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| - While Shael is given light, food, a bed and sleep, the one thing she has been denied, primarily, is sound. Now, that sense is turned to its full potential. The entire interrogation turned sleeping room's lights are switched off, leaving the entire area in pitch darkness. Suddenly, there is the sound of shoes hitting the ground. Heavy heeled, well made shoes, that give dull, echoing *thud* noises with each step. There are no questions, there are no words. Only the footsteps, getting closer. Shael, dozing on her cot and indulging in an unhealthy bit of self-loathing, lets out an audible sigh as the lights begin to dark and she hears the footsteps. She has been dreading this since the moment she was led into this room. Still, she remains resistant to the thought of answering questions. But after seeing what happened to that boy, what happened to him because they were dissatisfied with her, she doubts she'll be able to avoid answering this time. She can't let that happen to anyone else because of her. "What do you want to know?" she asks pre-emptively, in a resigned-sounding voice. The footsteps continue to come, step after step after step. Then, they stop. There is no noise still as whatever the walker is, simply stands there. It stares down towards Shael, letting the silence speak for it. Then, it begins to slowly walk around the cot, letting each footstep echo slightly before the other, creating an alien, disjointed way of walking. Then, it speaks, a cold, calculated tone. "Why." Shael feels some relief at this question. This is one she can answer, with no qualms of endangering others. "The Imperials invaded my world," she states bluntly. "They killed my family, and my friend Whisler's family. I hate them." Normally, these words would be spoken with heat, with anger. This time Shael simply lays them out in a dead tone. She still has not so much as shifted in the cot she lays on. "Has the New Republic not done the same? Have they not invaded worlds? Or do they call it simple 'Liberation'?" comes the response. The individual continues to walk, shoes scraping for a moment. "Has the New Republic not killed millions. Upon millions. Upon millions. Some claim the Empire has killed many many people. The New Republic has done a thousandfold. The Death Stars. All of those lives. Snuffed out. Every single one. Full families, wiped out in an instant. Generations wasted, gone. Yet I do not see your anger for their families. Or their worlds." "Altion was an independent world," Shael states simply. "The New Republic does not invade independent worlds. It doesn't destroy entire planets. It's doesn't /torture./ It doesn't kill little boys!" Right about the word 'torture,' heat, hurt, and anger starts to leak into Shael's tone. She squeezes her eyes shut, hugging her arms across her chest in an effort to calm herself. She doesn't want to anger them. She doesn't want anyone else to get hurt. "That's what they would like you to think." Comes the response. "You do not think they torture? Then you are misleading yourself more than we could have ever imagined." His head shakes slowly from side to side, even if it is not visible. He stops then, standing still as he stares towards Shael. "Do you not think that they kill enemies who stand in their way? Do you think that they are not as ruthless, if not more so? They are good at hiding what they do, yes.. But nobody is perfect, nobody is ever as innocent. Expecially not something like a Republic." "The Republic kills because they must fight. The Republic wants peace. Leia wants peace." Shael's voice has regained that quiet, dead tone it had a few moments earlier. Emotions'll get her, or someone else, into trouble. They're a luxury she cannot afford right now. "I love the Republic." "You love a lie, then. The Republic kills because they want dominance. The Republic kills because they want peace, as the dominant force. Leia wants peace, as the dominant force. That is why they fight, and they continue to fight. And they continue to kill. They fight. They kill. They ruin. You are living in a lie. They are not idealistic as you love to idolize. They are violent and murderous as anyone else." "No," Shael states simply. She knows Leia. She knows Luke, and Del, and Enb'zik, and Captain Solo. They fight because they have to. Shael lets her eyes fall closed again in the darkness, continueing to lie completely still on the cot they had given her. "Then believe in your lie. It might comfort you when the truth is finally revealed to you." The individual walks forwards, pauses, then begins to walk in a tighter and tighter circle around the woman in her cot. "Considering you do seem to enjoy deluding yourself with your petty little lies. Remember the boy? He was hurt, because you lied. To yourself, to others. When you lie to yourself, and to others, people get hurt. Why do you wish to continue this horrid circle?" Mention of the boy invokes what is no doubt the desired reaction in Shael: a sharp stabbing feeling in her heart, and a shaky intake of breath. The arms across her chest tighten, and when she speaks it's with something of a quiver, despite her efforts to retain some sort of control. "You won't have to hurt anyone else," she promises softly. "After all. Let's consider for a moment the fact that you have.. Hmm. Served? The New Republic faithfully. You never deviated from your Terrorist actions, yet.." He pauses, and lifts his head up, and the Agent looks around himself in the darkness. "What have they done with you? You are.. Abandoned. You are alone. For all their high praise, for all their 'lets work together'.. They have left you, ultimately.. Completely.. Alone." The agent begins to walk again, a slow circle. "Did you know, in all New Republic communications that we have intercepted, there has been not one iota of mention about any hint of a rescue, or even a diplomatic talk to have you returned?" "No," Shael breathes softly. They're looking for her. They're coming for her, she knows it. He's merely lying to upset her. "I have friends..." she counters quietly. Leia, being among them. If they knew where she was, if they could conceivably come for her, they would. "You have friends, who probably think you are dead, instead of bothering to actually hunt you own and look for you." He continues to walk, and the Agent's footsteps continue their odd, alien way of movement. "No communications we have intercepted have released any information about even knowing about you. You've became a non-entity, like I promised you would become." He turns, so his voice comes directly towards her. "How does it feel to not exist?" It's not a question Shael has any desire to answer, as she squeezes her eyes shut tightly. However, she knows better than to leave a direct question unanswered. She is expected to reply. "Lonely," she finally whispers out quietly. That one word doesn't even begin to cover it, however. "Lonely. Beyond lonely. You are nothing. You have been erased." The Agent continues to walk, giving soft *taps* of shoes against the ground in un-even steps, keeping the movements in the pitch black to the minimum, so that the sound distortion by the shoes creates the best effect. "You are not recognized by those that sent you out on a.. Suicide mission. You were caught, as they had probably already seen, and now you are here.. And now, you are no longer recognized, no longer recorded. Why should the New Republic attempt to take any blame when they can write you off." Leia and Enb'zik would come for her, if they at all could. And Skywalker too, she's sure. She knows she's not forgotten. If they know she's alive, and she can only hope that they do, then they're planning something. Or maybe they're already tried, and failed, though somehow that thought seems almost worse than being forgotten. Since no question seems directly aimed at her, this time, Shael remains silent, hugging her arms tightly across her middle and curling in on herself on her cot. "The new republic is used to making martyrs and sacrifices out of people to achieve its aims and goals. it is sad to think that you are yet another one of these many, used, then cast aside as your usefulness is completed. You did the best you could, yet.. You failed. Utterly, miserably. Why, then, would they risk more lives. Lives more important and valued than yours, to save you? They wouldn't." The Agent stops, his shoes scraping against the ground as he apparently turns to face Shael in her cot. "You are nothing. You are Prisoner C-1125. That is your only name recorded. Repeat your name for me." They would. They'd come for her! Or they'd try, at the least. "C-1125," Shael breathes softly, a few tears leaking out from behind tightly closed eyelids. Though if she was crying at the thought of her friends being unable to get to her, and perhaps dying or being captured themselves in the process, or if it was due to being forced to speak that loathed number, even Shael was uncertain. "Correct. You are Prisoner C-1125. You eat when we give you food. You sleep when we let you sleep. You walk, you breathe, you think, you talk, when we allow you to do so. You only continue your marginal existance because the Empire is allowing your existance to continue." The lights slowly flicker, and then begin to turn on. Exceptionally dim, leaving only the faintest outlines of the room, including the agent. Who is now crouching infront of the cot. "Do you thank the Empire for your continued existance, Prisoner C-1125?" No, point in fact, she does not. Shael is terrified of the thought that by her continued existance she may let the Empire know information that could harm her friends; that could harm the Republic. Far better to die than to become a traitor to her cause. Despite all that, though, the girl whispers an obedient, "Yes." The Agent rises, the whisper, the fear, the Agent even managed to smile, albeit it was something that appeared alien on that bland and emotionless face, and it faded. "You will find, C-1125, that your situation improves, the more and more you cooperate with us. you will find your cot becomes more comfortable. You will find your surroundings become better.. Or worse, depending on how you work with us. The Empire is always, always willing to assist those that assist them." he begins to walk again, with the dim light casting a shadow over the normally bright white ISB uniform. "Are you hungry, or thirsty, C-1125?" The affect of the lighting is lost on Shael, who remains curled up, with her eyes still closed tightly. "No," she answers in the same soft voice. She is nauseous. And she doesn't deserve food, not even a bite. To keep these men from murdering another boy, she would betray the Republic, she knows that. She doesn't deserve food. "So you wish to starve." The agent states, with a tiny tang of sadness in his voice. Faked, or real? That is unknown. The Agent continues walking, this time at a more leasurely walk, almost a casual stroll. "You would deny the Empire's good graces, its gifts towards those that work well with it, and instead starve in defiance. Defiance breeds insubordination, C-1125. Do you remember what happened last time you were insubordinate? Or should I show you?" The lights dim slightly, and from the ceiling, a small device begins to lower itself. A holoprojector with an audio output. "To recieve your reward from the Empire, simply tell me the names of your co-conspiritors and you shall recieve your reward. Or you will be insubordinate." "No!" Shael replies promptly, her eyes flying open in alarm at the thought that he might hurt someone else because of her response. If so much as claiming she is not hungry is enough to cause a death, she really will have to be careful. "I-I... I'll eat," she promises him in a softer voice, her eyes seeking out he man for the first time since he entered the room. Please don't let anyone else be hurt because of her... "I only know the names of the four Marines that were with me in the assault, and the... and the first names of the..." She hesitates briefly, trying to decide how honest she's going to be. In the end, she decides not to risk it. "Of the six Corellians." The device stays there, before it then withdraws into the ceiling with the nod of the Agent's head. "Good." He lifts up his right hand, and motions. The door slides open and four COMPForce Troopers walk in. Each one is covered in armour, yet two do not hold their weapons at the ready. These two carry food and drink. The food is obviously from an officers rations, bantha steak, with a decent side-sauce to it, with a mixture of vegetables, with a small dessert of a cake with a sweet icing and some fruit laid into the icing. The drink is high-grade Caf, obviously expensive due to its heady scent. These are brought over and gently laid into the cot, the pot of caf laid upon a tray with a mug. "Tell me the names, and then you shall be allowed to eat." Shael would have rather had slop than this. Cake? She doesn't deserve cake, that was for certain. Perhaps they wouldn't mind if she didn't eat that. "Vengan Draelis." The first name Shael chooses to state would come as a surprise to nobody who knew her. "Commander Stail. Sergeant Handon. And Private..." Shael pauses briefly, struggling to remember the name of the last marine. "Demor," she finally states. The names of the six Corellians she likewise manages to confide in the Imperial, pausing briefly from time to time to struggle with her memory. A small nod as each name is listed. Each name is recorded by voice recording and stored within the ISB Databanks, and the Agent stares impassively as he keeps his arms now folded behind his back. As the food and caf are set down, the COMPForce Troopers march back out of the room, and the door slides shut once more. The Agent shifts posture, feet now shoulder-length apart. "vengan Draelis, Stail, Handon, Demor." Each of the Corellian's names are stated once more again. "You can eat now. The dessert was specifically picked." Shael forces herself to sit up, and stares down at the food without much appetite, despite the fact that she has had very little nurishment since her capture. She fights with a feeling of nausia as she lifts her utensils, and after a long pause with neither sound nor movement, makes herself to cut off a small piece of the steak and place it in her mouth. The Agent just stands there, apparently lifeless. Like some sort of drone as it watches and waits for Shael to finish eating. The food itself is rich, and well prepared, obviously prepared during the beginning of the interrogation as preperation. Shael eats perhaps a third of each of the items presented, except for the cake, which recieves only the barest of nibbles, before she looks up at her interrogator to recieve permission to stop eating. "I'm not very hungry..." she explains in a small, uncertain voice. "Quite understandable, but you must at least have a drink, and another bite of cake." The Agent states calmly, continuing to stare down towards the woman. He waits, patiently, as if waiting for a moment to strike, rather like a cobra. Shael nods obediently, taking another bite from the loathesome cake, before she sets the food aside and turns her attention to the caf. The drink she seems to have less qualms about consumming. Would her friends, if she ever saw them again, believe her when she explained that part of her torture was being forced to eat cake? Somehow she didn't expect they would understand. The Agent then begins to speak. "Congratulations, C-1125. You have helped the Empire and you have earned your just reward for your assistance. Enjoy your reward and take stock that you have helped in the steps to bring the enemies of the Empire to justice." The Agent snaps his feet together, then gives the customary approximation of a salute for an ISB Agent. A polite half-bow, which he then rises form and inclines his head afterwards towards Shael. "The Empire salutes you." The caf quivers in Shael's hands as her hands begin to shake and, as the contents begin to jump out of the cup to scald her hands, she simply settles for dropping the enter mug to the floor with a clatter (and, perhaps, a shatter, depending on the materials the mug is made with). With her hands free again, she hugs them across her stomach, dropping her head to let her hair cover her face as tears start streaking down her cheeks. The Agent continues to just stand there, and he tilts his head to one side. "You shouldn't be sad, C-1125. You have done the Emperor's will. You should take stock in that." The Agent actually smiles for a few seconds, even though it probably can't be seen. "You may become more than a non-entity, C-1125." Shael begins rocking as she sobs on her cot, her arms clutches tightly across her middle. Why hadn't her friends come yet? How long had it been since her capture? Days, certainly. Weeks, perhaps? And still no sign of aid. Enb'Zik... Can't you hear her?" A slow, sad shake of the head. "You should be enjoying your praise, C-1125. It is a shame. However, I will leave you to your glory. Your food will be waiting for you when you need it. A replacement mug shall be brought to you if you require any more Caf. Glory to the Emperor and the Empire!" another quick snap together of the feet, and the Agent bows halfway. He turns and begins to march out. The first names of the Corellian rebels shall be taken down, and probably tracked to the planet, where they'll weed out the likely ones. Guilty or not, they'll most likely be shot. Shael continues crying and rocking for sometime. Perhaps she even returns to scratching at her arm again, for a short while. Eventually, however, she lays back down on her cot again, curling up as she had been before, and effectively ignoring anyone who enters her cell unless she is addressed directly. Any further food is ignored for now. Italic text
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