RPlog:The Empire's Tender Care

Warning: graphic content. The ISB are not the friendly sort.

Some time has passed since the 'Rebel attack', and Shael has indeed been given excellent medical care by the medical staff aboard the Inquisitor. She has had samples of blood taken, as well as some swabs, but her wounds and injuries have been patched up and given proper attention to the point that it is just the anesthetic that keeps her under. That, now, is running out of her system, giving her an easier time to wake up.

The chamber is pitch black, as dark as the deepest parts of space, until that darkness is most rudely interrupted by a series of exceptionally bright lights, all of which shining down upon Shael.

"You are awake, Prisoner C-1125? Good. Then we can begin."

Shael had been drifting blissfully on the edge of sleep, waking briefly in the darkness only to drift off again, when the bright lights abruptly bring her to full consciousness. She jerks instinctively against the clamps that hold her, and feels a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she finds herself unable to move, and hears the cold manner in which she is addressed. "What do you want?" she asks, keeping her voice as even as she can imagine. A hint of a quiver manages to sneak in anyways, though.

"Irrelevent for now, Prisoner C-1125."

The voice is cold, clinical, without a hint of malice nor mercy lurking within it. The speaker steps forwards, yet stays out of the glare of the lights as they angle themselves in to beam down hard upon Shael's strapped down figure. Polished boots create a soft shine as they thud against the durasteel floor, walking in slow, deliberate steps around the edge of the light as the light intensifies, giving off hard, unrelenting heat.

"What is important, Prisoner C-1125, is what you were doing. A criminal act. A deliberate act of Terrorism against the Empire. You had a name, once, Jeni Donella. That name, no longer exists."

Well, if they're going to erase one of her names, they picked the right one. Shael hates that name. She lays still on the table she's straped to, her mind racing as she tries to think of a way out of this situation before it goes in the direction she knows it's destined to head towards. Krieg... was he in the system? Did he know about her capture? He would be sure to help...

The figure continues to walk, and now its visible that it has its arms folded firmly behind its back as it steps. It pauses, now, and then turns towards Shael as she lays upon the slab. Finally, Dreven steps forwards, visible, and those cold, dead brown eyes stare down towards the woman. Finally, the arms unfold from behind his back.

"If you are hoping for someone to come and show you pity, you have made a fatal error, Prisoner C-1125. You are now a prisoner of the Internal Security Bureau. You, as a person, have ceased to exist. Your name is Prisoner C-1125. And you. Will. Answer my questions."

"Understand, Prisoner C-1125?"

"Understood," Shael answers softly, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. This couldn't happen. Someone was coming for her. Any minute they would burst through that door. Krieg, Enb'zik, Skywalker... someone would come. Her hands ball up tightly into fists as she watches the man, her nails biting deeply into her palms. This couldn't be happening.

"Then we shall begin."

The lights dim, allowing easier viewing of the entire room. It is completely clean, almost bleached bone white. Resting beside the operating table is a large tray, filled with all sorts of medical surgery equipment. Contained within a dish in the tray, is a selection of small grey, unassuming orbs. The agent reaches out, black leather hand grasping a firm hold of the scalpel and raising it up, allowing the light to shine off of it.

"What, exactly, where you and your rebel colleagues doing yesterday, Prisoner C-1125."

"Freeing your unlawful captives," Shael replies with a little bite in her tone. A smart choice for an answer? Probably not. But she could have said stupider things. A glint of defiance peeks through the fear that Shael wears undisguised on her face.

"An expected response, but one that will no doubt change."

The response is calm and quiet, no hint of emotion. The face remains impassive as Dreven steps up to the woman, continuing to hold the scalpel. There were no threats, nor any harsh words. Instead, the man simply begins to press the tip of the scalpel into her upper right arm, and the scalpel tip begins to slice through material and flesh, and he begins to drag it down.

"I am cutting you open, Prisoner C-1125. After that, I am going to put something inside of you. This item will gather up energy from movement, adding it to its battery. When I push a button, it will release an eletric shock which, if I continue to press, will cook you from the inside out."

Still, no threats, no questions. He simply continues to cut, his black gloves pushing at the cut skin to tear it open.

Shael grits her teeth together at the pain, holding her right arm carefully still while her left twitches and flinches in reaction. She makes a few, quiet cries that she stiffles as best she can, and squeezes her eyes shut tightly. Someone will come. Please, someone /has/ to come.

"I have finished making the incision."

Dreven's voice is still soft, as he leans up, and he takes a wipe and dabs at the wound for a few moments to inspect it, then he simply leaves it to bleed. he wipes the scalpel, setting it back down on the utensil tray as he finally uses the wipe to begin to clean his gloves. He sets down the bloodsoaked rag, leaving it in sight.

"I will ask you again, now, Prisoner C-1125. What exactly where you doing."

Alas, Dreven's theatrics are mostly lost on Shael, as she keeps her eyes shut while she attempts to devise an answer that /won't/ result in more pain. "Breaking Imperial law," she finally states in a quiet voice, letting her eyes open again. It was the truth, after all. But she has never minded breaking Imperial law, and likely never will.

"And why were you breaking Imperial Law."

One black gloved hand reaches out, picking one of the orbs up. He holds it in his fingertips, letting it be seen. It is a completely innocuous item, it does, however, appear to have a rough, bumpy surface. Dreven takes his time in placing the orb against the slice, and two fingers and a thumb pry the wound open, and then the ISB Agent simply begins to 'screw' the orb into the wound, twisting it around before he pushes it fully in. He steps back, then, allowing the sliced skin to move over the wound.

"That is one. Of five."

Shael lets out a hiss of pain as he forces the unnatural item into her arm, once again the opposite side of her body twitching in reaction to the pain. She answered the bloody question. She answered it! He's not supposed to hurt her if she answers! "Frell you, and your questions, and the tauntaun you rode in on!" she exclaims loudly, suddenly attempting to struggle against the bonds that hold her tightly to the table. "You little-" she lapses into a long string of words that really don't bear repeating, in more than one language.

Quietly walking around, Dreven simply begins to cut into the other arm, at approximately the same location. The insults don't mean anything to him, or if they do, it doesn't show. He simply stabs the scalpel in and begins to pull it downwards as he speaks.

"The further you continue the insolance, Prisoner C-1125, the more pain you shall be put in. In return for full and appropriate answers, I will lessen your pain. But only if I deem the answers worthy. Who arranged for this terrorist action to take place."

"I did!" Shael screams at him, her struggles lessening to spasmotic twitches for fear of his scalpel slipping in its 'work.' She doesn't want to be cut open anymore than this sadist deems 'necessary.' "It was my idea!" Not quite true, not quite a lie. And probably not the wisest response.

"I hope you aren't lying to me, Prisoner C-1125."

Dreven's voice remains calm as he finishes cutting. He then casually takes his time to use the tip of the scalpel to carve and 'hollow' out some of the flesh so that this orb can slide into the skin. He walks back, replacing, wiping, cleaning, and he lifts up one of the orbs. He holds it out, visibly for Shael to see, as he moves back to her arm.

"We will continue with questioning anyway, Prisoner C-1125. Realize that you are not a person. You are not an object. You are a mere thought, you will be erased from existance."

Shael breathes a quiet and highly impolite phrase towards the interrogator, watching the man's actions with something that has, quite quickly, turned to hatred. She jerks hard against one of the bonds again, to no avail, her gaze still trained on Dreven before she states, "I want to see Inrokana. Tell him I'm here." Giving orders. Right, Shael. That's going to do you a lot of good.

"You are within the interrogation chambers. You are within ISB hold. This is an internal matter, and he therefore cannot help you now."

The orb is then shoved into the wound, rougher than before, even though he had taken the time to carve the skin a bit further. He leans up, beginning to wipe his hands clean, carefully working the rag around each gloved finger so that no blood is left to dry on the gloves. He begins to step around once more, heading towards the small remote.

"I am sure that you know what happens next, Prisoner C-1125. Are you prepared to be more polite?"

Be more polite? To this monsterous, child-kidnapping, sadist bastard? Her feet tug futily against her bonds, and she lets out a pained and angry his of air past her teeth as she glares against the blinding light at the man who holds her captive.

The Agent's lips simply curl up at the edges. A faint, faint hint of a smile. The remote is lifted up, and the charge is set. A soft whine begins to fill the air as the energy is pulled and drawn into the orbs, beginning to vibrate a small amount as the battery begins to fill. The thumb pushes down on the button, and the electrical charge is, to say the least, intenstly painful. Nerves are directly stimulated, charged with an intense amount of electricity to lightly burn the flesh, no charring, no permenant damage, but a large dosage of agony, mixed with muscle spasm.

"I believe you can sleep now, Prisoner C-1125."

Shael finally lets out a full blown scream. No more of the hissing gasps or muffled cries between clenched teeth. Her limbs twitch spasmodically, some of the movements a result of the current running through them, and some of them the result of a conscious effort to break free and rip the devices from her skin. No such luck, however. The bonds hold tight, and in the end Shael's head lolls to one side as she falls unconscious under the enslaught.