Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

For our welcomed guests and emissaries from other fleets.

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Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by WelshAvenger » Thu Oct 09, 2014 8:11 pm

As it's been too long since our fleets last communicated, I thought I would dust off the comm panel and reopen hailing frequencies.

I'm Captain WelshAvenger, CO of 12th Fleet's Exploration squad Beta and temporary Diplomatic Envoy by way of knowing Sochin in RL :D

Just to let you guys know that you can PM me in game any time @welshavenger or if you fancy a chat in game, you can always join the channel welshbanter.

I'm always up for space STF's and part of 12th Fleet Exploration's remit is creative writing, so drop me a line if you'd ever like to collaborate.

Fly safe!
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thErik » Fri Oct 10, 2014 7:01 am

Aye Pleasure to meet you mate
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thSochin » Fri Oct 10, 2014 7:51 am

Welsh me old mucker welcome to our forums. Mr Hunt will be our main point of contact as RP Division CO. Love the avatar 'Judge Welsh Mega City Vice'. If we can get something rolling that would be excellent wether it be online (STO) or outside of that.
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thErik » Fri Oct 10, 2014 8:16 am

Aye looking forward to cracking skulls with ya
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thIntercity125 » Fri Oct 10, 2014 10:51 am

Welcome to the fleet! I will be acting as Chief Diplomatic Officer, but it looks like you know us already! :mrgreen:
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by WelshAvenger » Fri Oct 31, 2014 6:38 am

Just had it confirmed by our command, I'll be your permanent Diplomatic contact until I'm dead or they find someone better :wink:
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by Omdra » Fri Oct 31, 2014 7:30 am

welcome + enjoy your stay :twisted:

cheers
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by WelshAvenger » Sun Nov 16, 2014 8:57 am

Hey all, just a quick bit of creative writing to introduce my primary character "Jangles" Jones.

"All hands, brace for impact!" Mariella 'Jangles' Jones yelled as the heavy plasma torpedo raced from the Borg cube. "Helm, evasive port, come to heading 213 mark 8."

At the Helm station, Lt Jensen's hands flew over the controls trying to coax the ship out of harm's way.

Commander T'var's calm, steady voice cut through the noise of the bridge, "Captain, our shields are being drained, activating Hazard Emitters."

The torpedo struck the hull of the USS Snowdonia amidships. The initial shockwave threw Jangles from her command chair. She called for a damage report as sparks from ruptured panels showered down around her. Engineer M'werl wiped blood from his fur as he delivered the grim news, "Shields are offline completely, structural integrity is at forty percent and falling fast."

Jangles wasted no time and activated the ship wide comm system, "All hands abandon ship, repeat, all hands abandon ship!" She then turned to T'var, "Notify the Hermes and the Winterfell of our situation and get to an escape pod."

Raising an eyebrow, T'var quizzed, "And what of you Captain?"

Jangles smiled grimly, "I'll be heading out as soon as I know the crew are away. Don't worry, old friend, I'm not going down with the ship, not today." As the bridge crew moved quickly to the ladder to deck two, she gave each one of them a wink of reassurance or a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. The ship shuddered around her from the impacts of Borg beam weapons. "Computer, notify me when remaining crew have evacuated." Without waiting for the computer to respond, Jangles climbed down the ladder.

Conduits and cables had ruptured and debris was littered all over the corridor as Jangles emerged from the access alcove. Smoke was thick in the air along with the tang of burning plastic. Moving quickly, she found an empty escape pod, activated it and climbed inside. The interior of the escape pod was cramped and dimly lit but Jangles managed to pull the restraints around herself and buckle them together before the computer announced, "Crew evacuation complete."

Jangles mashed the launch control and was pinned into her seat as the rockets fired. The escape pod was moving at full burn away from the stricken ship. "C'mon, c'mon." Jangles urged. The escape pod had reached a distance of two kilometres when the USS Snowdonia exploded. The shockwave tore into the tiny vessel mercilessly, tossing it far off course.

'Engines offline, life support offline, communications offline' droned the computer. Jangles wasn't worried about any of that, she was far more interested in the two foot length of support strut that had impaled her.

"Wonderful," she deadpanned as the world faded to black, "ruined my best uniform."

The first thing she became aware of was the pain. Not the sharp, bright pain that it had been in the escape pod when she was impaled by a support strut but the dull, persistent ache she normally associated with too much exercise. She opened her eyes to look around and immediately regretted it. The bright light that surrounded her pierced her eyes and started the mother of all headaches.

A voice she didn’t recognise spoke softly but firmly, “Mariella, you’re safe for now, keep your eyes closed for a moment.”

She picked out the words, ‘safe for now’ and wondered what was going on. Gentle hands moved her into a sitting position which hurt like hell. Mariella grimaced and hissed through her teeth. She felt something press against her neck and then the cool, blessed relief of a hypospray coursed through her body.

“You can open your eyes now, Mariella” the voice said.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and the blurry shapes around her resolved themselves into a sickbay. More importantly, a Starfleet sickbay. The voice belonged to a man in a medical blue uniform, “You’re quite the fighter,” he said, “we only had to resuscitate you three times.”

She tried to speak but the words came out as a croak. The doctor brought a water tube to her mouth, “Sip, don’t gulp.” He ordered.

Cold water slipped down her throat and Mariella had never tasted anything so delicious. “What happened?” she managed.

“Your pod was brought aboard the USS Nightingale yesterday and we’ve had you in surgery for four hours repairing the damage. We managed to remove the strut that was sticking out of your abdomen and we’ve fused several cracked ribs and a fractured arm.” He explained patiently.

Sipping more water, Mariella found her voice getting stronger, “I sense a ‘but’ doctor.”

He smiled, “Very astute. During the escape your pod was heavily damaged. The drive coolant leaked into the compartment and caused hypoxia as well as damage to your lungs and eyes. We’ve managed to heal the lung tissue but your left eye was badly hurt.”

“What are my options?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

“Relax, Captain, you don’t need to lose your eye. We can implant components to replace the damaged parts so it will look exactly the same. You’ll even gain a measure of extra functionality although it won’t rival a fully cybernetic implant.”

She nodded slowly, absorbing the information and cataloguing her injuries. “Why am I safe ‘for now’?”

“Ah,” he said, “that will be because the fleet is still engaged with the Borg. We’re picking up survivors as and when we can until the area is cleared. Then we’ll be heading back to Earth Spacedock for repair and to transfer the wounded. The captain says we’ll be making way in a few hours.”

Mariella looked around noticing that the sickbay was especially full of casualties. “How many made it from my ship?”

A shadow passed across his face, “Perhaps when you’re stronger.”

Her voice took on a hardness that could have etched the hull, “Tell . .me . .now.”

He sighed sadly, “Very well, there were only twelve survivors from your ship.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, knocking the breath from her body. Twelve! Only twelve!

“The Borg fired on the escape pods before any ships could get near them to help.” He explained. “Also some of them didn’t clear the blast radius before the warp core breached.”

She gulped for air. Her crew, her friends, all gone in an instant. Names flashed through her head, little details that were so important. Ensign Martinez’s wife was expecting their second child on Bajor, Crewman Davidson had just gotten engaged to transporter chief Watson, she’d even attended their engagement party. The names kept resounding so strongly through her mind that she didn’t notice the tears streaking down her cheeks or the wracking sobs as they forced their way from her body. She didn’t notice that a gentle pair of arms had wrapped themselves around her shoulders and were rocking her gently until she had calmed slightly.

“Thank you.” She whispered.

“You’re welcome.” He reached for another hypospray.

“What’s your name, doctor?”

He placed the hypospray against her carotid artery, “Christopher, Christopher Cushing.”

The name rang a bell in her mind but before she could remember where she knew it from, sleep claimed her.
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thErik » Mon Nov 17, 2014 10:52 am

Bloody hell man you should become a writer, good stuff to read!. Mighty fine writing there my friend
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thIntercity125 » Mon Nov 17, 2014 12:09 pm

Nice stuff! We look forward to having you jump in! USS Snowdonia eh? :mrgreen:
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by WelshAvenger » Sun Nov 23, 2014 3:11 pm

Aww thanks to you both. If you like, I'll put more stuff up as it gets finished.
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by F9thIntercity125 » Sun Nov 23, 2014 7:00 pm

looking forward to it Ambassador!
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Re: Greetings from the 12th Fleet.

Post by WelshAvenger » Tue Dec 09, 2014 4:07 pm

Star Trek: Disavowed
Part One - Kendra

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
So I took the path not taken,
To rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And into the light rode the Six Hundred,
And found themselves on the Night's Plutonian shore.
Rubber baby buggy bumpers.

Doctor Dylan Frost looked up from the PADD he was staring at and shook his head. It had been a year and a half since she was incarcerated and it seemed that she was worse now than she was the day she arrived. "Kendra, what is this?"

The woman slowly moved her head to rest her warm, brown gaze on the good doctor. She was sitting on her bed with her knees tucked up to her chest. She looked like some sort of bizarre ball with a mop of curly red hair. "It's a poem."

Frost simply stared at her, but inwardly he was groaning. It was going to be another long session..... "I asked you to write a poem."

"Yes, you did."

Now he sighed. "This is not a poem."

Kendra looked genuinely perplexed. "Yes it is."

"No," he said. "This is a jumble of lines from several different poems. I wanted something from you."

"Well, it is from me. I mean, I wrote it, didn't I?" she asked. Her act of naiveté was utterly irritating.

The psychologist closed his eyes. Once upon a time, he had prided himself on the fact that he never let anything bother him. But then he met Kendra Summers, and it was no longer a boast he could make. "In a way, you did, yes. But you pulled the lines from other poems from already existing poems. The point of this project was to have you write something to express your thoughts. There is no originality to this at all."

"I did express my thoughts." And then her entire face fell; she looked wounded. "Are you telling me that you didn't get it?"

"Kendra, there was nothing here to get! You just pulled lines from other..."

She cut him off. "I figured that it was the best way to get my point across. I mean, they worked before, why can't they work now?" She unfolded her body and stretched out into a more conventional sitting position. "I mean, it's quite profound. Even if I do say so myself."

"You cannot possibly think that this means anything," Frost said flatly.

"I do," she said. "It's about my life. 'The woods are lovely, dark, and deep' represents the state I was in while aboard the Illustrious. I was torn between my orders and what I thought was right. It was a dark place, but it really wasn't all that bad. But I knew I couldn't stay there forever. 'So I took the path not taken' is indicative of my choice. Most of the crew seemed to think it was black and white: their choice was that of Starfleet's. I, on the other hand, couldn't bring myself to go that way. I couldn't just go the same direction as the masses. To do that would have been like a small piece of me died. And I couldn't go against what I truly believed what was right just for the sheer fact I was told to do so. That's the third line, by the way. The 'Six Hundred' is obviously a reference to the Marines and then they ended up 'on the Night's Plutonian shore' by getting sent to the UFP prison in Auckland. They got screwed over. And the last line... Well, it's so obvious it doesn't even deserve explanation."

He stared at her, unbelieving. "That's insanity."

"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "It's a representation of my state of mind and where I am! See? I knew you got it. You really had me going there for a moment, pretending you didn't understand it and all."

He didn't know what was more frightening: the fact that she rationalized the 'poem' or the fact that he found that it made sense. "Kendra, I want you to write another poem. I can't accept this."

"Why not?" she demanded with a frown.

He started to answer her when suddenly something moved beside him, just out of the corner of his peripheral vision. It moved in a blur and the air was disturbed beside him, washing a cold chill along his spine. Damn, did he hate that bird. "I thought I asked you to keep him in his cage while I was with you."

Pig had flown to Kendra and perched happily on her finger. She was stroking his soft feathers. "I told him to stay put. I tried to reason with him. I swear I really did. But you just can't talk to him. For some reason, he just doesn't listen. He's very stubborn, you know."

Frost opened his mouth to ask why she just didn't lock him up, but stopped himself. It was a pointless argument. One they had had many times before. He decided to let it drop. "I would like for you to write another poem, Kendra," he stated. He raised his hand to stop her almost immediate protest. "While this one is...good," he explained, almost gagging on the word, "I would like for you to write me another one. Something that is completely from your own mind."

"Yes, Doctor Frost," she said, without ever taking her eyes off her bird. The grey cockatiel completely ignored everything in the room. As long as he was getting some attention, he didn't give a damn who else was in the room.

Frost left the room, muttering to himself.

Kendra let out a deep sigh of relief. "Dear, God. I thought he'd never leave." Then she looked to her pet with a scowl. "And you, little man, where the hell were you? You were supposed to interrupt much, much sooner."

The bird just looked at her and chirped grumpily. She had stopped petting him and he didn't like it. He rubbed his head against her hand, trying to coax her to continue. She smiled. "I never could stay mad at you long, Piggy." She stroked his feathers again and he chirped very happily.

Getting up off the bed, she walked across the room to put Pig back in his cage. It was almost lunchtime; someone would be bringing her food soon. They wouldn't let her use the replicator anymore. Apparently someone thought there was, in fact, such a thing as too much of a good thing. These people just had no appreciation for a good bowl of eggdrop soup. So what if she had programmed all the replicators to produce nothing but soup? Wherever she was in the building, she wanted to make sure she could get a bowl. What was so wrong with that?

Just then, she heard the door slide open and closed. She had her back to the door, so she just called out to the person, "Just leave it on the table!" There was no response. Now, such a statement doesn't really require a response, but someone usually did respond. Even if it was just a grunt, there was usually some sort of acknowledgment. Kendra turned around and saw nothing. There was no one in the room. She looked around, walked towards the door, and out into the hallway. There was no one there either.

Kendra walked back into the room, confused. That was odd. Maybe someone just walked into her room by accident and then left once they realized their mistake... But wouldn't she have seen someone in the hallway? That much time hadn't passed since the door opened and she walked into the hall. Had it?

Just then, an arm came out of nowhere and grabbed her from behind. She felt a phaser pressed to her temple. "Don't move," a female voice said. Kendra didn't even have time to register the words; she just reacted. She stepped on the unknown person's foot, causing them to release their hold on her for a split second, but it was all Kendra needed. Grabbing the arm with the phaser, she flipped the woman over her back and onto the floor, so that assailant was staring at the ceiling. Kendra didn't remember pulling the phaser out of the woman's hand but, somewhere along the way, she had for it was now in her hand.

She pointed at the woman's head. "Who the hell are you and why did you pull a damn phaser on me?" The woman just lay there, saying nothing. "Okay, just so you know, I'm already in here partially because I shot someone. I have no qualms about doing it again, especially when I'm damn well justified this time."

"You weren't really justified the first time. In the eyes of Starfleet, anyway. They tend to frown on it when you stun your own assistant, regardless of the fact that you were trying to save him from being killed."

Kendra started to ask how she knew that, but stopped. Anyone who had read her file knew that. Duh. So she opted for the next question. "What do you want?"

"Can I get up? I prefer to talk to people while standing," the woman commented.

"Up," Kendra said after a moment. It seemed like a harmless enough request. As long as she stayed out of reach, that is.

The dark haired woman rolled her side and stood in one fluid motion. It was almost like watching a dance. She turned to look at Kendra, her bright purple eyes set in a cool, amused gaze. "That's better," she said after a moment.

"I'm sure it is. You're not human." she stated. Her arm never gazed from this strange woman.

The purple-eyed woman actually smiled. "You're quick. In more ways than one, apparently," she replied, referring to Kendra's fast reaction to her attack. The woman began to cross the room.

"I also don't recall giving you permission to move."

The woman shrugged. "I don't need your permission."

Kendra waved the phaser. "Hel-lo? I'm the one who's armed, here!"

"No, you aren't," came the reply as she stretched out on Kendra's bed. She relaxed on the bed like a young girl would at a slumber party. Like they were old friends or something.

"The hell I'm not!" Kendra said heatedly.

The woman once again gave her that nonchalant shrug. "No, you aren't. Do you really think I'd come in here with a live phaser? What kind of fool do you take me for?"

Kendra looked at her, pointed the phaser right at her, and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. "Hmm. Guess you're right." She tossed the phaser aside. "And as far as the answer to your question, was that rhetorical or do you really want me to answer it?"

"You would have shot me," the stranger said with a raised eyebrow. Then a slow smile crept to her lips. "You're exactly the person we want for this job."

"Job?" Kendra asked, perplexed. "Who the hell are you and what is this all about?"

She just looked at Kendra with a knowing smile. It was very annoying. "My name does not matter. At least, not now. I am here to offer you the chance of a lifetime. Or rather, the second chance of a lifetime."

Kendra laughed. "Are you saying that you can get me out of here? I'm a Lifer, hon. Ain't no one short of the President of the UFP gonna get me out of here."

"What if I told you that there were those of us that were higher than even the President?"

"Higher than the President?" Kendra repeated. She started to brush her hair out of her face. "That would have to make you super special. Like Intel, or something. Hell, even the mythological Section 31. If it did exist..."

"Oh, it does."

"Yeah, right."

The dark haired woman cocked her head to the side. "You can tell if I'm lying. You're Betazoid."

That stopped her. The woman hadn't been lying. She had been completely serious. "Well, all that proves is that you believe what you're saying. For all I know, you could be my next door neighbour. We are in a crazy house, you know."

She shrugged. "Do you want to continue with the interrogation or do you want to hear what I have to say? I had things planned for later in the day and I would like to get to them sometime today."

"Talk," Kendra stated after a moment. "It's not like I have anything better to do."

"No, it's not," the stranger said, her purple eyes twinkling in the light. "As I said, I am here to offer you a second chance. In the past, there have been many ships in which Starfleet officers and Marines and SEALs have served together."

"No shit. I kinda know that better than most people." The woman gave her a hard stare, so much that it actually made Kendra uneasy. "Please continue."

"As I was saying," she went on, "they have served together, but never has there been a genuine cooperative effort between the two. It's always been a Starfleet ship with Marines and SEALs or a SEAL/Marine ship with Starfleet officers. We want to change that, especially in light of what happened on your previous assignment."

Kendra rolled her eyes. "Okay, that's great. So why are you telling me this? You want me to serve on it or something? Chief of Security?"

"Oh, we want you to be the Starfleet part of it." Her smile broadened. "But we don't want you to be the CSO. We want you to be the Commanding Officer."

Kendra stared at the woman for a full minute without uttering a sound. "Say that again."

"We want you to be the Starfleet CO. In order to make this a genuine co-op, there will also be a Marine CO. You two will basically be two people with the same job. You will run the Starfleet side of it, the Marine will run the Marine side of it. But you will always keep the other apprised of your people's activities. No decisions can be made without the other's approval." Again there was silence as Kendra just stared at her. "Are you just going to gawk at me or do you have any questions?"

Kendra shook her head, like she was coming out of some sort of trance. "Hell, yeah, I've got questions. First of all, why me? I mean, I'm in a mental institution. Surely there is someone out there more qualified than me."

"This is true. There was another candidate, but she is no longer eligible," the woman paused, trying to think how to explain this. "Basically, we chose you because of your past. What got you in here in the first place was the fact you did what you personally felt was right, regardless of what the regs said. Starfleet regulations can be.... rigid.... and the best operatives are the ones who know when to use regs and when to throw them away. And the situation involved both Marines and SEALs. You worked with them, fought alongside them. We need someone who knows how to interact with them."

"But I don't really like them. It was a complete accident that their orders went along with what I believed. Marines are goons with guns," Kendra simply blurted out.

"And that would be an asset too. You would always be keeping tabs on each other. They do it as part of their job. You do it not only as part of your job as a sec officer, but because you don't like them. 'Keep your friends close...'"

"'But keep your enemies closer.'' Kendra finished. "Yes, I've heard it before. I don't consider them enemies, just.... well, goons with guns."

The woman shrugged again. "Are you going to keep questioning why we think so highly of you?"

"Sorry."

"Look at it this way. You can stay here and rot for the rest of your life. The accommodations are lacking, the food's gotta suck, and you have no freedom. Or, you can take the job and get your life back. Hell, it's a better life even. You would be the CO of a ship and would get a promotion out of it. Not bad for someone who's been out of commission for a year and a half."

Kendra studied the woman. It was such an inviting offer. She'd have to be crazy not to take it, no pun intended of course. But there was something tugging at the back of her mind. Something bothered her, preventing from saying 'yes' immediately.

And then it occurred to her what it was.

"I'll do it," she proclaimed.

"We knew you would," the woman replied coolly.

"But only on one condition..."

The dark haired woman looked at her in amusement. "You are hardly in the position to be making demands."

"You said so yourself: I'm the only option," Kendra replied with a shrug. "I think I am in a very good position for bargaining."

The look on the woman's face hardened ever so slightly, as if she didn't appreciate having her own words thrown back at her. "What do you want?"

Kendra smiled. "It's already been established that I don't like Marines. Or SEALs. So if I'm going to work closely with them on a daily basis, I want it to be someone that I'm familiar with. Someone I know who to deal with."

"You want Curtis Hawkins as the Marine CO."

"Exactly."

She seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding. "Done. We can get him out, no problem."

"I want all of them. SEALs and Marines," Kendra stated flatly.

"All of them? You do realize that is something like a third of the population at Auckland. That would not be an easy feat to take them without questions..."

"Well if you don't think you can do it...."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "We can do it. It'll just take a lot of our resources. But it can be arranged."

"Then it's settled then. When do we leave?" Kendra asked triumphantly.

She rose from her seat on the bed and stood in the middle of the room. "We leave tomorrow. We get you out of here, and then we're going to train you. As one of our operatives, you will need special training, of course."

"Of course," she repeated. "About how long will this training take?"

"Six months."

"Six months? Damn..." Kendra swore.

"Yes," came the reply. "Six months. Now, gather your things, tie up any loose ends here. We will come for you in the morning." The woman headed towards the door. "And remember, speak of this to no one."

"Wait!" Kendra called after her. "How in hell do you really plan on pulling this off? I mean, we're basically all convicts. Are you just going to march in the front office and demand for release?"

The woman stopped, but Kendra could read her like a book. She knew the woman was smiling knowingly, arrogantly. "We are Section 31. We can do anything we want." And with that, she left.

The door slid closed and Kendra just studied it for a moment. Then Pig chirped forlornly. She turned to her pet and grinned. "We're getting the hell out of here, Piggy!"

****

Doctor Dylan Frost stood outside Kendra's room with his eyes closed. He took a deep breath, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Just a little time to relieve the stress he knew he was going to be under while in this room. It was better to do it now, than in front of her. If he didn't know any better, he would swear that she enjoyed annoying him....

Finally, he walked into the room. "And how are we doing today, Kendra?" he asked before he really looked around the room. When no answer came, he looked up and around. Shock was the only word that could describe what crossed his features.

The room was completely stripped. Save for the furniture that went with the room: bed, desk, dresser, etc. But anything and everything that gave the room a personal touch, the look of someone actually inhabiting the place, was gone. There were no pictures, no plants, no books, no personal items of any kind lying about the room. Even the birdcage was gone. What the hell was going on?

He quickly accessed the patient registry and frowned. "Computer, is Kendra Summers really not a patient anymore or has there been some sort of mistake?" This all could be just an elaborate joke that the infuriating woman was playing on him. Alter patient records and move her stuff to another room, just to drive him crazy.... Yeah, it was a classic Kendra move.

"Kendra Summers is no longer a patient in this facility," came the computer's monotone reply.

His frown deepened. Why would no one notify him? He was her doctor, for crying out loud. "Why not?"

"Kendra Summers has been transferred to another facility."

He nodded. Well, now it made sense. Sorta. He had put in a recommendation to have her placed somewhere else, but his request had been denied. The powers that be must have changed their minds. But still.... Someone should have notified him.

Dylan had started to turn to walk out when he noticed a PADD sitting on the bare dresser. Curiosity got the best of him and he picked it up. He read it and groaned. She still got him in the end. Kendra had written a poem for him, as he requested. Too bad he would never know what it meant:

I am the Walrus.
I flap my fins,
And the Walls fall down around me.
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