Left... right.. Move. Repeat.

The punch bag takes blow after blow. Right now the only thing in existence is me, the punch bag and my anger.

"You are aware of more sophisticated training methods for your CQB practice."

Of course there is, that isn't the point of this. This isn't about the practice of CQB, I could put that smart mouth rookie in hospital in three blows, this is to feel the burn, to remind myself I'm still alive. And I have a duty to those who aren't.

Left... Right.. Step.. Elbow right... Step

This is about the movement, the sting of the sweat in the scrapes, the satisfaction taking out my anger on something rather than sitting through those dire counselling sessions and psych evals.

So the last collaborators I arrested still need to eat through a straw, big deal. How much did their cowardice cost in terms of the lives of good men and women? How many CorSec where murdered in their sleep, or families arrested because they dared to fight against the tyranny of the Empire.

Left, Right, Right, Left...

The blows are even harder and faster now. It's pissed me off even more that I'm not even allowed to do my job any more, but I get it. An angry person with a blaster is much worse than an angry person with a punch bag. I just want payback; against the Empire, against the Chiss bastard who was Bella Vista, against the traitors who still walk the streets...

I pull my left hand back and notice there is blood both on the bag and my hand. The skin on my knuckles is split, not for the first time. The chrono in my pocket is bleeping, reminding me that I'm running late for one of my waste-of-time appointments.

***

So.. Sergeant Qui, can I call you Aimee?"

The chair is too soft and the room too warm. The annoying 'perky' voice across from me is the latest CorSec shrink I've seen. Petite, blonde and constantly happy; that would work on most of the men here, maybe a few of the women but she just grinds my gears.

"I don't know. Can you?"

To her credit, the smile doesn't waiver.

"I'd like to.

I read in your notes that you're still holding on to your anger tightly. I can tell by your hand that you've at least found an outlet for it.

Why are you so angry Aimee?"

Clever girl. Unlike the others she wants to get a rise out of me.

"What, apart from the fact the Empire invaded my home, killed friends and that Corellians *helped* them to do that?"

"Yes, apart from that.

Tell me about Master Dulius."

"He died at Bella Visrta. I saw it happen"

"My mistake, I meant Kirain Dulius."

"... I'm done."

I don't know why that stung as much as it did. Kirain is a Jedi, he has... Jedi things to worry about but I've not seen him since the presentations, and I've not even heard anything about his activities since he left Courscant.

I go to leave and the Doctor just smiles. She hit a nerve, one that I didn't know existed.

"See you same time next week Aimee."

***

"I don't know how you did it Sergeant but you passed your psych-eval. Barely."

I'm stood in the commissioners office; my full dress uniform is uncomfortable and warm.

"Thank you sir."

"You've also passed your physical fitness and weapons tests. So it looks like your back on duty."

"Thank you sir"

I salute and head for the door.

"Where are you going?"

I stop.

"To get my gear sir. I'll have to transit to.."

"Not so fast; I want you here for a month or so. Foot patrols, getting a feel for the city again... You've been on the bench for a while, can't throw you into the championship match without some practice."

Foot patrols. I'm not some snot-nosed, wet behind the ears rookie. I'm a member of an elite task force who where the scourge of Corellia's criminal network.

"As ordered sir"

I salute again, turn and leave the room. I might not like it, but I will do as I'm told, at least for the moment.