from somebody without side effects is incredibly difficult. Most experiments I’m aware of are completely unsuccessful and the remainder have unforeseen consequences.” His assailant was still holding the gun to his head, his face still concealed, but to the trained eye his hand was shaking ever so slightly. The man’s voice seemed less angry, though no less emotional. He’s scared. Corenlo realised. Something about this terrifies him.

“So my memories will come back?” So this was his fear.

“If it was a medical procedure, almost certainly.”

“What sort of side effects?”

“Personality changes, possibly impaired functions, only partial memory restoration. The worst case scenario is a mental breakdown.” Suddenly the man kicked Corenlo painfully in the ribs, and punched the wall next to him. The gun immediately swung back around to the Doctor.

“Can you fix it?”

“What?”

“Can you stop me from going insane? Is there some sort of medicine, some procedure, anything to stop the memories coming back?” a hint of desperation was creeping into his voice.

“I can’t think of anything. But I promise I could find you therapy, you could overcome any traumas with counselling.” A blaster bolt lanced out from the pistol and scarred the floor next to Corenlo.

“You don’t understand! I don’t have time for counselling or therapy or pathetic crap like that,” he turned away from Onser and left the building.

That was... interesting. He thought to himself.

-------------------------------

In the street Jamasis ducked into a small alleyway. Whatever had happened in the arena was the start of something he could not control, the doctor had said as much. Salken had wiped his memories because of a complete mental breakdown and now that was certain to happen again.

Jamasis swore into the night sky. Whatever he had remembered, his home had been burnt to the ground, his old boss had been killed and somebody had been killed. Somebody who apparently mattered more to Jamasis than the rest of his childhood combined.

Somebody called Amelia.

Then, overwhelmed with a feeling of loss and despair that he couldn’t understand, he sank to his knees and struggled to hold back his tears.
TRP/SGT Jamasis/1SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/1RGT/VEA/VE [ESC09] [BoT] [SoC]

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