Eyes awoke to a white room, yet felt too crusted and heavy to keep open. Sleep took him once again.
The second time waking was more energized. To the right was an IV directly hooked to his forearm. A heartrate monitor beeped to his left. There was a medical droid with a food tray.
"Starch carbs and fowl protein," it said leaving the tray and putting on its display screen across where a face would be a digitally pixelated pattern of a smile beneath two eyes. It then rolled away on a wheel where legs would normally go.
Creon tried to sit up but winced at the sudden jolt down his spine and across his back. He slumped back into the bed and felt out the rest of his body. The stiffness of his movements and hazyness of his mind suggested dehydration despite the IV. His limbs hurt as if they were sore and heavy when he tried to move them.
Thinking back, his memory which led to these circumstances were unclear. In fact, thinking back to anything recent brought a migraine. Instead he reoriented his focus to the current situation at hand, and where to go from here. Throughout his thinking the stillness of his recovering body and planning sleep took him once more.
A droid with a feminine toned voice spake and woke Creon, "CK-12097, your support has expired. I must ask that you leave the premises."
Creon groaned from the cut-off of his sleeping. *Do they not have the courtesy to value the delicate undisturbed length of sleep proportion to recovery rate?*
He tried to move, and his limbs still felt heavy. The IV and heart rate monitor was being removed.
"I have insurance," Creon said.
"We know. There is a policy in which the cause of your hospitalization is divided into specific credit limits, and it has been fully spent from your account," the protocol droid answered.
"So when they say 'Full Coverage' it's a bunch of bantha fodder," Creon cursed.
He was able to sit up again, but his lower back felt like it was made of caked soot. "Well, has there been any other untreated diagnosis apart from the covered injury."
"Quite... In fact you are in a terminal state with approximately a few days left to live."
Creon sunk back into the bed and stared up at the white ceiling. His whole life had sunk in.
"What's killing me?"
"Cancer"
"We have cures for that."
"Not for you. Your midichlorian count is too high, they reject the compound."
"Surgically?"
"You can't afford it."
"Seriously?!"
"Your insurance coverage policy for-"
"Oh can it, clanker! What's the number for the surgery?"
The droid said a cost amount that made Creon's jaw drop. It took ever asset he owned and help from clan mates to pay. The surgery took place and in the end he was cured, but a looming fury was seeded into Creon's mind. A dark temptation of vengeance beguiled the desire to strip the lives of those who denied the insurance he invested upon. He paid more into what never followed through with the promised deal. Someday, when he is at a higher place, perhaps the power of wrath will find its way to the company that betrayed him.