Player: Shifty
Birth Name: Irizi'emo'sabosen
Core Name: Zemo
Imperial Name: TK-8829 — “Patch”
Species: Chiss
Age: 24
Gender/Pronouns: Male
Homeworld: Csilla
Desired Faction Affiliation: Imperial, formerly Chiss Ascendancy
Desired Occupation: Stormtrooper Medic
Force Sensitivity: He is, but is unaware.
Biography: Zemo was born on Csilla, deep in the icy reaches of the Unknown Regions — a world of logic, discipline, and secrets. Among the Chiss Ascendancy, emotion was controlled, tradition was everything, and military service was a calling.
Life on Csilla was always cold — not just the weather, but the people, the culture, the system. As a Chiss, Zemo was expected to follow the rules, suppress emotion, and serve the greater good of the Ascendancy with precision and discipline. But Zemo was different... off script. He was curious, compassionate, and never quite fit the rigid mold his people expected.
During the final years of the Clone Wars, stray skirmishes and shifting hyperspace lanes brought the conflict closer to Chiss space than most realized. Zemo witnessed the fallout of war — injured scouts, shattered trade ships, survivors the Ascendancy refused to acknowledge. And he helped them. Quietly. Against orders.
He was reprimanded once — twice — three times for showing “unnecessary emotional investment” and “misplaced compassion.” Then he saved a non-Chiss diplomat from dying of exposure after an ambushed convoy — without clearance. That act earned him formal censure… and whispers that he’d never rise in the ranks.
But it wasn’t just the bureaucracy that pushed against him. It was a restlessness, something deeper — a sense that he didn’t belong there, like a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong slot. Sometimes he’d touch the icy walls of his family’s estate and feel… empty. Like there was something important just outside his reach.
Then the Empire came knocking — quietly, subtly, with handshakes and holo-conferences. Csilla never officially joined the Empire, but certain alliances were made. Young Chiss with promise were offered off-world opportunities: “military exchanges,” “special placements,” “mutually beneficial service.”
Zemo saw his chance.
He left Csilla — something few Chiss ever do voluntarily — and traveled into Imperial space. No goodbyes. Not even to his family. Officially, it was a gesture of goodwill from the Chiss Ascendancy. Privately, it was a way to get rid of a nonconformist. To the Empire, he was just another recruit. To himself, he was finally free — or so he thought.
He volunteered to serve, seeing the Empire not as a tyrannical force, but as an opportunity to help others on a galactic scale. He was an oddity: a Chiss in stormtrooper white.. but his aptitude earned him a slot as a combat medic. His unit called him “Patch” — not because he was soft, but because he always found a way to patch people back together.
There’s more to Zemo than just battlefield skill. He senses danger seconds before it strikes. He finds the wounded as if drawn to them. His hands move with uncanny precision. He chalks it up to instinct… but the truth is deeper. The Force stirs within him, latent and unnoticed, subtly guiding his every action. A power he doesn’t even know he has — yet.
Still, the galaxy isn't simple. Zemo serves an Empire he doesn’t fully trust, held together by fear, enforcing order with brutality. He believes he’s making a difference — that his presence helps temper the cruelty. But with each mission, that belief gets harder to hold.
Zemo hides his doubts behind sharp wit and dry humor. He’s the trooper who cracks jokes while stabilizing a critical wound, who’ll share a ration pack with a starving civilian, and who’ll bend orders just enough to keep his conscience intact.
He’s a mystery to his comrades, an outlier in his own species, and a good man trying to do the right thing in all the wrong places.
But there’s more at play than even he knows.
Zemo’s assignment to the Imperial ranks was unusual — expedited, unopposed, and carried out with minimal paperwork. Some of his old commanders had questions… but were told to stop asking them. His file bears the mark of high-level clearance.
His Imperial intake officer received a private communication containing a simple directive: “Observe. Do not interfere.”
Rumors circulate in hushed tones. That Zemo - Patch, is part of a long-term observation. That he was placed — not recruited. That someone high up is watching, waiting, testing.
Someone who knows what he really is.
But no one dares say the name. Not yet.
Other:
Patch is an oddity among the Empire, as his actual race is unknown to most of the galaxy. Officially, his Imperial documents state that he is a conscript from Balmorra, with a Human and Duros ancestry mix. When his fellow soldiers ask where he is from, he normally wittily replies with "Home is where they point my blaster." This is normally met with laughter and playful jabs from his comrades.
Patch is assigned to Rancor Squad – 358th Legion, 327th Stormtrooper Corps, Deference Venator-class Star Destroyer, Fifth Fleet, Imperial Navy
He has been assigned to Rancor for the passed 2 years, and is among one of the first non-clone members. Rancor has been involved in high-intensity combat operations since their inception in the Clone Wars, living by their motto "Drop. Bleed. Survive. Repeat."
Members include:
CT-5885, Sergeant "Korl"
Species: Clone
Role: Squad Leader
CT-6229 "Jex"
Species: Clone
Role: Marksman / Recon
CT-8809 “Lanks”
Species: Clone
Role: Heavy Weapons
TK-1189 “Numbers”
Species: Human
Role: Rifleman / Surveillance
