The commodore sat in his poorly lit room on Freeport 10, the hum of the station's distant machinery provided a backdrop he had long since filtered out. At his worn wooden desk, Augustin stared blankly at a glowing database, mechanically scrolling through the latest K.I.A list of royalist personnel. Each name blurred into the next, yet he continued scanning for familiar ones. The flickering screen cast a pale light on his face, his eyebrows furrowing each time a name started with one of his friends' initials, only to end with a different surname, thankfully.
With a weary exhale, he finally reached the end of the list without spotting any familiar names. His lips curled into a faint yet bittersweet smile. Closing his eyes briefly, he let the datapad slip from his pale hands onto the scarred desk, its glow fading as he leaned back comfortably. The tired joints of his seat creaked, filling the otherwise silent room for a moment before the background noise washed it out. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe they are alive still.
Sitting here in this cramped space, staring at the undetailed and cobweb addled ceiling with a singular light bar spanning its length, a thought darted across his mind. Perhaps it was a fleeting impulse stirred by the intense of solitude; however, Augustin felt compelled to follow through. Ambre Lachance - one of his closest wingmen and dearest friends. How many years had it been since they last spoke? Could she be alive? And where might she be? These questions hung heavy in the air, prompting him to reach out and break the silence.
Augustin stretched himself up and then forward, reaching for his well-worn PDA. He stared at it, hesitant to turn it on again. Will she answer? Will the message even reach her? More perilous thoughts bounced inside his fatigued mind. 'Tsk.' He shook his head, ignoring the what-ifs and wills. The soft light struck his face once more as he cleared his throat, sitting upright.
"Transmission sent." His eyes gazed at this simple message displayed on his PDA. With a resigned exhale, he gently placed the device back on the table, the scratched screen going dark after a handful of idle seconds. He felt as if some weight was lifted off his chest at that instant.
This time he rose from his seat, the chair's joints squeaking and creaking again as he stood up. He cast a final glance at the PDA, squinting at it in hopes of some kind of notification.
It remained silent for the time being.
His shoulders shrugged as he fished out a pack of smokes from his front pocket, lighting one up. With a deep inhale, he let the smoke rest with his thoughts for a moment before exhaling slowly. With the source of his vice reduced to a stub and discarded, Augustin left, locking the door behind him, creating a soft click as the audible confirmation.
