Sable's Experiences

[Toaster]

//No longer canon.

August 2, 828 A.S.

Olivia eyed herself in the small mirror of her small quarter's small bathroom. She leaned in close, shifting her head to get the most out of the flickering ceiling lamp's dim light. White lines ran across her left cheek and jaw, scars from where shrapnel had cut across her face. They were faint - noticeable, but not disfiguring. Similar marks covered her outer thighs, reminders of where the explosion's debris had lacerated her legs.

Olivia smiled, satisfied. Ever since she had received her new, unscarred skin, she had felt strangely naked. The many battle scars that had once covered her body had meant something to her; mementos of her many ordeals, both victories and failures. They had, like a book whose pages were written across her body, told her story. But, with her near-death, the words had been erased, leaving behind a blank slate.

Now, a new story was waiting to be told, each new adventure to be again marked down on her body.

Olivia ran her right hand over her left arm. her fingers stroking the black, polymer sleeve that covered it. Beneath her fingertips, she could feel the lattice of electrodes interwoven with the plastic, at regular intervals stimulating the muscles underneath with light shocks. Her hand reached the med-stasis band that was firmly clamped around her upper arm, regulating the electrodes and regularly administering steroids into her body. Even through the thick sleeve, Olivia could feel how skinny and frail her left arm was. It looked out of place on her otherwise athletic, toned body.

The skin had recovered well - if badly scarred - from the horrific injury she had suffered, the swaths that were torn away in the explosion replaced with cloned tissue and grafts. The same applied to the flesh, tendons, and muscle tissue underneath - the latter, however, could only be regrown in a cloning vat, not retrained. It would take weeks, maybe months of dedicated training, electro-stimulation, and medication to return her arm back to its previous form.

Olivia sighed, pulling on a jacket. Until she recovered, she would have to rely mostly on her right arm. Not much of a hindrance when in the pilot's seat, but hand-to-hand combat and even firearm handling would be ill-advised for some time.

But she had a mystery to solve, and had finally - after weeks of uncertainty, fear, and frustration - been given a first, usable clue. She zipped the jacket up around her and stepped out of the bathroom, throwing on a belt and holstering her weapons. She didn't have time to be slowed down by injuries.

So, she wouldn't.

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Olivia Sable