Bryce "Croaker" Tagren-Quinn - Monsters

[Doz Finch]

The narration, the dialogue, the way Bryce aka "Croaker" is willing to put his own life on the line for a person he has never met and doesn't know. There are certain lines in this that I love, Bryce. Calling himself a drifter for example. Amazing sim & developing story. @Bryce Tagren-Quinn

 

For those unsure, the Gorkon is currently in "Skarbek" mode. That means that our characters are... slightly (or very) different, and are a part of the passionate Maquis.

 

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((Warehouses, Borrel District, Witherington, Indre III))

 

Any good mood buoyed by the trio’s ability to quickly inch toward much-needed supplies sank when the Cardassians emerged with a beaten civilian prisoner, shooting him and leaving him for dead. They could only witness the whole scene helplessly, looking on in horror. 

 

Tagren-Quinn: Blast it, this tricorder is trash. He’s alive, but his vitals are not registering clearly from here. We’ll need to get closer. 

 

The Ferengi placed a hand on Bryce’s shoulder.

 

It was plain as day that the doctor wasn’t thinking clearly, a fleeting part of him revisiting previous thoughts around attacking Cardie nervous systems and then instantly feeling regret, shame, and extreme sickness for even allowing that to slither in. The Cardassians were undoubtedly still close, as evidenced by the tricorder’s scans, and the doctor would be a fool to rush out there blindly, risking them all and the mission just because he wanted to sprint to the fallen man’s side, to give him a chance, to— 

 

Gnaxac: Hold your targs until they’re gone, Croaker.

 

Marshall: Response 

 

Bryce blinked, processing and listening faintly but not really, clearly consumed. He finally looked at Jo and Gnaxac, the smell of scorched flesh still hanging in the air. 

 

Tagren-Quinn: I brought some supplies. It’s not a lot but it’s something, maybe, to stabilize him until we can get more. We could maybe—maybe get him in the tunnel, and be in and out before the Cardassians know he’s missing. 

 

And, if that didn’t work out? What of the blood trail? Would that compromise—

 

Gnaxac: We can’t…

 

Marshall: Response 

 

Tagren-Quinn: I’m open to suggestions. There’s a line of crates and junk there…

 

He pointed along the line to the man’s body, to the crates and some tilted skids and other scattered things. There was a gap, though, that could be quite precarious near the watchtower. If the lights shone a certain way, it’d be disastrous. Did the Cardassians have other means to detect, too? Lingering for too long placed them at greater risk. 

 

Gnaxac: I’m telling you ::he pointed to his lobes:: I can hear his breathing, and I’ve heard this guy before. A lot. He’ll be dead in an hour. Maybe less.

 

The hybrid’s dark eyebrows raised before knotting together, a deep frown marring his youthful features.

 

Tagren-Quinn: We don’t know that. I’ve—I’ve treated worse. Trust me. We have to try, at least. 

 

Bryce’s words did not hold any hostility, but his body grew restless as they debated the topic. 

 

Marshall: Response 

 

Gnaxac shook his big melony head.

 

Gnaxac: No, we can’t risk the mission to rescue a doomed man - we rescue him, we doom the rest of these people… we doom ourselves.

 

Those words caused Bryce to blink, the thoughts of cobalt diselenide returning to him, followed by a wave of self-loathing. 

 

Were there any rules to war? Were there any rules to survival?

 

Was he a monster? An insidious monster for not making it a reality? For not even considering it because of his moral compass? 

 

A beast for possibly risking the mission, one that would bring much-needed succor to the possible fallen man’s family and everyone else here, because of his moral compass? 

 

A monster for even considering an action that might endanger his fellow Maquis? Those rebels, scattered about, risking their backsides for these people, too? Some of which didn’t have qualms with killing, but he didn’t have any right to judge having not lived a day in their shoes.

 

All over his need, the compulsion to save a life. A life that he felt he could maybe save if given a chance.

 

A life they vowed to protect. A life he vowed to protect, to liberate from oppression. 

 

So many faces flooded his mind, as did the potential promises of tomorrow. A family that was growing on him. A family that had families of their own, loved ones. Dreams. 

 

A set of eyes full of warmth— 

 

He was only one deeply flawed man, an okay doctor at best, paralyzed from action, who did not have the right to judge anyone or make any choices that impacted so many, especially since he had been a self-perceived monster for most of his life. 

 

Secrets embedded themselves deeply within.

 

The only known was that people here needed help. The need to protect extended to them, as well as their fellow cell members.

 

Marshall: Response 

 

Tagren-Quinn: I haven’t done much good in my life. I’ve done enough showboatin’, swindlin’, and seducin’. This mission, these people, the Maquis—all of it, it’s important to me and I’m done being a bastard. 

 

Marshall/Gnaxac: Response 

 

Tagren-Quinn: The path of debris, it’s along the route to the back—our original path. If I can get close enough to get a decent scan, that’s all I ask. The tricorder range should be able to pick it up better just there— ::He pointed a skid that was en route, still a little precarious.:: —although it will not give an opportunity for physical examination.

 

Marshall/Gnaxac: Response

 

Tagren-Quinn: I promise, if there’s nothing we can do, I’ll leave it. But if there’s something that can be done, then… I’m willing to sacrifice myself for the mission, for that civilian. I can go on my own, tend to him, and if I’m caught well—you two can carry on. I’m not wholly Maquis, just some drifter, and I can dose myself and give’em hell before they can torture any information out. They won’t know. It could even be a distraction. Could work out better for the mission overall. But if that man… this is his last shot at anything at all. 

 

Sadness transformed his features as a hand reached up and scratched at the stubble along his jaw. A part of him knew that his logic was deeply flawed, but a warred wage inside. There weren’t any easy answers or choices. Just hard ones. 

 

Marshall/Gnaxac: Response 

 

--

 

Bryce "Croaker" Tagren-Quinn
Maquis Doctor
The Skarbek

As simmed by:

Ensign Bryce Tagren-Quinn, M.D.
Medical Officer
USS Gorkon (NCC-82293)

T238909AT0 

 

Edited March 13, 2023 by Doz Finch

[Jo Marshall]

[Tahna Meru]

You beat me to it! This was an absolutely stunning sim.