The ship creaked and fell to pieces around her, the turret fire did not miss its mark and the pod was thrown into space. She was aware of a sharp movement as she was ejected, but she was unaware of what was happening. She had lost her will to fight, after all, what was the point. She had no credits to repair the damage this time, the last time she had tried they did what they could to help, but it was by no means fixed. She had no one to go home to anymore. And end to her pitiful existance would mean an eternity of rest, one she had grown to welcome.
She wore a ring, the only a item that she wore that would have been worth anything. It was the only thing she had refused to part with. Other than that, she had very few features that could be used to identify her, she made sure of this after her departure from the Rogues. She wore jeans, a singlet top, and light trainers. Her hair was tied loosely in a ponytail to keep it out of her face.
She was still responsive to pain, barely, occasionally flinching as the tube was inserted and as the wounds were being assessed. She took a shallow and shaky breath. It was barely enough to celebrate, but it was on her own. She was prepared for surgery, still bleeding on the table.
