Blackwatch: Reflections

[Lord Bromosalino]

"Yes Inspector. Yes. Yup. Mhm. No, no. I am aware of the damage done to Ice Nine. Come on! You've got to be kidding me? HEY! I lost men too, and I won't let you demean their deaths like that. Yea, yea you make a report about my 'hostility'. Yup, wish I could say the same, "sir". No, of course not. Yes. Yup. Mhm."

"Should I have the navigator's plot a course for Lougetown?" "Hmm." "Isaac? ...I'll just go ahead and tell them then. Isaac?" Slam.

---

Perhaps the most dangerous part of any soldiers life comes after a mission rather than the mission itself. To anyone who hadn't served, this idea would seem silly, even ridiculous. How could the downtime after a mission be more perilous than actually caring out the mission itself? Because, at the end of the day, those that had served had to go to bed and close their eyes. And that's the problem; because no matter how much one might try to run away from their thoughts, you can't run away from yourself. Learning to cope with ones own thoughts, memories, and regrets was essential. Bitterness, guilt, anger, and all the other plethora of emotions needed to be reigned in; this was essential in the life of a soldier.

And this necessity is intensified one-hundred fold for any officer. And this was true for Marine Captain Isaac Saifer as well. And as the "Black Guard" began to make it's slow and treacherous departure from the frozen port of Ice Nine, the twenty-six year old officer was now struggling with his own frigid emotions in light of what had transpired across the island in just the last few days. Seventy-three civilians had been caught up in the two explosions that had been set off in the town while dozens upon dozens of Marines had been killed trying to protect the townsfolk. Three members of the Blackwatch themselves had died as well; and to make matters worse, the Revolutionaries, including their leader, had gotten away. And all of this could have been prevented had Isaac stopped Angelina Belmonte, or rather, if he had the ability to stop her.

And now, Isaac would have to dig through that guilt and grief and allow himself to move on. His mental well-being along with the well-being of his crew would depend on his ability to move on and carry out the next task that was being set in front of him. And this was always the most difficult task for the Marine Captain who had already lost an entire crew before. Nana, Smith, Akami. These were his own. And though the Blackwatch was still in it's first few months as a division, they had already failed. He had already failed. And so, he just sat, letting himself be engulfed by his feelings as he sunk deeper still into his chair. "Sigh."

Though the man known as Commodore Thor had passed away nearly five years ago, Isaac found himself putting himself in his old mentor's shoes once more. What would Thor do? No, perhaps that wasn't the right question to ask. For too long, Isaac Saifer had simply tried to mimic Thor; whether it was his leadership, his emotional disposition, or his character. Maybe, just maybe, it was time for Isaac to stay true to his own self. As that thought crossed his mind, the young officer could help but let a "ha" out. Maybe it was time he followed his father's advice; after all, there was and will only ever be one Isaac Saifer. So then, what would Isaac Saifer do?

---

"Make a course for Nuovo Romano!"

"Aye, Sir!"

"Rikkers, make a hard turn towards the starboard side! Hedson, unfurl that sail!

Like a well oiled machine, the hundred pairs of hands on deck suddenly and in unison shifted their work to quickly change course in the opposite direction from their original destination. And just as suddenly as the Captain had come out and given his abrupt orders, he had departed back into his cabin above the wheel just as quickly.

Slam.

"Nuovo Romano???" "Yup. And can you stop slamming my door?" "No. What happened to Loguetown? Won't your first meeting with Inspector Alec go badly if you don't even show up?" "Maybe, but I'm not gonna risk letting Belmonte get away." Placing a finger on a rather large island on a map, Isaac voiced his thought process. "If I were her, I'd head here. She doesn't seem the type to take a breather after a victory. Maybe we can catch her here. It's our best bet." "If you say so." "I do. I want three squads on duty working. We need to get to Nuovo Romano as quickly as we can. And another thing, send up Verdelet."

The newest member of Blackwatch did good, real good. And if he was anything like Isaac Saifer, then he too would want to see this out to the end.

Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)

[Vio]

Some soldiers were good at putting the past behind them. While he might have seemed to be that type of man, Verdelet Greene was anything but capable of such things. First the Civil War of Verdenstein, now the Revolutionary attack upon Ice Nine; both of these were experiences in his life which made him sick to the stomach, even if his demeanour and disposition belied such a sensation. People didn’t have to die in such times as those, but the inevitable truth was that they did. Lives were lost constantly due to the horrors of war, but the most scarring thing was seeing life slip away from a body that had been in perfect health just moments before. But as he sat there in the medical bay of the Fifteenth Division’s ship – a place which would serve as his new home – he couldn’t help but let his mind wander back to the events of Angelina Belmonte’s plan. Dozens of lives had been destroyed that day; Marines, civilians, Revolutionaries – each left a dark red stain upon the world’s canvas of green and blue.

Just a little tighter, I think…? Perched upon the end of an empty bed, the solar-powered cyborg was currently running through the rigours of treating and tuning his less organic physiology. Stripped to the waist, the full splendour of the seaman’s cybernetic enhancements could be seen; the steely left arm, metallic plating around the same shoulder and upper back, and the strange almost onion-shaped protrusion that sat there. Certainly, he looked a lot less fatigued than he may have done back in the chilling climes of Ice Nine, for the journey across the waves had brought them into warmer waters of the North Blue. Though it still was comparatively cool to someone originating from the West Blue country of Verdenstein, the temperatures were far from unbearable, having allowed him plenty of time to recharge his batteries by absorbing the rays of the sun.

“Ack! Ffff- too tight!” he hissed, pursing his lips tightly as he swivelled a screwdriver in a counter-clockwise manner. He was no mechanic – no engineer – but Greene was at least well informed of the nuances of his anatomical adaptations. Hooked and wired directly to his musculature and skeleton, his synthetic extremities were just as much a part of him now as his own flesh was, and to that he owed the World Navy a lot. With Vegapunk’s constant research into ways of bettering the world, as well as the assistance of numerous other scientific teams (Ascot, Rodin, and Toctic), such systems were slowly but surely becoming more prevalent amongst the Marines – even the running costs were anything but efficient. Many were still in their earliest days, Verdelet’s own augmentations included, but already had they come far.

“Hey, Greene!” called a voice that had quickly become a familiar one to his ears. Finishing his work with the tool in hand, the diminutive doctor gave his mechanical arm a quick rigours test. A quick extension and retraction of the limb certified that he’d secured it properly, the lack of discomfort or pain in physical feedback even better a sign that assured him of the artificial arm’s state of repair (courtesy of the reclusive head engineer Ralph Rogers). Sure, the wrist was a little on the stiff side, but that was an easy fix he could take care of on the fly without worry. With that out of the way, he looked over to the infirmary entrance, green eyes greeted by the shape of Lieutenant Caroline Amyot. Of all the men and women on the crew, the two of them shared a distinct trait – neither was particularly tall. In fact, there was barely an inch between them, though he was not quite sure how much of a reassurance that was to her. Similarly, he was not too sure of how a woman still years younger than him had managed to attain the commissioned officer rank of LT. Not that it either of those things mattered in the end; they were both Marines, and dedicated ones at that.

“Captain Saifer wants to see you,” Caroline said sternly before turning to leave as quickly as she had entered. Straight to the point she was, constantly moving about the ship to make sure everything was done as appropriate. Drop the ball and she’d be on your case faster than the Captain’s dog could pick up your scent, which was both an admirable trait to have, and an overbearing one. The strength that one woman contained – both of mind and of body – was frightening to say the least. Still, the medic was not about to leave his commanding officers waiting, a sense of duty driving him to see what was the matter and whether or not he could be of any immediate assistance. Saifer’s own fight had not been an easy one, but Captains rarely reached their rank and status without being able to endure. Even so, that did not mean that they were immune to injury; they were just as human as those that served beneath them (in most cases at least).

Wasting no time, Verdelet quickly wiped down his arm before donning his shirt, adjusting his garb as appropriate and packing up his tools before exiting the bay and advancing through the halls of the ship. Onto the main deck he stepped, the sun casting soft shadows of seamen across the timbers as the wind ruffled the sails to pull them along. The ship of the ‘Black Guard’ was fully active, making headway for its next destination with no time to spare. Such diligence and dedication had drawn him closer to his crewmen already, despite being such a fresh face in unfamiliar territory. Coming to the door of the Captain’s office, he knocked firmly before entering, as any respectable individual should.

“Seaman Greene reporting, Captain! You wanted to see me? Is everything alright?” At least somewhat aware of the injuries that the CO had sustained during his duel with Miss Belmonte, Mister Greene’s first and rightful assumption was that he had been summoned for medical purposes. Admittedly, Amy Mitchell was perhaps far better suited to (and far more enthusiastic about) the task than he was, but she had her own hands relatively full with the numerous injuries sustained by other members of the crew. Stefan and Toshiro themselves had survived the bombing of the Governor’s house, the latter out of luck and the former out of assistance by the field medic himself, but those two were out for the count for a while as their bodied recuperated. Stefan in particular was most heavily injured, though he still seemed to insist on making himself useful despite the severity of his left arm’s injuries.

Isaac Saifer, on the other hand, was not exactly in a state of ill health. Though his face looked somewhat drawn from stress – and perhaps an ounce of guilt? – he was otherwise in good condition. All the cyborg needed now, as he stood in the doorway and awaited permission to enter, was an explanation as to why he had been summoned…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

(33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)

[/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]

[Lord Bromosalino]

“Seaman Greene reporting, Captain! You wanted to see me? Is everything alright?” Proper greeting, timely in response, and ready for duty. It seemed that the newest addition to the 15th Marine Division would mesh well with the rest of the crew and its commanding officers. For once, the overzealous Lieutenant would not have to throw the newest recruit overboard; something that was no exaggeration to be sure. Then again, this Verdelet fellow wasn't a fresh recruit who was just now entering into adulthood. From the looks of it, albeit his size, he looked to be roughly the same age as Isaac himself (give or take a few years). Yet, despite their similar ages, the two had clearly taken very different paths. And all though Isaac was his commanding officer, he felt as if he was Verdelet's elder by at least fifteen years. It was quite interesting how the toll of a soldier could affect one so much.

"Yes, please have a seat Mr. Greene." Extending an offer towards the nearest seat on the other end of the rather large, mahogany desk, Captain Saifer opened a drawer containing a folder of rather unorganized (unusual, as tidiness was something the Captain lived by) assortment of notes he had compiled in lieu of recent events. Handing the folder to his subordinate, the Marine Officer got down to business. "That first page there is all we knew about Miss Belmonte before we arrived to Ice Nine. The two pages that follow is what I've been able to put together in the last few days." However, truth be told, the amount of hard facts that he was able to put together wasn't enough to create a comprehensive profile of their still mysterious Revolutionary/Terrorist. "I believe she will be heading for Nuovo Romano, located right around, lets see" taking a moment to find the island on the map that lay before them, Isaac pointed with a thin, boney finger to a rather large island south of Ice Nine "here."

And this is where the newest Marine of the "Blackwatch" would come in. Isaac himself had not been able to glean much information during his duel with Miss Belmonte and Lieutenant Amyot had her hands full assisting the Marines of Ice Nine. All that the Captain was able to deduce was that the hit on the town was not the end but rather the beginning to something rather unpleasant. Inside the cave, Saifer had seen multiple maps spread out across Miss Belmonte's desk; maps that ranged from the immediate islands near Ice Nine to islands as far reaching as Lougetown. However, once their battle was over, Isaac had succumbed to his wounds and spent the next two days in a medical ward. By the time they were able to send Marines back towards the cave to investigate the scene, the terrorists were gone; along with their supplies, notes, and any other clues about their whereabouts or plans. And so, over the last few days, Captain Saifer spent his time locked away in his cabin; here, he began to debrief Toshiro and Caroline about their engagement with the enemy.

"You survived your battle -relatively unscathed might I add- on Ice Nine. I was hoping you could help fill in some gaps I'm having. Don't worry, this isn't an official debriefing that will go back towards HQ. Anything you know, remember, anything."

Purupurupuru. "Yes?" "Sorry to bother you sweetie, but don't forget. Verdelet still has to get his shots." "Will do. Thanks Amy." Sigh. How could he forget? After all, Isaac himself was the one who put the immunization and shot list together (with the help of Amy) to ensure that each member aboard the "Black Guard" was healthy and not transmit any form of disease or sickness. "Sorry about that, lets get down to it then, shall we?"

Nuovo Romano. A large island that was actually, with the other four island surrounding it, part of the Holy Remunun Empire. Well respected for their advanced society and ingenuity with steam powered gadgets, this set of islands were among the largest in terms of World Government influence among the other islands of the North Blue. It was for this reason that Isaac believed it to be Miss Belmonte's next target. And as Issac voiced his thought process for their next move, he watched Verdelet; waiting to see how he would react or if he was calm enough to mull over this information and come to a well-thought out response. "What I'm thinking is that Ice Nine was just a test. Or maybe, even a demonstration? Either way, I don't think she'll settle for a victory on an island where World Government influence is fairly new and as a result still minor in force."

---

"Miss Lieutenant, we seem to have..."

"I can see that! Round up a group and start chipping away at that ice. The Captain's going to be furious if we get delayed for too long."

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC}Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchells (b13ee7)
Verdelet Greene (33ff33)[/font

[Vio]

“Yes, please have a seat, Mister Greene,” Captain Saifer said, gesturing towards the opposing end of the desk that was the centrepiece of his office. With that, Verdelet closed the door behind him and took the seat offered, waiting patiently for what was to come. An official debriefing of the Ice Nine conflict was needed, and it certainly felt to him as if this was what the CO had called him in for as he slid a set of papers across the polished mahogany. The first page was little more than intelligence gathered by Marine forces about the rebel leader, Angelina Belmonte, but as Saifer said, the last two pages were a confusing compilation of information pieced together by his own hands and the minds of his soldiers. Their operations on the island had been somewhat obscured by lack of understanding, but there was always information to be gleaned from experience with an opponent.

“You survived your battle – relatively unscathed I might add,” the Captain continued, “I was hoping you could help fill in some gaps I’m having.”

I guess the heat of the moment meant none of us could really put together a decent picture on our own… As he mulled over the events of his service on Ice Nine as Isaac spoke to Doctor Amy Mitchell over the snail, Verdelet Greene could not help but feel an odd pain within his chest as the events flashed in front of him. That pain was the remorse he felt for letting people die, plaguing him like a clinging phantom no matter how far he progressed. But it was this same pain that kept such memories as the battles he been through fresh in his mind, letting him play out the particulars of their fight against the Revolutionary Army. Things stood out to him, or otherwise seemed so absent that it seemed wrong, but it took a moment for him to start placing what was missing.

“What I’m thinking is that Ice Nine was just a test. Or maybe, even a demonstration? Either way, I don’t think she’ll settle for victory on an island where World Government influence is fairly new and as a result still minor in force.” Captain Saifer was right to be troubled. The look in his deep blue eyes screamed of it; internal conflict, lack of understanding, a hunger to know exactly what was going on. These were all things that the solar-powered cyborg himself had seen in the eyes of his native people back during the Verdenstein civil war – the only thing that Isaac lacked was that look of fear, for that had been hammered out of him by mix of duty and experience. Neither of the two men had that any more, or at least neither of them would ever openly choose to show it, concealing their respective worries behind darkened visages.

“Toshiro, Stefan and I ended up at the Governor’s house. Belmonte’s men stopped the cart in a side street beside the building, so I’d assumed they were going to try and filter the explosives into the basement,” the Seaman started to recall, finding it a better idea to run through the events openly to see if his commanding officer could pick up on anything of his own accord. But before he continued, he started to arrange the papers presented to him at the start of the meeting. The first was turned sideways, matching the desk’s length with its own, and set near the middle of the desk. The second sheet’s orientation was left alone, but the cyborg’s steel hand shifted it so that it sat next to the first, with a narrow gap between them. And with the third – turned to match the first – he attached it to the end of the second to form an ‘L’ shape.

“That should be right, I think?” he questioned to himself, running jade hues across the desk and trying to assign each sheet an appropriate title in his mind. It was just like looking at a medical diagram, or even at the base schematics for his prostheses; two images whose layouts he was familiar with and it was this familiarity that he was trying to replicate.

“Right, so, this is the Governor’s house,” he continued and pointed to the lone page with his right index, after which he hovered his hand over the open space between the pages for a moment before finding his mark; “Which would’ve meant that we were here when they stopped the cart. They went to unload the explosives, which is when we sprang out to surprise them. It wasn’t an easy fight at all, even if my injuries said otherwise – I ended up having to fight two soldiers at once. Honestly, if it wasn’t for having a metal arm, I might not be here right now…!?”

That’s it! That’s what was missing! Eyes widened somewhat, back straightening a little as realisation swept through him like the wind through the leaves of a tree. The thing that had been missing from the fight was so obvious now that he looked at it anew that he was surprised he hadn’t taken notice of it beforehand. The heat of the moment had perhaps clouded his ability to analyse such things – fighting was hardly a specialty of his, so it made sense that he might not have noticed it, but even then he was something of a veteran when it came to warfare. Luck would have it that Angelina’s choice of attack was predictable and natural, less of an abomination than the kinds of weapons that the army of Uvarovite had pulled out during the civil war times.

“They weren’t soldiers,” Greene muttered, clearing his throat before looking his Captain in the eye. “The men we fought – or at least the two I fought against – didn’t fight like soldiers. They didn’t seem all that organised at the time. Even if we did catch them unawares, it doesn’t make sense to me that men of the Revolutionary ‘Army’ would fight so disorderly? We were stretched a little because of their numbers advantage, but… I’m not sure, but it was as if they weren’t experienced, or properly trained. They did… Tch! They ended up setting off the explosives outside, which killed them… I’m not sure if any of them survived and escaped – I think I was unconscious for about a minute after the blast…”

A cold shiver of unprecedented sorrow crawled up his spine as the image of a man’s lifeless hand amongst the rubble was reflected in his eyes, reminding him of the unfortunate fate of men and women when it came to the horrors of war. It didn’t matter how many times he saw it, or how many different ways it might have happened, for such sights would always be disturbing to him. He wondered how many of the 15th division shared that outlook, pulling back the sleeve of his left arm to reveal the steel-plated forearm. The back plate of the artificial limb possessed a light scratch where the blade of his behemoth of an opponent had collided with it – negligible damage, but an effective reminder of that fight…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

(33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)

[/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]

[Lord Bromosalino]

“They weren’t soldiers,” stated the young man as he recounted the events that had happened a short time ago. Hearing this, Captain Saifer was struck on that one point. They weren't soldiers. He himself did not have the opportunity to catch that as his mission did not give him the ability or chance to see the rest of the terrorist group up close and personal for himself. And that marked him. A groups' ability, level of strength, and military tact was always (or at least in most cases) a direct correlation to their leaders own ability, level of strength, and military tact. And though Angelina Belmonte was quite the capable leader, according to Mr. Verdelet, the Revolutionary group was not comprised of soldiers.

I think I was unconscious for about a minute after the blast…” As the young cyborg continued detailing his recollection of the battle, Isaac saw something that reminded him that they weren't just soldiers. He saw sorrow in the Marine; a genuine sorrow for his fellow man. Isaac knew, though, if that sorrow lingered, it would not just burden his own ability but it would and could slow down the rest of the 'Blackwatch'. It was to this end that Isaac felt the need to reach out and encourage the young boy. "I see. In either case, your group did well; all of you. If it wasn't for you, I probably would have lost two of my best Marines. Thank you."

As both men considered where the conversation would go from here, the commanding officer of the 15th Marine Division leaned forward, rubbing his eyes with a tense hand. He hadn't had much sleep in the last few days, and as a result he felt his critical thinking ability dropping. "They weren't soldiers...I wonder," I wonder, I wonder. Could it be possible that he was looking at this all wrong? "Do you...No, is it possible that Belmonte might not be in charge? Let me explain. According to your reports and the Lieutenants, the group certainly did not function like the Revolutionary Army we're used to. And then there's the matter of their supplies; from their ship, to the large amount of gunpowder, weaponry, and horses and wagons. Belmonte just sprung into the scene almost out of nowhere. What if she's being financed by someone else?" Slamming a fist onto his desk, Isaac let out an angry "Tch" as his own Den Den was sent spinning in the air from the unexpected slam. Grabbing the red snail creature mid spin, Isaac made another call. "Mr. Dupont, to my office." If anyone would know the ins and outs of the Revolutionary Army, it would be the aging adviser to the 15th Marine Division.

"This certainly changes our approach. Thank you for your time Mr. Verdelet. Make your way to the medical ward and see Miss Mitchell about those vaccinations. Standing and extending an arm to the newest Marine, Isaac would appreciate having his office cleared, if even for a few moments. Though he was certainly making strides in 'opening up' to his crew, Isaac still valued the quiet his office provided. And, with all of the meetings he has had recently, Saifer needed some much needed sleep and recuperation of his own. And while the rest of his crew was recovering from their mission, there would be no such rest for the commanding officer. He had hoped to get answers; instead, more questions and mysteries had come out of it all.

There was too much work to still be done.

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC}
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchells (b13ee7)
Verdelet Greene (33ff33)[/font

[Vio]

“If it wasn’t for you, I probably would have lost two of my best Marines. Thank you,” Captain Saifer said, perhaps registering the sorrow in the eyes of Verdelet Greene. Though he did not feel he needed to be thanked for doing his duty in the field, it was welcome all the same, a small smile blooming upon the seaman’s lips as he nodded in acceptance. Toshiro and Stefan were indeed capable Marines – skilled fighters, obedient soldiers, but apparently not afraid to take charge when they needed to. Qualities of good leaders, even if they had yet to show to him whether or not they had the qualities of a CO like the man before him. That said, a man’s (or a woman’s) position in rank and file mattered little to the medic when he was trying to save their lives.

“Do you… No, is it possible that Belmonte might not be in charge?” As the conversation continued, Isaac presented a question that seemed very much unusual on its own. In all honesty, Greene had never considered such a thing in his life – this was an entirely different thing to what he was used to. Indeed, dealing with the Revolutionary Army was something he had not done before, either, so it was even more unusual to suggest that the Ice Nine bombings were set up with aid from outside factions. It begged the question, however; if this wasn’t only the work of the rebellion, then whose work was it? Who would desire the destruction of a World Government settlement without being involved with the very faction that did so? Unfortunately – and he was well aware of it – this was not his specialty.

…!? As the Captain slammed his fist upon the desk in frustration, everything seemed to bounce, including the unfortunate snail which now found itself doing a somersault. Even so, Isaac snapped up the Den Den Mushi and prepared the call. Simon Dupont was the next to be summoned to Saifer’s office, it seemed, though it truth Verdelet had yet to meet this man in the flesh. All he knew was that Dupont was a man of relatively old age compared to the rest of the crew, a former Captain who had come out of retirement to work under Saifer’s command – he was both an adviser in times of need and a master of the Black Guard’s artillery.

“This certainly changes our approach,” the Captain said before offering a final thanks and itinerary for the field medic. With a quick salute as he stood, Mister Greene took leave and made to exit the office. Outside, the ship’s crew was as busy as ever, the vessel driving on through the cold waters of the North Blue as they made their way to their next destination. But still, the words of his Captain were prevalent within his mind. He had at first believed that the rebel forces were little more than a disorganised group akin to a piratical armada, but only after talks with his fellow Marines had he realised that such a force was a lot more like a proper army. They had officers, they had soldiers, and they had divisions. The Revolution was a force to be reckoned with.

But I thought they supposedly wanted to liberate people from the World Government… As he made his way back to the medical bay, the solar-powered Cyborg could not help but question the ideals of the rebellion. Was this not the armed force that strove to free the common people – regardless of race or upbringing, nature or nurture – from the ‘tyranny’ of the World Government? If so, why would they risk the lives of the innocent in their plans to destroy such establishments? It did not make any sense to him, though that did not stop his mind from drawing comparisons to the botanical world. If the WG was essentially a massive tree, made up of various branches – Gorosei, Celestial Dragons, Cipher Pol, Marines, and Civilians – then the Revolution was akin to a parasitic vine trying to strangle the life out of it.

Angelina Belmonte might be the vine in this case… But which is the root that feeds her? As good a metaphor as it was, Seaman Greene’s comparison was of no real developmental use. Even if he could make sense of how this ordeal had worked out, it still did not answer the questions that were likely shared by the mind of his commanding officers. Surely Saifer himself would easily be able to realised that the best way to terminate the strangling thorns of Belmonte’s attacks was to cut her off at the source of her ability – eradicate whatever ‘nutrients’ were feeding her, and she would be left to fend for herself. The issue was that it would not be surprising if the rebellion divisions were more than capable of acting independently.

“Hey, Verdelet! Ready for your shots?” greeted Doctor Amy Mitchell as he walked into the infirmary. To be frank, the cybernetic seaman was not all too keen on Miss Mitchell’s methodology and behaviour, but their first official meeting had shown her to be one of the most capable surgeons he had ever met in his life. In less than a second of sighting a wounded Stefan, the buxom brunette had identified the exact cause of injury and was already preparing an appropriate treatment for the soldier’s wounds – these were skills that made the field medic somewhat envious, but at the same time he knew his own limits. Surgery was not his thing. As capable a medic as he was in the field, actively operating on someone’s limbs and organs was above and beyond what he was comfortable with and trained towards. Reliant on a mechanical arm, as well, made him feel as if he lacked the appropriate degrees of precision needed to work with such delicate areas of the body.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, Doctor,” he affirmed, taking a seat upon the empty medical ward bed as the woman herself prepared his charts and attained the necessities. Sterile syringes and chemical concoctions adorned the worktop and, as he scanned it with jade hues, Verdelet recognised almost every single thing. The benefit of being a medic meant that he knew what was coming when it came to these things – vaccinations could make some of the bravest men unnerved by the thought of a fine needle penetrating their flesh, but simple injections could not compare to the feeling of cold realisation that had once flooded him with panic when he first laid eyes upon his loss of limbs. To wake up without arm and leg – now that was a procedure worth fearing…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

[/b]

[/font] (33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchell (7927a0)[/ul][/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]

[Lord Bromosalino]

"Tchtchtch. I'll tell you what, cold is hell on the back and knees, Cap. Though the sixty year old 'retired' Marine Captain would never admit that he was old and aging, the creaks in his knees matched those of the door he was now entering through. Yet, it was for his very age that Captain Saifer asked the retired Marine to rejoin and take part of the 'Blackwatch'. Though Simon Dupont never engaged in the politics and pomp of the World Government, despite his ranking, and instead preferred to perfect his craft, artillery, there were some things that would come to Captain Dupont during such a decorated career, whether he cared for them or not; experience, privy to classified information, and free access to most of the World Governments files and cases. And it was for that reason that Captain Saifer was now calling the former Captain into his office.

Though he himself was the Commanding Officer of the 15th Marine Division, Isaac had always shown the utmost respect and consideration to the aging Captain. Even now, despite the fact that Captain Dupont hated 'feeling' old, he couldn't help but feel the appreciation as Captain Saifer rose from his own chair to pull out Dupont's, even going so far as to ask, "Can I get you anything Captain, anything at all?" "Tch, I can still move on my own, ya know," grumbled the gray-haired man as he reached forward to pour himself a cup of green tea, a staple of Isaac's that seemed to invariably be found handy. "What can I do for you on this fine day Captain? Tch, tea's gone cold."

"I need some information."Truth be told, the tea inside its porcelain pot had gone cold since late this morning. The young Marine Captain had been racking his brain for days now and had yet to get a chance to even call out for a fresh pot to be brought up to his office. And though nothing 'threw' Isaac's day off as much as any change to his routine; a brisk workout, a steaming shower, a look over the day's itinerary, and most importantly, a cup of green tea while spending an hour reading. And so with a lack of sleep and a change in routine, this creature of habit desperately needed to reach out and pool the sources available to him. "What are some big players in the Blues? Brokers, thugs, anti-government sympathizers." After sending recruit Verdelet away for the time being, Captain Saifer's theory was growing in his own mind. As a result, the usually organized and neat deep red, mahogany desk was cluttered with even more papers; each one covered in scribbles, spider webs connecting to other theories, and even potential suspects. However, despite all the work and research he had been doing, Isaac lacked the resources out here while his ship was stuck in the frozen seas of the North Blue.

"Phew. You've made a mess of this, haven't you." Reaching over the large desk once more, the ex-Captain did not hesitate to take files and papers freely. "Well, it's not as cut and dry as I would have hoped," Isaac acknowledged, almost in defeat, as he ran his hands through his hair, stopping and resting on his face while he rubbed his eyes and let out a long drawn yawn. Ignoring his superior's exhaustion, the former Officer knew of the fatigue that came with the position. Instead, he continued to mumble and grumble as he looked through the work Saifer had put together; "Hm, interesting. I can see how you came to this conclusion. Hmmmm." "This is Hogura...I think?" Holding up a sketch that Isaac drew, the old Captain squinted and strained his aging eyes to stare at the, admittedly, terrible drawing before tossing it over his shoulder in a crumpled ball. Had it been anyone else in acting this way, they would have been sent flying out the office faster than they could bat an eye. And though the Captain did not suffer from OCD, he was clearly uncomfortable with his work being discarded in such a careless and thoughtless manner; but for the sake of his respect for his elder, he held back his voice and his actions. "Hogura doesn't have the funding for this. Not since the World Government restrengthened their bases there. I like where you're coming from Cap, but I think you need to explore the possibility of someone in the Grand Line, maybe even the New World, funding this group. So, what's your play?"

"Hasn't changed." And indeed it hadn't. Though the temptation to abandon his hunch about Nuovo Romano and properly investigate the possibility of a possible financial backer, Isaac's primary concern was still catching Angelina Belmonte. "Well then this," responded Captain Dupont as he held up the collective pile of research, "is a moot point until your meeting with the good Inspector." As a groan eeked out of Saifer, both men couldn't help but laugh at the thought of the repercussions he would face for 'standing up' Inspector Alec. "You focus on Belmonte, I'll chase down some leads. Oh, and Captain?" "Yes?" "Get some rest will ya? You're crew's gonna need you." "Thank you, Captain Dupont."

---

DING! DING! DING!

"Roland, drop that anchor. I don't want to lose any men out there if we get separated." Shielding her eyes from the incoming blizzard, Lieutenant Amyot slowly and steadily trekked across the deck of the "Black Guard". The dark blue skies had quite suddenly clouded over as it dropped a heavy blanket of whirling snow and hail down on the pilgrims of the sea. "Why don't we just hole up for the night, Lieutenant?" Now screaming to be heard over the chaos and winds, the Lieutenant struggled to see which of her crew members had suggested that. "WE RISK THE ICE CRACKING THE HULL IF WE CAN'T GET HER MOVING INTO OPEN WATER SOON. I WANT EVERYONE ON HAND; YOU'RE EITHER CHIPPING ICE AWAY FROM THE MASTS OR YOU'RE PICKING THE ICE IN FRONT OF THE SHIP. GET EVERYONE UP, WE'RE ALL WORKING TONIGHT!" As the night started to settle in, the consistent droning of the ship's bell continued to ring out while lamps across the ship lit the area. It was going to be a long night for all the members of the "Black Guard"; from Isaac Saifer continuing his research to the lowest ranking of Marines putting their back to the job at hand.

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchells (7927a0)
Verdelet Greene (33ff33)
Simon Dupont

[Vio]

“So, what’s it like?” Doctor Amy Mitchell asked as she swabbed the recruit’s arm to clean it in preparation for the needle. This was all standard procedure and, as he had almost expected of her, the Blackwatch’s own chief of medical staff seemed to be well aware of some of the not so standard practises employed by medics amongst the Marines. Many civilian doctors took to conversing with their patients when applying such things as a syringe, keeping their minds occupied with day to day questions or simple talks to make them feel more at ease. Indeed, Verdelet Greene would have been lying to himself if he said that he did not find some comfort in being spoken to whilst undergoing the jabs, but Amy had left her question relatively vague.

“What’s what like?” he questioned appropriately, staring rather blankly at a photograph of the crew that sat upon the head medic’s desk. It was a standard picture, assorted by rank and file, and showed the true scale of this division and the many pairs of hands and individual minds that comprised it. Of course, he was far enough away not to be able to make out any faces, though the distinctive hair of Lieutenant Amyot was at least recognisable. In all honesty, the image made them look like a ragtag bunch of misfits – but then again, that was not exactly very far from the truth.

“You know, being mostly made of steel!”

“Hm. I wouldn’t say mostly. It’s only really my arm and leg, plus a few bits and pieces built in for support,” Seaman Greene explained, metallic fingers gently squeezing his left knee as he felt the ever so slight tingle of the needle penetrating his flesh. It was true enough that the man was a cyborg, but his conversion was not out of necessity. He could have gone on living his life as a citizen of Verdenstein, without arm and leg, but instead he had opted to hobble down a different path. That decision was why he sat here now, listening to the beck and call of voices outside and the steady creaks of the ship’s timbers as they followed the contours of the planet. That one decision to join the forces of the massive military organisation that had saved his life – not to mention the lives of countless fellow countrymen and women – had been the cause of his augmentations.

“Still, it’s a pretty big deal, eh? Being part machine must be kind of scary at times, right?” He had to admit, Miss Mitchell’s hunch was pretty much right on the money. Though it was by no means as frightening as the horrors of warfare through which he had lived, the solar-powered soldier could not deny the fact that his inorganic appendages often felt as if they would betray him at any moment. The most awkward thing about the whole ordeal, however, was that phantasmal feeling of still having his old limbs. While cybernetic adaptation was miraculous by nature, it was not a means through which men and women could work miracles – it was like carrying a dead weight upon his body at all times. Each motion of the mechanical limbs was nothing more than muscle movement occurring further up his body, unlike the norms to which flesh and blood and bone would experience. Moving his fingers was a matter of tensing his shoulder muscles, a feeling far different from what he remembered.

“I suppose… Sometimes it’s as if my old limbs are still there, trapped inside. But I think the scariest part of it all is knowing that’s not the case. No matter how our scientists progress, they’ll never be able to regrow entire limbs. Not in our lifetimes, at the very least,” the cyborg sighed, horribly aware of science’s own limitations. It was often said that Doctor Vegapunk was around five hundred years ahead of his time, blessed with a knowledge and creativity far superior to that of modern men. Sure, other incredible minds existed, but if such a thing as regenerating lost limbs for soldiers was out of the question even for such an advanced individual, then it was certain that generations would have to pass before that could happen.

“I can’t imagine what it’d be like to lose a limb…”

“To be honest, I don’t think anyone can until it happens,” Verdelet assured Amy as she prepared the second vaccination, his jade eyes still firmly affixed to the photograph. Staring at it long enough seemed to make it move, the men and women in the picture expressing so much though little more than the glimmer of their eyes and the way they held themselves. It was like a family photograph, the thought alone making him somewhat homesick. He was across the Grand Line from his homeland in the West Blue and, with the crew currently venturing towards the East Blue, he would soon enough be on the opposite side of the world from where he was born and raised…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

[/b]

[/font] (33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchell (7927a0)[/ul][/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]

[Lord Bromosalino]

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Though the massive, forty pound, iron bell would make enough noise to be heard throughout the hull of the massive floating fortress, the clanging of ball again iron was now barely audible to even those directly underneath. The howling of the wind had become all but deafening. Supervisors were putting their all into each command, their lungs gushing as much air outwards as it could muster, but to no avail. No amount of shouting would do. Mother Nature was too powerful, and she was letting the crew of the "Blackwatch" know that no man could tame her. And, instinctively, each man and woman knew that despite the valiant fight they were putting up. To be fair, they weren't fighting as much as they were struggling to simply come out alive. And though it was all but hopeless, each Marine continued to chip and hack away at the ice that was building and growing in thickness. If they did not break its slow and steady crawl, the "Black Guard", sturdy as it was, risked it's very hull cracking to the force and power of this mighty beast.

"Amy get up here! We got a man down!"

Inside the steel halls and rooms of the ship, the high pitched voice of the First-Lieutenant bounced back and forth as she screamed to make herself heard through the multiple Den Den Mushi's that laced each nook and cranny of the vessel. And though she too was screaming, the droning of the winds was coming across just as strong, if not even more so. But there was no time to send someone below deck personally to fetch for a medic. Every hand was needed, and now they were one man down. The ice had become so thick that one man's pick simply bounced off of the ice and directly into his shin; the crimson liquid splattering the white backdrop, providing the sole piece of color in this blizzard. In an instant, two others dropped their own picks to help stop the bleeding, doing all they could to prevent frostbite from settling in. This, though, would prove to be nearly impossible. The freezing cold was already rushing into the open wound, the gash had exposed skin to the merciless elements. And, so, his comrades feared moving him, feared doing more damage than good. And so, they could only pray and wait that help would come soon. And whatever measures they took to prevent the poor soul from losing his leg would prove to be useless. Nature always took what was hers.

---

"AAAARGH!" Slam!

Never before had Isaac Saifer felt so frustrated. And, so, in an uncharacteristic act papers, folders, lamps, and desk were overturned in a fit of anger and violence. The calm and emotionless Captain was replaced with the human that was Isaac. Despite the sagely advice from Captain Duponte, the tired Marine Captain simply couldn't peel himself away from the mess that was this case. Nothing made sense, and for a man who took immense pride in his strategic brilliance and planning, there was no greater hell. Even Thor seemed surprised and in shock at what had come over his partner; his usual spot in front of the door that he fiercely guarded through instinct was now replaced by Isaac's desk. And that scene alone seemed to be a perfect image of what this was doing to Isaac. Once, this beautiful mahogany desk lay in the centerpiece of the office; each drawer with its purpose, each folder and memo placed in its spot with great care and precision, the calendar and log meticulously kept updated. And now, everything was out of sorts; but more importantly, a large and rather deep crack had formed across the very center of the top. And like his workstation, Isaac too had slunk into a ball, his face in his palms as he struggle to regain his composure.

And though they were mutual partners with a relationship built on professionalism and hard work, the battle-bred Doberman pushed his snout up in-between Isaac's hands, comforting the tired man. Not one to wear his feelings on his sleeves, at least not in recent years, Isaac couldn't help but feel the similarity between Thor and Cerberus, his former canine partner. And like that, the two stood for what seemed like all night.

Sometimes, though, it was good to let himself feel human. After all, he was still flesh and blood, he still felt the highs and lows that all others before him had felt. And sometimes that meant throwing everything out and hitting the 'reset' button; in this case, the throwing was very much so literal. But as his breathing slowed, his composure regained, Isaac, though not completely himself yet, wasn't so much in a fit anymore.

"I guess we should clean this up, huh Thor?" Feeling infinitely better, it seemed as if the Captain was 'back'. He had forget how good it felt to just through something in frustration and let his feelings actually surface. "Alright, I guess I'm the one who needs to clean this mess," joked Isaac, as Thor gave him a look that all but told him that this wasn't his mess. As Isaac ran a hand across the crack in the desk, his mind thought immediately how he was going to fix it. But as his fingers laced the splinters, he thought better against it. This would serve as a reminder to him; he was still human, and even he would break and crack from time to time.

---

"Verdelet, grab that bag. No no no, that one! Oh get out of the way, this is the one I need! Let's go, let's go, let's go!!!" Though faint, Amy heard the call and jumped into a frenzy, grabbing one of the many emergency kits she had littered on her desk. And true to her over worrying self, she took off towards the deck, not even waiting to see if Verdelet was was following her or not. But as a doctor of her caliber, Miss Mitchell couldn't wait around; she knew the consequences of a wound out in this blizzard. That plus the fact that she hadn't had to perform an amputation, and she was planning to keep it that way. And to do that, she had to hurry. Hurry, hurry, hurry, came the distraught thought came and she crashed into a wall as she slid around a corner. However, despite her haste, the thought that this man would lose a limb loomed in the back of her mind. And she would have to prepare himself for that. If she could. But she would have to hurry, she had to be even quicker. The crew was really fighting to survive out there. She could only mutter a prayer as she made her way through the twists and turns of the second deck. This was going to be a long night.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Spoiler}{*OOC*}Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchells (7927a0)
Verdelet Greene (33ff33)
Simon Dupont

[Vio]

“Verdelet, grab that bag!”

“This one?”

“No-no-no. That one!”

“Uh…?”

“Oh, get out of the way; this is the one I need! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” Frenetic was one way to describe what had just transpired in the ship’s infirmary, but to be fair there was a lot more to the whole ordeal than just poor communication and the resulting confusion. Having spent less than a week with the crew of the Blackwatch to which he was now assigned, Verdelet Greene was still not entirely used to the quirks of the individuals who comprised its numbers, and even amongst them Doctor Amy Mitchell was a bit of an oddball. No sooner had she finished with the new recruit’s vaccinations than she had heard the call of duty, an apparent exasperation taking hold of her once more as she prepared herself for the tasks at hand. A man down on deck was a serious matter, but the Seaman was left puzzled as to how in the world this woman had attained her position. Then again, perhaps further understanding would bloom in due time.

“Is she always this… panicked?” Verdelet asked himself whilst preparing his own body for the venture out onto the cold decks. Luck would have it that his charges were still quite high – high enough that he was of stark contrast to the same fellow who had trekked through the frost and the snow of Ice Nine’s wilderness beforehand. Just as his blood pumped through his organic vessels, electricity cycled through the wirings of his artificial attachments, powering the various little motors which allowed him to move his arm and leg whilst simultaneously providing internal warmth that could at least partially fight off the effects of the chilling cold climes of the North Blue’s open waters. It was only a limited degree of protection, of course, but it would at least allow him the ability to follow his medical superior into the fray without needing to worry about layering up too much.

Quickly donning his winter jacket atop his standard uniform, the solar-powered cyborg took up his own satchel of medical supplies and followed in the wake of Miss Mitchell, following the contours of the ship as quickly as he could. Indeed, unbeknownst to him, his chosen path and pace were very similar to that of his comrade, though at least his own movements were not as clumsy. No crashing into one of the walls for this more tranquil individual.

Cold… Stepping out onto the decks, Mister Greene was quickly greeted by the bitter howl of the northern winds and their accompanying chill factor, the likes of which bit at the darker hues of his face and turned his cheeks a raw pink in protest. Becoming used to the gelid climatology of such regions as this was not an easy task, least of all for someone born in the warmest regions of the West Blue. But alas, he was not about to let simple weather get the better of him in this time of need. Right now there was a man injured, and it took him not a moment too long to realise the cause of such a catastrophe. Trapped by an enclosure of drifting glacial ice, the ‘Black Guard’ was essentially entombed amidst the coldest currents of the northern ocean, and it was in their haste and struggle to break free of such an unexpected act of tide and of clime that one unlucky seaman had been felled.

“We need to get him into shelter. ASAP!” shouted the head medic over the rolling, whistling winds with which the ship’s sails contended. All work had come to an abrupt halt in the wake of the affliction, men scrambling to resume their work under the charge of Lieutenant Amyot, but even then things seemed to move at a snail’s pace. To a rhythmic orchestra of chipping ice, groaning timber and howling gale, Verdelet approached the scene to make his own assessments – here he could offer whatever he could, as well as perhaps learn more about the work of the field medic. There was, after all, no better experience to be found than that gained from first-hand accounts.

“What can I do?” Greene asked, the look on his face one of stern readiness as his jade eyes scanned the wounded man. By first glance alone he could tell the type of injury – a standard avulsion of the skin brought about by something sharp digging and tearing into the skin with sudden speed. Blood loss was already substantial from that kind of injury, but the priority was indeed to prevent him losing the limb. How ironic it was that just a minute ago the two doctors had been talking of one’s own experience in that regard. Amy alone was driven to save the man’s limb – Verdelet himself was perhaps just as serious…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

[/b]

[/font] (33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchell (7927a0)[/ul][/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]

[Lord Bromosalino]

"Hmm, now where did this go? There? Oh yea, bottom drawer." In light of Isaac's "minor" rampage, the Captain of the 15th Marine division had regained control of himself and his senses. And now, as he held one folder in one hand and an assortment of loose papers in the other, Isaac was trying to sort out the disorganized and chaotic mess that he had created. The entirety of the captain's office looked like a tornado had run through it, leaving ruin in its wake. But despite the temper and uncharacteristic attitude displayed by Saifer, he had vented enough of his anger and frustration to regain himself; and now felt as if he could finally breathe as a deep "Ahhh" escaped from the very depths of Isaac's own soul. There was a sense of order and comfort that came over Isaac, almost as if him rearranging and reorganizing his office became the literal manifestation of what he was doing to his own spirit. And, as he continued to "put his office together', Isaac was having an almost spiritual moment within himself and was beginning to allow for a healing process of sorts to take place; until finally both his work space and his heart were mended. There were still cracks, such as the physical crack along his desk and the problem at hand that continued to linger, to be sure; but they no longer "weighed" down on him as they had before. There was a sense of...release, yes release. The deeper and fuller the breaths he took in and expelled, the stress that had laid hold of him began to weaken and weaken.

And now, standing in the middle of his office, there was one remaining object that lay on the floor, waiting to be placed back in it's rightful spot; Isaac's personal journal. A simple brown, leather bound journal, betraying any appearance of worth or value. Oh, lead scribbles upon the alabaster surface held the treasures of Isaac's heart. Now Isaac was no poet or literary master in any form, but the secrets that that simple notebook held had remained Isaac's foundation for his humble outlook; it kept him grounded at all times. Isaac had learned from his father many years ago that one of the greatest gifts, no privilege, man had was the ability to self-reflect. And at the age of sixteen when the young and brash Isaac had joined the Marines, his father and mother had sent him off with not only love but with this journal. And it was on these very pages that Isaac not only recorded his journeys, but the lessons he had learned along the way.

Slumping into the red plush that overlay the mahogany chair, Isaac began to thumb through that simple journal. Though a chuckle escaped his lips from time to time -a response to "how silly I used to be" - the moment was a somber moment for the Marine Captain. It had been years since he had read those pages; in fact, he could hardly believe that he himself had written those. After all, even reading what he had written last year sounded as if another had written this! Isaac had grown; but had he grown for the better?

The younger Isaac Saifer had an air of confidence about him; a boldness to take life on. Something that this younger generation that was coming up behind him would call "swagger". He was ambitious and full of such wild dreams of the future. And now? Well? Confidence had been replaced by pessimism (though Isaac would call that as being "a realist"), boldness had taken a sour turn towards fear. Isaac certainly had grown in both ability and tact, but where was the...the...the "Isaac-ness"? That part about him that made him Isaac? And as much as he detested the cookie-cutter appearance and personality of the officer, he was becoming exactly that.

And as the night continued to howl away, so did Isaac's soul cry out. And as he flipped on further and further into his scribbles, the confused Marine began to look for where everything changed. What had happened?

---

“We need to get him into shelter. ASAP!”
"What can I do?"

Wasting no time at all, Miss Mitchell went to work. Though there was an uncharacteristic sense of irregularity to her step, speech, and actions, Amy Mitchell was perhaps one of the most gifted field medics currently in the service of the Marines. "Well for starters, stop rubbing his leg damn it!" Pushing the ignorant hands of the Marines supporting the frostbite-ridden man, Amy had no time to warn them that rubbing, though well in intention, the affected body part would only further damage the tissue. "Get him inside, we can't warm him up here and risk the tissue freezing again! Greene, if you want to help, start preparing a thrombolytic IV. Stat! If we're going to have a chance to save him from amputation, that's our only option. GO!"

Though calm, cheerful, and yes even a tad dorky in her relationships, Amy in the snap of a finger had become an efficient doctor; her orders were clear and concise, displaying a tremendous amount of experience and knowledge. Though in most cases with frostbite a simple warm bath and heating of the affected appendage would be sufficient, the freezing temperatures coupled with the open wound meant that the poor Marine's blood was clotting at an alarming rate; it was this reason she was going to start thrombolytic therapy, as this would be the most effective way of dissolving a blood clot. Only then could they hope to save the damaged tissue. But they were going to have to be quick, and carrying an injured, full-grown man in these conditions up from the ice to the ship and across the deck was no small task. Still, they had to hurry if they were going to have any chance at all.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Spoiler}{Spoiler}
**No worries, it's been hectic here as well. That's the beauty of the Blackwatch, we don't post every day like some other mad men <.<

Verdelet Greene (33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchell (7927a0)

[Vio]

If it was not already clear enough as to whom the doctors were aboard this ship, the snappy words of Amy Mitchell soon made it clear as she ordered a couple of the soldiers on deck to cease rubbing the wounded man’s leg. Intentions were good, knowledge poor, and Verdelet Greene knew that well enough. Ironically, despite the array of information his mind now possessed on medical matters, he could still harken back to the days of old where such aspects of his current self were lacking. Those were the days of an innocent youth playing in the fields of lush green grasses – days long before the horrors of warfare had taken hold of him by the scruff of the neck and flung him face first into disastrous dilemmas. If not for his attentiveness and prepared nature, now could well have been another of those crippling conundrums.

“Greene, if you want to help, start preparing a thrombolytic IV. Stat!” Cold was a killer. The harsh environs of this passage through the North Blue the bane of sailors of all types; where even the smallest of wounds could turn lethal within the space of a minute or two, and this was very well one of those instances. Such a wound was deep enough to be serious of its own accord, but the bitterness of the open seas only further served to amplify the dangers posed to this seaman’s life.

“On it!”

Little did Miss Mitchell and the others know just how prepared the solar-powered cyborg really was in times like these. His military profile said many things about him, including offering teasers as to his past amidst a civil war and the fact that he now bore prostheses after undergoing serious surgical procedures. What said file did not advertise was the true extent of his capabilities as a combination of man and machine: Half flesh and bone, half steel and wire, one hundred percent medic. Eyes watched him carefully as he did the unexpected. He did not return to the medical bay to retrieve the appropriate equipment, but instead simply rested one steel knee upon the deck beside Amy and the injured party, drawing up the sleeve of his left arm to reveal the metal plating. Time was of the essence when you were a cyborg in a frigid clime, but he was darn sure that his limits for exposure were far greater than those of the patient in question.

Clack!

The sound of the steel panel opening caught many unawares, a few of the panicked seamen who were using their own bodies as a wind barrier watched in a mix of fear and awe as the diminutive doctor proceeded to delve into his satchel of medical supplies. A foil protected set of pockets contained numerous sachets of medicines, from low level regional anaesthetics to antivenins. Though such an arsenal was hardly as extensive as one might have seen in a professional surgery, it was impressive all the same that someone as ‘simple’ as a field medic would carry such an assortment of things. Or perhaps impressive was the wrong term? These were not unusual medicines, but what made them odd was the manner in which they were to be deployed – intravenous medicines were an exclusive to medical wards, camps and hospitals, not for field operatives.

“Thrombolysis,” Verdelet repeated to himself quietly as fine fingers rapidly shuffled through the assortment of applicable packets. “I’ve only got SK, but it’s a lower concentration – that’ll be fine for now, right?”

“Streptokinase?”

“Yeah. I usually keep it for embolisms, but…”

“Lemme see,” Doctor Mitchell barked hastily, her subordinate holding up the clear packet so that she could read the labelling. Those eyes of hers barely even gave it a full glance; a sign of her experience with such treatments as sharp black pupils focused like the gaze of a hawk upon the most prevalent details. In less than a second, she gave the nod – a quick, sharp, but subtle indicator that this was their only available option right now. Within the secluded shelters of the vessel’s medical bay would be more appropriate treatments and medications, but for now this was what they had to make do with.

Into the open chamber of his artificial appendage Seaman Greene secured the sachet, popping the sealing cap and locking it into position before drawing free a lengthy clear tube through which their subject’s medication would soon flow. Originally designed as a simple replacement for the young man’s missing arm, it was only through his request that the arm had been upgraded to better suit his ideology when joining the Marines. Though his lack of mechanical knowledge meant that the final design of the arm was out of his hands, such nuances mattered little to him. All that mattered was that he had the limbs, the tools and the knowhow to be an effective man of medicine – an effective aide to those who fell to wounds and sickness.

“Right. You two,” Amy crackled hastily to two of the men in the ‘audience’. “Fetch a stretcher from the infirmary, now!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Here.” Verdelet passed the IV’s end to the woman, jade eyes watching carefully as she slowly squeezed the man’s now exposed arm just enough to pronounce the vein. In went the sterilised needle end, surgical tape securing it to the arm. Applying it directly to the leg was not a possibility here, a multitude of reasons and potential medical complications a threat to such direct treatment. He could see that look on the Doc’s face – that look which he too most likely shared right now, but was unaware of it. He shivered slightly, the cold teasing at his own flesh as if nature herself was running the tip of an icy dagger softly across his skin. All he could do now was wait for the men to return with a stretcher, whilst Amy covered the wound with a light gauze. They could not bind it properly yet. Such a wound needed to be cleaned properly before that could happen.

Greene pulled the seal of the IV once given the thumbs up, letting the medicine flow. Streptokinase was not ideal, as they both knew, but it would do for now. All it needed to do was keep the blood from clotting in the cold by triggering the plasmin, letting the man’s own body do the work of keeping itself in a state of mocked warmth…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

[/b]

[/font] (33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchell (7927a0)[/ul][/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]

[Lord Bromosalino]

March 18th, 0100 hours.

I think I now know why you never wanted me to join the Marines Mother. And before you worry, no I'm not injured. Well, much that is. It's just, I've never seen so much...evil. Nothing makes sense. I'm sure the papers will tell of the great "victory" we've achieved here, but honestly...I just don't know. This wasn't a battle against the evil pirates. It was brother versus brother. Winchester Island is doomed for failure, and I'm now convinced no amount of military might will solve this. I know this is my first battle and it will probably be easier the next time around; but how does seeing this kind of violence ever get easier? More importantly, do I want it to get easier? I don't know. It makes me wonder how the Commodore is able to handle it. Maybe that's why he's so...stoic. If anything, I think I'm already a little tired of this. This isn't what I thought the Marines was going to be like.

With all love,

Seaman Recruit Isaac Saifer

Isaac could still remember that night very clearly. S.H.I.E.L.D. had gained "victory" in the great battle for Winchester Island. Victory, though, hardly seemed like the correct word; Marine had turned on Marine and all sense of justice, honor, and right had been torn asunder. Isaac was only nineteen years of age then, a child really. He wasn't ready for the reality of the world, not after just leaving the Marine Academy a few days before. That night had been a pivotal moment for the young man. It was what could be called his first taste of what the rest of his life as a Marine would entail; a somber moment indeed. And as he sat on the edge of his cot that night, restless and unable to find sleep, he pulled out his pen and paper and tried to write down what he was feeling. And now, some seven years later, as he read his scribbled and shaky hand writing he felt the same feeling; confusion. Flipping forward a few pages, he moved forward in time to a few months later.

July 20th, 0500 hours.

We're gaining speed on Udyr, the Marine Captain who betrayed us at Winchester. The lookouts say they can see a ship on the horizon, no more than two-three days ahead of us. The whole ship is tense, far more nervous than I've ever seen them. Even the Commodore has all but locked himself in his cabin. I've been training with the rapier you gave me father, but...I don't know. I've always used my own two hands to defend myself and I just don't know if I'm ready to actually kill someone. I keep telling myself that it's for the right reasons. But is it? Even if they're my enemy, aren't they still soldiers fighting for what they believe in just as much as I'm fighting for what I believe in? Aren't they humans and my brothers? Tell mom not to worry for me, but I would appreciate her prayers, both of yours. I wonder, what will the next few days be like. I know the Commodore will keep us safe like he always has. I just want to be able to do my job too. I wonder if I'll be good enough.

With all love,

Ensign Isaac Saifer

In those short moments between those two exerts, Isaac had been bestowed with the title of an officer. And though many would celebrate in their promotion, he now felt a small burden of what his superiors felt. Flipping ahead just one page, Isaac's heart sank; he knew what lay waiting on that next page.

September 16th, 1600 hours.

He's gone. They're all gone. Why? Why, why, why, why? What the hell happened!? Why are they all gone!?

Just six short sentences. But Isaac knew the exact content they were written in. He had just woken from his coma and had come to find that all of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been defeated and only he remained. Even though Isaac had dealt with and worked through much of his pent up bitterness and anger, it still left a pang inside of him as he read that. Those next four and a half years were hard years to be sure, but Isaac had grown so much, defining who he would be as he entered manhood. As he continued to read journal entry after entry, he found himself reaching for that same worry he first felt upon his first officer rank. And then it dawned on him, everything that had been holding himself back, it clicked. He would, in fact, never be good enough. He would never be a good enough Marine to keep people from dying. That was the tough reality of the world he lived in. Yes, he would and should train hard, plan in excruciating detail, but he should never distance his heart from his comrades and crew. That would never accomplish anything; in fact, it was probably hindering him more than anything. That's what made Commodore Thor so great, he trusted others to do their job and even watch his back. There was no other option, there was no other way. That was the S.H.I.E.L.D. way.

SPOILER: Click to show

{Spoiler}{Spoiler}{*OOC*}
***Sorry for the delay. Work got crazy! I'll let you finish out the medical side of this thread as you see fit. I'll be shooting for us to finish this thread within the next post or so.***


Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchells (7927a0)
Verdelet Greene (33ff33)
Simon Dupont

[Vio]

I’m not sure what’s worse… Was it losing my arm and leg that affected me more? Or was it the realisation…? Whenever he recalled the events of Verdenstein’s civil war, Verdelet Greene’s mind always struggled with the same issue. Though he could still walk, run and fight as well as any soldier, the fact that two of his four limbs were not truly his own always seemed to bother him. Sat there in the cold of the North Blue’s open waters, absently watching his patient clamp his teeth down upon a rag to help keep his mind of the pain, what the medic instead saw was a reflection of that time of ultimate hardship. How many hundreds of – thousands even – people had died at the hands of warfare during that period? How many Marines and civilians had lost their lives defending the cause of justice, or simply looking to survive through turmoil? These were questions that were not worth answering.

“Doctor Mitchell!” It had taken them no longer than a couple of minutes to retrieve the stretcher requested, but as the two seamen approached again, Greene’s trance had made it seem as if they had been gone for hours. Time – a meaningless concept in the eyes of doctors and medics and surgeons across the world. Though each and every one of them would always stress the importance of speed and care in their work, as if time was the very centrepiece around which they worked, the truth was starkly different. Wounds needed to be cleaned and closed hours ago, medicines prescribed before people even knew they were sick, bones realigned even as they were being fractured or dislocated. There was no ‘future’ in medicine. There was only preparation for the inevitable now: A now which could last for hours and yet span mere seconds.

“Alright. Easy now! Make sure his leg’s kept raised,” informed Amy as the small cluster of sailors aided their wounded comrade. Slowly he was laid to rest upon the stretcher bed, firm padding placed beneath his injured limb. So far, the Streptokinase had done its work as efficiently as it could – the protective gauze that had been loosely wrapped around the wound to trap the warmth was now staining a deep, dark crimson. Blood still flowed, plasma laced with anticoagulants that helped keep the blood loose, mocking the ideal of body heat. Verdelet squatted next to the stretcher, metal arm still exposed as the medicine flowed. And as he watched, practically incapable of much else while he remained ‘rooted’ to their patient, all he could do was silently pray, collecting his thoughts.

At least he knows what hit him, the solar-powered cyborg reminisced.

There were far worse things that a pick to the shin.

Far worse things that the biting cold of the North Blue.

Explosions powerful enough to collapse buildings, jets of water capable of slicing a man clean in two, or highly toxic fumes churned up by chemical fires. These were the kinds of things that truly sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened, experienced medical practitioners. Rumours of such weapons existing in the arsenals of powerful pirates had spread like wildfire over recent years, but was it the pirates who might have owned them that were to be feared? Or was it the selfish people who willingly unleashed them upon their own kind? Fortunately, Seaman Greene had not had to deal with amputation through water pressure at any point in his life, though there was always room to encounter such things should he ever encounter piratical Fishmen. As for the other two, both had shown up at some point in his life. He was just glad he had survived them both. More importantly, he was glad that his recent efforts had allowed others to survive.

“Well what are you waiting for? Quickly! Move him to the infirmary!”

“Yes, Doctor!” As hastily as they could allow for, the two escorts lifted their wounded compatriot from the deck and began to advance towards the vessel’s medical bay. Walking at pace alongside them was Verdelet himself, still reflecting somewhat upon his past ordeals as time slipped by and bounced around erratically. All he really needed to do right now was remain in proximity of his patient, so that the SK dosage could continue its necessary workings. Even just a few long minutes exposed to the gelid climes outside had threatened them with the risk of frostbite, the wounded one shivering weakly, but still conscious. His face was sickly ashen and screwed up from the pain when jade eyes looked to him, but despite that the soldier – still with comfort cloth clenched between his teeth – seemed to muster a thankful smile.

“Don’t be thankful just yet, soldier,” he replied. “We’ve still got work to do.”

Amy Mitchell had raced on ahead, likely already prepping a bed and the necessary gear with which to operate. The wound was pretty standard, all things considered, so it was not going to take more than one pair of hands to deal with it. A standard cleaning procedure with hot water would help to relieve whatever effects of exposure had taken place. From there, it was simply a matter of providing the right anaesthetics and stitching the wound – perhaps a small skin graft to help along the healing process. All things he was capable of on his own to some degree, but better left in the hands of the head medic herself.

“Can you hook the IV up without stopping it?” Amy asked of him as soon as the troupe walked through the ward’s door. The diminutive doctor raised his head and nodded firmly, taking the question as an order for the benefit of the patient. In medicine, questions tended to act more or less as a sort of command in situations like these. If the answer was yes, then you did it. If no, then you replied as normal and tried to find another way around it. Sure enough, as the two men rested the stretcher on the prepared bed, Verdelet was already detaching the SK packet from his arm, raising it and hooking it to the stand at bedside before assisting in shifting the patient to the bed proper. A clean white surgical apron was already affixed to Doctor Mitchell’s front, gloves at the ready.

Standard procedure from here on out, the field medic told himself as he pulled the curtain around, offering a quick but formal salute to the seamen who had aided in bringing the man to the bay. The two of them looked more like worried parents than worthy soldiers, but that was not something they could be faulted for. If anything, concern was what truly made even the hardiest and most courageous of soldiers even nobler…

SPOILER: Click to show

{*OOC*}

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[/font] (33ff33)
Isaac Saifer (ffffff)
Caroline Amyot (ff3399)
Amy Mitchell (7927a0)[/ul][/ul][/spoiler][/font][/blockquote][/div][/div][/div]