| abstract
| - It's been hours, possibly even days, locked in the utter sheer darkness. The sounds have gone silent, even the rumbling of the ship muffled to utter silence. The complete lack of light and sound would be enough to drive anyone to the point of near lunacy, losing all track of time and proximity. The only modification is the random provision of water, by way of a sudden burst of icy cold water coming from some invisible location in the dark. It forces prisoner C-1125 to either dash for the icy cold water in desperation, or lick it from the dirty floor. The bursts of life-giving water come with no rhyme or reason, sometimes spaced out by minutes, other times coming no more than once every day or so. But it all changes one day, when a fresh burst of water comes. Only this time, it is with scalding heat, filling the cramped cell with steam when it strikes the surfaces. Shael's usual hurried dash towards the water is aborted abruptly when it burns her, forcing her to fall back with a startled cry of pain. She retreats to the opposite side of the cell, standing now to minimize her contact with the scalding hot water that begins to cover the floor. Her hands feel a bit listlessly at the wall for some sort of hand-hold to help her get her feet off the floor: she knows there won't be any. A few tears, certainly not for the first time, start sneaking silently down her cheeks. "Do you like the water?" The voice is spoken with a normal, almost listless tone, but blares into the confined space with a deafening amplification. "Please turn it off!" Shael begs, standing tip-toed against one of the walls, and wincing as it burns her feet. "Please!" She doubts that they will, no matter how she pleads with them. But she has to try something, doesn't she? Say something? "DO YOU LIKE THE WATER." This time, the voice is spoken more like a demand, and slightly louder. It would seem that this is not going to stop until the bearer receives an appropriate response. "No!" Shael practically shrieks back, desperately hoping this is the response they're looking for. She is getting /very/ tired of trying to find the right thing to say to stop the abuse. "I don't! Please stop!" As if rewarding her for a satisfactory response, the water shuts off. The hissing sound lingers for but a few seconds, before light suddenly floods the room. Hands grapple Shael by her shoulders and waist, and begin to drag her toward the bright flood of light. Shael squeezes her eyes closed at the sudden flood of light, opening them slowly to give them a better chance to adjust. She doesn't even attempt to fight against the hands that drag at her, letting them lead her wherever they intend. She would have no say in the matter, anyways. No amount of struggling would save her from whatever horror they have planned next. As her eyes adjust, she may notice that she's being drug, carried, or walked (based on her level of stamina) through a series of hallways, and eventually into a larger room. Inside the room, there are a few devices along the walls of industrial appearance, seemingly dated in design. There is also a large, transparent vat of liquid, tinted the slightest of yellows. She's tossed onto a mat in the center of the room, then the guards leave her alone in the room, a door slamming shut behind them. Shael huddles on the mat where she is left, her breathing shaky and gaze darting about uncertainly. The soles of her feet are throbbing from the burns caused by the scalding water, but that's certainly not the only part of her that hurts. She is exhausted, hungry, and of course very, very frightened. After several moments she lets her head drop down to her chest, her arms hugging her torso, as she simply waits. She's left to wait for a few minutes, but at the first sign of movement, a voice speaks over the intercom. Same voice, in fact, speaking in an almost monotone drone. "Prisoner C-1125. We have given you time to consider the next course of your life. Hopefully you have chosen wisely. Are you prepared to begin answering questions?" Shael slumps back down onto the mat again, her eyes squeezed tightly closed as she strangles back a sob. Can't they just take her back to her cell and demean her a little bit more? She can't betray her friends, she can't betray the Republic. She just can't! But it's been long enough that no one would be left in danger down on Corellia, right? Everyone has to have been extracted already. Maybe she won't have to betray anyone... "What do you want to know?" she finally asks in a soft and resigned voice. She is sure their equipment is capable of picking up the barest whisper, and she /really/ doesn't feel like speaking up right now. "Everything." The voice is right behind her now, and in person. However the man came into the room, it must have been by some method that took advantage of the deafened throbbing in her ears, result of the amplified voice. The man wears the striking Imperial whites, with gloves covering his hands and arms. They are clean. "We want to understand the work you did for the republic. The operation on Corellia is irrelevant... we want to know what you aren't supposed to tell us." He speaks softly, even kindly. Perhaps even pleading with her. Shael doesn't even turn to look when the voice suddenly comes from directly behind her. She doesn't care to see. She especially doesn't want to know if the man carries anything. His words are not immediately answered, other than by a sick, sinking feeling in her exceedingly empty stomach. She doesn't want to answer those questions. Hopefully she can come up with some sort of answer that satisfies them, though. "I'm just a smuggler. Sometimes I sell information," she finally answers. That is, more or less, the truth after all. "This doesn't coincide with what you told us before," answers the voice behind her. "We don't often see smugglers who are able to mastermind a military-grade strike. Am I to presume that you are thusly considering an oath of military service to our great Emperor?" "I lied," Shael states bluntly, still keeping her head dropped, her hair covering her face. "I wanted him to stop hurting me, so I lied. I can't plan anything. I don't know about military assaults." If any footage existed from the raid, at least, it would support this statement. Shael clearly had no military or combat training. "You do realize we can change that," says the man with resolve. There are bootsteps as he turns about and walks toward one of the devices lining the wall. "Prisoner C-1125, we are a relentless people. You still have your sanity, but in time, we will strip that from you. You will either reveal your secrets, or lose them in the chaos of lunacy. It doesn't really matter to me." He pauses for a moment, then turns around. "But, I suspect it might matter to them." He pulls a switch, then gestures toward the large vat of liquid, whether she's looking or not. His gesture is followed by a delayed, massive grinding of metal on metal, as a large door is opened in the ceiling above. Then, a platform descends, holding two dozen people of various race, sex, and age, all bound by metal cords running up into the expanse above. The cords are attached to their wrists and legs, but some of them have also been surgically inserted into the necks and along the lower back. Shael does finally look up at his strange words, and the distinctive sound of the ceiling opening. When she spots the people being suspended above the tank and immediately guesses as to his intentions, she hisses a sudden intake of breath through her teeth. "I'm telling the truth, please don't hurt any of them!" she pleads, turning her attention towards the man with a desperate look. She can't be responsible for the deaths of these people. She can't! But how can she betray the New Republic? The man sighs, his shoulders heaving. "If you were telling the truth, you would not be so frightened." His bootsteps begin to sound again as he turns and begins walking toward another terminal. "Sadly, you're far too young to be able to make wise choices, it would seem. Perhaps..." He stops next to the terminal of his choice, and cranes his neck to observe the prisoners standing above the large vat. "Perhaps like that young one right there." He reaches, pulls a lever, and in the flash of a second, a piece of the platform is withdrawn, sending a young boy plummeting into the vat of liquid. Bubbles begin to rise as his body writhes and thrashes inside the liquid, sending a sickly sour stench of smoke up from the bubbling surface. Silent screams are blown out from the boy with bursts of fresh bubbles, as he wrestles against the cords attached to his body in perverse manners. An adult male next to the boy lets out an unearthly scream and struggles to move, but the cords pull him taut and inable him from interfering. The man is not the only one to shriek. Shael is, herself, screaming in short order. "Get him out, get him out!" she cries desperately. She rushes futilely to the vat, pressing herself against the transparasteel as she stares at the boy in horror. No... He's dying and it's her fault. Turning back towards the man, she pleads, "I'll tell you whatever you want, just get him out! He's just a kid! Get him out!" "You want him out now?" cries the man, loudly. "He'll be more miserable than if he drowns!" Nevertheless, he obliges, and turns to pull the lever. The cords tug at the boy's neck and spine, drawing him out painfully. His body is now naked, the clothes having dissolved in the liquid, and his body is covered in boils and open wounds, where the skin has literally dissolved. One eyeball is engorged and dripping a white liquid, while a sickly steam rises from most of his body. The older man is in shock, as would seem the boy as well, until he begins to regain some of his consciousness. The screams that come from the boy are almost unbearable, as he dangles from the cords, his body lancing with unbearable pain. "Give him a few more minutes, Prisoner, and his brain will hemorrhage from the swelling. There is nothing either of us can do for him now. His father will never forget your face." Shael hugs her arms across her chest and starts rocking back and forth on her feet as she alternates between looking at the boy, and the sadist at the controls. "Get him a doctor, please," she begs. "Get him down and get him help. I'll tell you anything, anything you want. Please get the boy help, I'll tell you anything." Tears streak unheeded down her cheeks as she pleads desperately for the boy's life. She's responsible for this. She did that. "Very well." The man reaches over to push a large, red button. This one sends a lethal jolt of electricity through one cord, into the boy's neck, and out the cord in his spine, ending his suffering in a few short moments of paralyzing electrocution. The boy's body is then dropped into the vat, where it will float as it slowly dissolves over the course of a half hour, until nothing is left. The other, the sobbing man clearly identified as the father, is lifted from the platform and drug off into the abyss above, to whatever end. "Now." He begins walking back toward Shael, hands clasped behind his back. "Your affiliation with the so-called New Republic. Happenstance? Hired smuggler? You have yet to convince me. I suspect something more. Spec ops? Intelligence? Speak up, Prisoner, time is short for the others." Shael lets out another cry when the boy is killed, her legs giving out underneath her as she collapses to the floor. She looks up at the man as he approaches, tears still streaking her cheeks. "NRI," she finally answers in a choked voice. "I'm just an informant, that's all. But I report directly to the Chief of State." She starts rocking back and forth again as she stares up at the man, her eyes pleading with him to believe her. Please, don't let him kill anyone else because he didn't like her answers. The agent's eyes widen as he strikes gold, the prize unveiled before him. His fingers twitch invisibly beneath the gloves, and his breathing rate jumps just a little before he remembers Fleming's teachings and regains control. "I see," he says, quietly. "Release them," he instructs, turning his chin just slightly as if speaking to some invisible person. The platform begins to rise, bringing with it the rest of the prisoners who have escaped a horrid fate for now. "Bring the Prisoner some nourishment," he adds, then turns back to face Shael. "Now, Miss Edur, we are getting somewhere. Perhaps driving your sanity won't become necessary, as you're already starting to make wise, sensible decisions." Shael slumps forward, letting out a relieved sob as the prisoners are taken away. He won't be killing anymore of them. Thank the Force. She couldn't stand it if that happened again. She just couldn't. Her right hand starts scratching repeatedly at her left upperarm, seemingly unheeded, as she hugs her arms across stomach. Since no questions are directed at her, she remains silent other than crying softly. The rocking continues as welts start to appear on her arm from her own fingernails. The agent watches as Shael proceeds to break, moment by moment. The provision of food, he expects, will only ensnare her more firmly to his wishes. He won't push further for now... it's a tender moment in the breaking of a psyche, and he wants her to revel in her reward. "Shael," he says, softly, "The Emperor is proud of you. One small sacrifice is worth a greater understanding. I will see you again." The agent turns and heads for the door, being exchanged by a team of medical staff who bring her a fresh, warm meal, and silently offer to treat her wounds and clean her up. Shael lets out a desperate sob as he voices words of praise from the Emperor, those words cutting her as deeply as any could, as evidenced by the bloody scratches that appear on her arm. When the medical staff arrives, she ignores them at first, shaking her head and refusing both their offers of medical aid and food. She definitely doesn't deserve any of that. She just killed a boy and betrayed Leia and the New Republic. The medical staff are tenacious, to say the least. Not pushy, but tenacious. With time, they will escort her out of the room, but this time they will bring her to a room with a cot. A less than comfortable cot, but it would feel like heaven after suffering in the cramped cell. Warm meals will continue to come, every four hours, every day, along with medical attention, until Shael either succumbs to desperation and accepts, or starves herself into unconsciousness. There's always intravenous sustenance, after all.
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