[center][img]https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/75/Emblem_of_the_First_Galactic_Empire.svg/220px-Emblem_of_the_First_Galactic_Empire.svg.png[/img][/center][hr][right][b]Op. No. KY-9914; Pvt. Malik Skaya
121st Battalion, Bravo Company, 1st Platoon, 1st Squad
Lothor Minor | In orbit aboard the [i]Tempest[/i]
APPROX. 1200HRS; 5 BBY[/b][/right][hr]

A burst of static covered the screen like a field of jagged, broken light. It's steady, stabbing rhythm lasted for no more than a second as it transitioned harshly into a black screen, the day's date marking the middle in large, blocky letters. The darkness receded slowly, revealing a poorly lit, tightly cramped room, and a man seated far too close to the camera.

[color=a187be]"Shamech talcu."[/color]

Though spoken in little more than a gentle whisper, the voice seemed to rumble with the depth of an ocean trench and the barely constrained power of a thunderstorm. The audio cut, a burst of crumbled static cutting off the next few words he spoke before it came rumbling back in like a runaway starfreighter. It was exactly the sort of voice one would expect to come from the brawny behemoth with a rigid, aggressive jawline and shoulders broad enough to carry a Bantha on. Even underneath the plastoid white armor of a Stormtrooper, one could make out that he was a powerfully-built individual.

[color=a187be]"I apologize for how long it's been since my last message, but things have been...chaotic, recently."[/color] Fat, tired bags hung underneath brilliant ruby eyes, emphasizing the exhaustion that permeated his words. He forced a smile, long lines stretching across his face as he glanced above the camera. His brow furrowed, a hand reaching up into frame. It fumbled with something, sending the screen into a violent, shaky mess. [color=a187be]"Is this even on?"[/color] The voice growled, the rest of his mumbling cut off by the booming sound of his hand slapping against the side of the cam. After seemingly determining that it was, in fact on, he returned to his seat- which looked to be no more than an overturned container inside of a tightly packed sanitation closet.

[color=a187be]"Right, where was I?"[/color] He sighed, rubbing a great, meaty fist in his eye. He was quiet for a few moments while he tried to remember what he was talking about before. [color=a187be]"Why I haven't recorded anything. That's right."[/color] He nodded, pulling himself back on track. [color=a187be]"I was transferred away from my previous team. It was a last minute decision; this squad needed a spot filled and I was the one they chose to do it. It's not ideal if I'm honest with you- I was only just adjusting to the last bunch, and now I've got to start all over again."[/color] He sighed again, his gaze sharpening for just a moment; he remained still for several seconds until his expression began to relax.

[color=a187be]"Once I have their trust, I'll begin sending footage with them back to you, father. Hopefully, they'll provide a better example of the Empire's finest than the last bunch."[/color] There was a brief glimmer of hope in his gaze, but it was struggling not to be choked out by the frustration and exhaustion that fought to hover in those crimson eyes. [color=a187be]"If not, well-"[/color]

The man in the video cut himself off, his eyes darting out of frame. He leaned down, retrieving a bucket-shaped helmet from the floor and placing it upon his lap. It was beeping softly, a red light flashing to alert him of an incoming message. [color=a187be]"-Apologies, father, it seems duty calls. I'll speak to you again shortly."[/color] He brought a fist up, balling his gloved hand tight. [color=a187be]"May peace follow you wherever you may wander."[/color] He reached up back in front up of the camera, flicking it off- causing the screen to go dark in an instant.

Malik Skaya flipped his helmet around, staring down inside its dark interior. He had to turn it sideways to slip it on without getting it snagged on his nose. A chiming click sounded, informing him that he'd secured it in place. His ears were immediately greeted by the sound of his new sergeant's voice as he ordered the squad to assemble in the hangar bay. He spun around inside the closet, his gaze searching for-

There it is.

The black, sleek rifle he'd carried since his academy days was resting up against a shelf, alongside several canisters of unknown chemicals. He snatched it up, sliding it into his armor's holster before making for the door. [i][color=a187be]'Alright. Hangar bay. Hangar bay.'[/color][/i] He went through his mental map of the [i]Tempest[/i], trying to remember where everything was from memory rather than relying on his HUD. Ignoring the pair of officers giving him the side eyes for popping out of the janitor's closet, Malik made his way down the hall at a quick march, intent on reaching the destination on time. He didn't want to be the last one to arrive; he hated that. It always felt like everyone stared at him when he did.

He was halfway there by the time he remembered that he needed his medical kit- since he was, in fact, a medic. Quietly reprimanding himself for his forgetfulness, he rushed back in the other direction toward the medbay at doubletime, thankful that the order to deploy meant he wouldn't be reprimanded for making such a rush. Skaya filled his pack with the standard allowed supply, logged it with the attendant, and started back toward the hangar bay- after making a brief stop at the armory for extra energy cells and flares.

By the time he'd arrived in the hangar, he was [i]sure[/i] he'd be one of the last to arrive. It was some wonder, then, that he was only able to spot a single other member of first squad in the entire hangar. He pushed his way through the crowds of troopers, engineers and technicians that flooded the cavernous chamber, jogging up toward the armored Stormtrooper his HUD marked as 'SN-7739.'

[color=a187be]"Uhm, hello-"[/color] Malik nodded, intent on introducing himself to his new squadmate. He had seen him around the bunks, and perhaps even spoke a few words to him, but he had yet to properly introduce himself to anyone except his ranking officer. Though he'd spoken the tongue for years now, basic was still difficult for Malik; it was so impossibly different from the native tongue of his people that he [i]still[/i] had trouble coming off as stunted and overly formal at times. [color=a187be]"Orson, right? My name is Malik. It is good to meet you."[/color]