RPlog:Death of a Jedi

Holding Cell - D10 - SSD Malevolence

''This is a very small room, is dimly lit, and its ceiling is much lower than the rest of the ship. The walls and ceiling are all metallic and all the same color gray, making the room very cold. Off in one corner there is a small cot, more designed for a human child than a full grown adult. In the other there is a small latrine. Obviously, the Empire doesn't think that prisoners should receive the comforts of home. The only entrance or exit is a thick durasteel blast door.''


 * His prison is rather normal-looking, especially compared to some Imperials he has had the pleasure of enjoying in the past. Then again, what is Luke Skywalker without his ability to call upon the Force and all that it offers? A strong man, yes, but at the end of it just a man. He has had his fair share of visitors, though some of those have been for the creatures kept just beyond the immediate cell he has, the lizard-like beasts enjoying the regular food they are provided. The man is currently seated at the very edge of the bunk hooked up to one of the bulkheads, awaiting what may come.


 * The lizard-like beasts have, indeed, been enjoying the food provided. And all the free running around space that they could want, actually, as they're given free range in the cell adjacent to Skywalker's. From the central command booth in the detention deck Isard stands before a bank of flat vid screens that show several angles of the cell in which Skywalker is being kept. The senior most security officer on watch stands to Isard's right, though a close look would discern that the tall man is sweating noticeably. Isard is aware that she makes him, and a lot of others, noticeably nervous, and it's one of the reasons for the small cold smile that lingers on her face. Gone are the tinted shades and the casual attire, in return is her crisp blood red uniform.


 * A subtle turn of her head allows her to view Thurl from where he stands. For she has selected him, for reasons that she hasn't made him privy too yet, to observe and participate in this delightful dialogue. That sidelong glance is enough for her to recall his entire personnel file, every letter every memo every note ever entered on this one individual. "Your impression of the prisoner, thus far?" she asks in a voice that is pitched to carry but not more than a few feet or two.


 * Wallas Thurl was one of those who were not, generally speaking, nervous in Isard's presence. There was a wooden deadness about him that repelled such influences. His expression was casually neutral, as though it took little effort to maintain, had entirely avoided a blank, dull look.


 * Thurl turned his eyes over the cell, taking rather more notice of the cell itself than the prisoner within, and responded in a rumbling whisper, "He is not resistant and does not seek to actively leave. At this time. He also heals quickly."


 * "He does not seek to actively leave because he is confident of a handful of things. That the Emperor will eventually call for him to be summoned. That eventually Warlord Korolov will drop by to see him. And that eventually his little rebel friends will mount some sort of rescue operation," Isard replies in a voice that is mild and almost amused. "All of which are, in all logical probability, quite likely going to come to pass."


 * Skywalker, though unaware of the audience he has, stands up and after a quick look offers the camera a mere shrug, shoulders aised but a fraction. That done, the man moves some steps past his bed before sitting down, legs crossed underneath him, and one hand on each bent knee. His eyes do not close, but there is sense that he is no longer focusing on the here and now and certainly not on what is before him. The Jedi's connection to the force may be gone, temporarily, but it does not mean that he should not seek to put himself in balance, metaphysically speaking.


 * "All of them except the last are things which he should seek to avoid, if possible, unless one implies that he has intended for himself to be captured." Thurl glances sharply at Isard, "I did not believe him such an idealistic fool. The last one is something isolation alone can prevent. There is no security in numbers for this. The more there are, the more likely one of them is or will be a traitor."


 * "Precisely," Isard says in return, giving a subtle tilt of her head to accompany her words. "Idealistic fool, yes. But he is the idealistic figurehead of the entire movement. He and their chief of state," she remarks. "Figureheads are powerful things, they are a touchstone for idealism, and the entire movement is about ideals. People will walk through the barren desert towards a mirage that promises to be water, knowing that it isn't, but hope will compel them onward, give them strength from first to last. And when they realize that there is none, they will drink the sand. The rebels believe, Thurl. And in that cell is one of the touchstones of that belief. And it is this... touchstone that has been a pebble in our shoe for long enough."


 * Vassily Korolov arrives on the SSD with little fanfare or ceremony. He stalks through the cavernous halls of the large vessel, robes swirling around crimson armored plates, he is flanked by a pair of Imperial Royal Guardsmen. The Sith arrives on the detention level, raising a hand to his head, he can already feel the bubble created by the Myrkri beings, "stay with us." He motions to the guardsmen, before making his way towards the detention cooridor containing the Jedi Master.


 * He has no idea of those are watching him and those that are coming, but there is the sense that the man prepares for whatever it is that awaits him. After a moment of the meditating, he stands up, perhaps it is a sign of how unfamiliar he is with having It gone that Luke cannot maintain that stance for hours on end for now. The stillness that was just moments ago is replaced by some stretching, years of hard work at keeping himself in fighting shape shown when he does so.


 * "Ah.." Isard says as Korolov approaches, "excellent." A nod or gesture to the vid screens is not necessary, so she does not waste the effort on the gesture and merely remarks: "I do hope that this purchase meets with quartermaster approval. There are so few that are open for purchase on the market. Regrettably we were not able to obtain his weapon of choice. One Mr Vichten made off with that choice bit of souvenir."


 * Thurl rotates around as a single mass, slowly, at the new arrival, "M'lord." He addresses, the hand flicking to the salute. "I'd like to submit some distrust in the means of accomodations. There are both far too many people in easy access and the cell itself is too... comfy." The latter he directed at both others now here.


 * The Sithlord stops as he is addressed, "I am told that we have Skywalker as a guest." He slips his hands to the small of his back as he listens to the report from the Director, "Perhaps Victen will do us all a favor and kill himself with the weapon." He looks at the display, watching Luke for the moment, "How is he holding up to the loss of his...powers." He tilts his head waiting to see what they have to say.


 * " The commander has a valid point," Isard remarks in return, casting another look at Thurl for a moment. The reasons she'd called for his presence seem to keep tallying up in her mind, though this isn't something readily readable on her face. She shifts her gaze from Thurl to Korolov and around to the Sithlord's personal guard. "I believe that a change in the guard would be appropriate. If you would have more of your men step in to take over for the guards currently on post?" she inquires of Korolov before she flicks a brief gaze towards the vid screen. "With notable calm. Rather telling, that."


 * "A change of the guards do help, but there are still hundreds of thousands of crew onboard. Even a one-thousandth of one percent infiltration rate can bring someone here. The restraint systems are fragile, if they are broken then we have a Jedi running free." Thurl got that out two breaths, "I believe that the best protection is in isolation and distance. For that, here is a twofold plan that should both remove the Rebellion's attempts to mount a rescue and ensure that Skywalker is always isolated. Director?" He looked at Isard.


 * "There are ten thousand Royal Guard aboard this vessel, they will handle security." Vassily Korolov smile, pushing back the cowl of his cloak to reveal his bone mask, "The Emperor should be interested in visiting our guest, I would believe." The Sith motions towards one of the guardsmen, "Centurion, have a Century of Guard isolating this deck of the ship."


 * "Before any other visitations are arranged," Isard begins in reply, "I have a few things planned for our guest. It's time to root out some of the traitors and turncoats in our own ranks. And break the idealistic back of the Rebellion. All in one tidy.. efficient little step. We are going to execute our prisoner," she says with a calm cold little smile.


 * "Yes. The outline is simple. We will find someone similar to Skywalker and perform the necessary cosmetic surgery. Then he will be executed. The footage of it will be 'stolen' by known Rebellion agents. Luke himself will be sent to a much more isolated location, for example, a small space station parked in the middle of absolutely nowhere. You shall be able to visit at your leisure, of course." Thurl adds, quickly.


 * Inside Luke's cell, the ventilation fans' sound changed, strangely. The composition of the air changed. Colorless. But it had the strongest smell of sickly sweet, burnt lilac...


 * Isard's nod to one of the guards has instructed him to push forward the plan, "A double would be.. time consuming and someone would always wonder and gossip," she says in that same mild almost inflectionless tone of voice. "Instead. We are going to go ahead and do it this way," and another sidelong glance is sent toward Thurl. "I do trust that you're armed, Commander," she adds before she leans forward and keys in the necessary sequence to set up an additional frame for recording and then strides towards the cell.


 * While something similar was expected, Luke does not immediately notice the change and as such a fair bit of the foul air is smelled before he reacts. Instead of beating at the cell's doors or walls, the man walks calmly back to his bed and sits down on it, beginning to slow his breathing and therefore attempting to reduce the amount of air he needs to breath in before he faints and worse.


 * "Of course, Director." Thurl produced his blaster, a black hulk of a thing, and walks alongside Isard towards the cell. "Open it," he ordered the guard at the controls further back.


 * Isard strides through the open door to the cell beyond, thoroughly inoculated in advance against the agent released into the air and waits until she's given Luke some time to focus on her arrival. "Luke Skywalker, stand now to face the charges that have been brought to order," she says in an oddly formal tone of voice. She crosses to the center of the room, making sure that she's within the field of the camera picking up this specific angle.


 * "I do not recognize your authority or the judicial system I am tried under.", Luke replies with a smile, serene almost, before looking up at his would-be executioners. "Fire whenever you wish.", but even with that said, the man does not budge from where he is seated, one leg crossed over the other, he seems almost bored with all of this.


 * Commander Thurl removes, checks, and reseats the power pack in his blaster and offers it grip first, much like a rather convenient holster would have.


 * Isard pauses, ever so subtly, the list of charges that she could reiterate is rather lengthy. She frowns slightly, thin lips pursed together in thought. She extends one hand to Thurl and accepts the blaster. She doesn't do more than glance to confirm it's setting before she simply states: "For Crimes against the Empire, her people. For crimes against order and the Emperor himself, I sentence you to death. By my hand and my directive I hereby execute one Luke Skywalker, self styled 'jedi master' as of this day 18 Selona, year 37," she states in a clear crisp voice. Her right hand raises, the blaster aimed at Luke and fires a shot aimed square to the center of his body mass, the trajectory precisely such to take him to just a few spare inches to the left of his heart.


 * Well, that certainly was not expected, then again, one never should be expecting things to go easy when the likes of Isard are involved. The blaster bolt, even if it is set to its lowest level, is still a blaster bolt. When it strikes him, it digs into flesh easily, and who knows whether or not the injury is severe enough that it sends him into shock immediately. What is known and seen is that the man slumps quickly to the side before finally falling down, body thudding against the durasteel floor, already a large pool of dark red liquid gathering beneath his still body.


 * Thurl peers at the corpse, "The blaster will be a nice souvenir. He was too dangerous to keep alive. But he's more useful to us alive than dead. I'll prepare the program."


 * "Guards! Take the body to the incinerator."


 * "One last thing," Isard says as she hands the weapon back to Thurl and strides forward. She goes to one knee beside Luke and withdraws a precision cutting blade and calmly severs the artificial hand from his wrist. The blade neatly cauterizes as it severs the artificial hand and she stands up, holding the appendage in such a way as to make it readily apparent that she has the artificial hand of Luke now in her possession. "A.. trophy, if you will. something to remember him by," she says in that clipped precise voice of hers. She stands aside as the guards step into the room and expertly handle the body to lift it up off of the ground and carry it out of the room. She glances at the blood on the floor with a small, chilling, smile on her face then strolls out of the room mere minutes after having arrived in it.