11-24-2025, 11:53 PM
Jaein followed his team into the holding area, tricorder in one hand and phaser held low in the other as they moved. There wasn't any expectation of imminent violence, but he was on edge and couldn't help but feel like he should be ready for anything. After all, he remembered too many people lost in areas that were supposed to be safe and cleared during the War; he didn't want to see that list added to, especially if it was him.
As they walked through the open area, Jaein couldn't help but think back to the labor camps on Bajor. While he hadn't been in one, growing up off-world, several had been preserved. The structures still stood as monuments to the fallen and reminders of the past, and holorecordings gave images of the way they were upon liberation. This place wasn't as bad as those were, but he got the feeling that was only because it was new. If it had been given a few more years, he was certain it would have been worse.
No one deserves this, he thought, looking around as they entered the room. The stench was overpowering, and he couldn't help but see just how many more bodies there were than there were people still moving. He felt his gorge rise, and held himself back from vomiting only through an effort of will. Mara spoke to them briefly, and then two of them stepped forward into what little light there was, and he felt his heart freeze.
For years, he'd wondered what he might do if he ever wound up face to face with some of the blackest villains he'd ever known. There were nights back during and just after the war when he'd pictured it vividly. Usually he was using a knife or even just an engineering tool. Rarely was an energy weapon involved, as he'd considered that to be too mercifully short.
It was probably only that dreamlike familiarity that kept him from raising the phaser and shooting them both on the spot. Instead, his own thoughts of just a moment ago played back in his head - no one deserves this - and his hands dropped his tools with a loud thud on the floor.
He turned and ran from the room, pushing his way past the rest of the team and vomited just outside the door, falling to his knees and trying to catch his breath. Visions of childhood friends swam before him, calling for revenge for the lives they lost during the occupation. Colleagues from when he was young, who died at the hands of the Jem'Hadar, spoke to him. Instead, he wept a silent prayer to the Prophets and tried to banish the ghosts he had long thought quiet in the graves.
As they walked through the open area, Jaein couldn't help but think back to the labor camps on Bajor. While he hadn't been in one, growing up off-world, several had been preserved. The structures still stood as monuments to the fallen and reminders of the past, and holorecordings gave images of the way they were upon liberation. This place wasn't as bad as those were, but he got the feeling that was only because it was new. If it had been given a few more years, he was certain it would have been worse.
No one deserves this, he thought, looking around as they entered the room. The stench was overpowering, and he couldn't help but see just how many more bodies there were than there were people still moving. He felt his gorge rise, and held himself back from vomiting only through an effort of will. Mara spoke to them briefly, and then two of them stepped forward into what little light there was, and he felt his heart freeze.
For years, he'd wondered what he might do if he ever wound up face to face with some of the blackest villains he'd ever known. There were nights back during and just after the war when he'd pictured it vividly. Usually he was using a knife or even just an engineering tool. Rarely was an energy weapon involved, as he'd considered that to be too mercifully short.
It was probably only that dreamlike familiarity that kept him from raising the phaser and shooting them both on the spot. Instead, his own thoughts of just a moment ago played back in his head - no one deserves this - and his hands dropped his tools with a loud thud on the floor.
He turned and ran from the room, pushing his way past the rest of the team and vomited just outside the door, falling to his knees and trying to catch his breath. Visions of childhood friends swam before him, calling for revenge for the lives they lost during the occupation. Colleagues from when he was young, who died at the hands of the Jem'Hadar, spoke to him. Instead, he wept a silent prayer to the Prophets and tried to banish the ghosts he had long thought quiet in the graves.