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| - In the unadorned instacrete cell in what he could only assume was a prison camp, Jameson Locke awoke to his hood being pulled off and being slapped across the face. Opening his eyes, he came eye-to-eye with another Insurrectionist, as had happened for the past two weeks. But this one was different from the average Glabetovan militiaman. He wore an olive drab uniform, with a cross suspended from a blue silk ribbon hanging on the left breast of his blouse. "You're wasting your time Wright." Locke replied. "Ah, so you do know me." "Yes, and your barbaric ways." "Not in a million years."
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| abstract
| - In the unadorned instacrete cell in what he could only assume was a prison camp, Jameson Locke awoke to his hood being pulled off and being slapped across the face. Opening his eyes, he came eye-to-eye with another Insurrectionist, as had happened for the past two weeks. But this one was different from the average Glabetovan militiaman. He wore an olive drab uniform, with a cross suspended from a blue silk ribbon hanging on the left breast of his blouse. "So, you're alive then. How fortunate for us, unfortunate for you." he stated. "Jameson Locke, Office of Naval Intelligence thug." the rebel officer scoffed as he tossed the file aside on the table. Locke said nothing, simply looking ahead and trying to figure out who exactly this man was. As the officer leaned back, Locke caught a glimpse of the initials 'V.I.S.' on the cross, and the man's eyes, one green, the other blue. Freezing in place, Locke was consumed with a mixture of fear and rage. He was looking at Nathaniel Wright, the 'Hero of Victoria' in rebel propaganda, and the 'Inquisitor' to those ONI operatives who had survived interrogation at his hands. "Now." Wright stated. "You give us the information about your brethren on this planet, and my work here will be done. If you don't, well, evidently you know my reputation by your silence." he continued. "You're wasting your time Wright." Locke replied. "Ah, so you do know me." "Yes, and your barbaric ways." "Come now, it cannot be barbaric if the Office does the same things as I, now can it?" Locke worked to keep himself from attempting to get out of his restraints and strangle the Victorian to death, his fear now replaced with utter hatred towards Wright. His condescending and casual tone, pseudo-friendly facial expression that oozed smugness, everything about him filled Locke with disgust for the man. Yet, in the back of his mind, he was in fear of him. He had not earned his nickname for no reason. Locke had seen too many ONI agents, the lucky ones that escaped, with all manner of missing body parts from what Wright had done, and he feared the same, or worse, would become of him. "Well, you going to tell us or not?" Wright inquired once more. "Not in a million years." "Well, maybe I can change that million years to just a few minutes. Allow me a moment." Wright said, as casually as ever, as he stood up and walked out of the cell. "I shall return." he continued. Contempt for their so-called 'hero' filled Locke further, and yet he could not shake the feeling that he had to get out of the cell, somehow, some way, before Wright returned, or else he would die there. His eyes darted around, looking for any way to get out before the Victorian butcher came back with whatever implements he planned to use.
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