Confrontation

As I dropped to the floor of the now empty bacta tank, I yanked the tube out of my mouth and spat out water, pointedly glaring at the scrappers. I took note of my current state of dress, I still had the undersuit on, but it was even more torn now, with no sleeves and leggings torn at the knee. The black fabric clung tightly to my body, somehow feeling both more constrictive and more flexible than before. I stood up on bare feet and stared down the scrappers, my fists clenched.

The cathar was the first to stand up, meeting my gaze. "I'd think you'd be more grateful, seeing as we just saved your life." He snickered, clear devious intent behind it all.

"I didn't need saving," I refuted, "now let me out so that I can commandeer a ship."

He feigned a moment of consideration. "No."

I was baffled. "Excuse me?! I am Capt-"

"We know who you are, Stormie." The rodian spoke up this time. "That's why we're keeping you here. This is **** for Hosnian Prime."

Ah. They were vengeful. Now I understood perfectly well. Except for one thing. "If you're so cross with me, why heal me?"

"We didn't want you dying," the cathar spoke again, "**** is too good a fate for you."

I gave a sly smirk. "But it's perfectly fitting for you." With that, I slammed my fist on the glass door of the bacta tank, leaving a crack running down the surface. I took just a moment to admire my strength. I don't often have a chance to show off, but looking at my exposed arms, seeing myself in the reflection, I felt a rare moment of pride for my well toned body. To put it simply, I looked good. And these clowns weren't about to ruin my mood. I slammed once more on the glass.