War Stories

[Xira Stone]

Warning: May contain graphic descriptions of torture.

- - -

Xira stood outside the holding room peering in through the only means of visibility, a single two-way mirror. The room was cast in a dark glow, the only discernible light source coming from tiny sensors around the room. Otherwise, it appeared to be a sparse, typical holding room...even though it was anything but. The Grand Admiral, however, was least concerned with what the room looked like, but rather how her prize was reacting in the middle of it.

There, seated in the middle of the room was the Alliance's Director of Intelligence, a man by the name of Loran. Completely blind by a steel blindfold, he was wearing what appeared to be headphones. His hands were securely tied behind him, wound through the chair as well as his feet were chained to the floor. There was no viable means of escape for him...and she wanted him to realise that. Whether he did or not was not important just yet. She'd let him sit there for a while longer.

What Director Loran was going through was a process known as sensory disorientation. Bathed in complete darkness, Loran couldn't see. Coming through the headphones was a series of buzzing sounds as well as other unpleasant sounds, preventing Loran from hearing anything or being able to concentrate. By nature, sentients wanted to put a pattern to anything they saw, heard, or did. The rhythm of the sounds he was hearing were completely random, disallowing any sort of pattern to form. Long term, it would cause insanity...short term, it provided mild dementia. The best part was that it confused the victim as well as made them susceptible to other means of interrogative torture.

Yes, Xira had grand plans for the Director of Intelligence.

Beside her, someone shifted. She did not remove her gaze from the room and the suffering man within it. Even when he began to speak, she kept her eyes trained ahead, focused.

"How long are you going to wait?" the man demanded.

"As long as I feel necessary, Commander," she replied in an even voice. "Patience."

She could feel the tension coursing through her colleague. It was to be expected, the man had waited many, many years to exact his own kind of revenge on Director Loran. Xira still didn't know the exact details of why, but she knew how he was going to do it. And she wouldn't stop him, either, once she had all the information she needed from him.

They had hit the jackpot when they'd managed to capture the Director of Intelligence--whom had been acting Grand Marshal of the time--back on Kashyyyk. The battle ended up being a failure, but she had accomplished one of her primary objectives so all was well. Nothing lost, something gained.

"Alright," she said. "That's enough for now. I will go speak with the Director now. Nrghrr, if you please."

The Togorian grinned fiercely and opened the door for her, following her in as she went. The lights came on, remarkably bright white lights that would be a shock to the Director once she removed the blindfold...which she quickly did. As well as removing the headphones.

Then she stood across from him, the very picture of Confederate domination. "Good evening, Director Loran," she began. "I don't think we've been formerly introduced. I'm Grand Admiral Stone."

He was still dazed from the sensory disorientation, and she didn't wait for a reply, continuing on in an almost amicable tone.

"Do you know how long you've been going through that?" she asked. "Only thirty minutes. I bet it felt like a lot longer, didn't it? That's the first thing to go: your sense of time. How do you feel?"

[Wes]

When the odd device had been placed on his head, Wes had only been half conscious. Gaining more consciousness hadn’t really been easy, as the darkness made him think he was still knocked out. The sounds in his ears, the bloody annoying sounds, however made him rethink that assumption. A violent shake with his head cleared his mind enough to realise he had something attached to his head.

Moving his arms and legs, he discovered he couldn’t really move, his arms were tied to the chair he was sitting on, a rather uncomfortable chair too, and his legs were securely chained down. The buzzing was disorienting, muddling up his already muddled mind. He tugged at his bonds, his body feeling much lighter than it had when he’d been preparing to shuttle down to the planet surface. He wasn’t wearing his combat armour anymore; it felt like he was wearing a flightsuit, or something similar to one.

However what he was wearing seemed insignificant at the moment, the sounds flowing into his ears made him too disoriented to even think on that matter, annoying him to no end. The control he usually had in situations wasn’t there anymore, while he wasn’t afraid, he had to admit he was a bit intimidated by the whole thing. It all seemed something made for the start of a torture session, not that he knew a lot about torture, it wasn’t the way of the Alliance. He did own some intuitive sense though, and, if he managed to concentrate enough, he would have to pull himself together.

As the device suddenly came off and he was assaulted by bright lights, he blinked and squinted, trying to turn his head away, but unable to get away from the light. Keeping his eyes closed didn’t seem to help much either.

"I don't think we've been formerly introduced. I'm Grand Admiral Stone."

He heard a voice speak, however, all he saw was a dark blot right in front of him, and not a dark blot he was thinking of paying attention to. Shaking his head violently, he again attempted to clear his head as his eyes adjusted.

Looking up, his head cleared and eyes fairly adjusted to the sudden flow of light, he saw who was before him. Of course, the Confederation, who else? He’d heard of Grand Admiral Stone, nothing nice, mind you. She started speaking again; he fixed her with a silent gaze, wondering what would be waiting for him in the next few days.

”How do you feel?"

Wes fixed a furious glare on her, mostly just to establish that yeah, he hated her and he’d be making any word she tried to draw out of his mouth extremely hard to get a hold of, ‘cause that was his nature. The schutta would get more misery from him than pleasure; the integrity of his mind would make sure of that.

[Xira Stone]

Xira tsked, shook her head. "I had a feeling that you would be difficult, but no matter."

She motioned to Nrghrr and the Togorian placed both the steel blindfold and headphones back on Loran. The man was notoriously strong-willed, or so she'd been told by her most reliable source. He would put up quite a fight and Xira got the feeling that he would make it difficult for her to get anything out of him...But, she knew, that everyone had a breaking point. Even Director Loran of the Alliance. She would get the information she wanted--it was just a matter of how much pain he'd have to endure before then.

"He didn't say a word to you," said the Commander when she exited the room, closing the door behind her. "I told you."

Xira looked at him with a cold gaze. "The sensory disorientation is doing its job. It will serve for the next hour or so...Then I will change tactics if he's still not forthcoming with any information."

The man snorted. "I hope those are some good tactics up your sleeve, Grand Admiral."

"You have a better idea?"

The man sobered. "Nothing that doesn't lead to eventual death."

"As I figured," Xira snapped. "So keep your snide comments to yourself, Commander. You will have your turn soon enough, but for now, leave my prisoner to me. I am not an amateur when it comes to torture techniques as you would know."

The last comment hit its mark and the Commander grew broodingly silent, turning back to look at Loran through the mirror. In less than an hour, Loran would be reduced to something very close to a blubbering mess--such was how the disorientation worked. Sense of time went first, followed by loss of direction, and then forming any sort of coherent phrase or thought became a chore in and of itself. Stronger men had endured the disorientation for hours, but all succumbed in the end. The Commander knew that first-hand. If the sensory disorientation didn't do him in, the torture would for sure.

When it came to waiting, Xira could be absolutely patient. She had what she wanted, it was all bundled up in Director Loran's head...It was just a matter of getting it out of him. She was no stranger to the art of torture, having studied methods mostly unheard of in the vast reaches of the Galaxy. She viewed it as a necessary evil--things were so much easier when prisoners volunteered the information...but that was a rarity. These terrorists were so brainwashed by their leaders (leaders like Loran) that they'd die before giving up anything. It could be frustrating, to be sure.

But Loran wouldn't die...No, not until Xira had what she wanted.

And she always got what she wanted in the end.

An hour or so passed and Xira returned to the room, Nrghrr entering along with her. The Commander remained outside, viewing the whole thing with an emotionless mask. He was like her ace in the hole, Xira believed, and if it came down to it...she would use him to get the information out of Loran. They both were pawns in a larger game though she doubted either knew it.

Again, she gave a motion to Nrghrr and the Togorian freed the Director from the blindfold and headphones. Then she turned the lights back on.

"I won't bother introducing the trivialities of the matter to you, as I'm sure you already are well aware of your predicament," Xira said. "But I will tell you now that I will spare you no measure of pain if you make things difficult for me. We are both sensible people here, surely you can see that there is no sense in not divulging what you know now and saving yourself the misery of going through torture only to tell me what you know later."

It was still obvious that he had no intention of telling her a thing, and so she motioned Nrghrr to unchain him and yank him to his feet. Due to the sensory disorientation, he'd be unable to stand upright by himself and would need the assistance of the Togorian. Xira pressed a few buttons on the wall, and the table that had been in the room disappeared into the floor. A new object rose after she pressed a few more buttons.

It was a long, iron slab with places to chain wrists and ankles as well as a neck brace. Nrghrr forced Loran onto it, face down, and locked the chains around his wrists and ankles. Then, he brought the neck brace across his neck, locking that too to prevent him from being able to move. He was now laying completely on his stomach, head bent forward by force.

"This is your final chance to surrender what you know," she warned. "The methods from here on out in which I ascertain the information from you will not be pleasant."

[Wes]

The headphones and blindfold were put back on Wes’ head, but he remained silent, not like protesting would help anyway. This was a repeat of before, just seemingly lasting a full more eternity than the other dose of it. As an Intelligence operative, he’d been taught to resist such techniques, along with a whole variety of others, which meant he had something going in his favour, however small it might be.

When the device came back off, the lights turned on in the same fashion as before. He squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to recover quickly from the methods the Confederate schutta was using. He ignored her entirely when she spoke, hearing the words but letting them slip past in his mind, as if he was simply overhearing another conversation of no real importance to him.

He heard the chains being removed and then felt a big thing yanking him out of the chair and easily slinging him on some cold hard metal slab. It felt like an operating table, and Wes wasn’t going to rule out the fact that it probably was. He felt the large thing manhandling his limbs into restraints, finishing off with forcing his head into a neck brace.

The position was problematic for Wes, he felt more or less helpless. Like a slab of meat on the butchers block, ready to be sliced up, but even that comparison was too morbid for his own tastes, so he blocked the thought out. The neck brace gave him a little trouble with breathing, which would cause trouble, he had no doubt. The only good thing about being face down was that he wouldn’t be seeing what was going on, only dealing with the pain. Which was only better in a very small degree, but you had to get your bright sides from everything.

"The methods from here on out in which I ascertain the information from you will not be pleasant."

You don’t think I already know? He gave the drab metal he was staring down at a glare. Why give me a choice when you know full well I don’t have any?

[Xira Stone]

She wasn't surprised when he continued to remain silent. Alliance officers were notorious for their never-say-die nature and outright stubbornness. It was a trait she would have found efficient in her own ranks but coming from the enemy, it was simply a nuisance. One she, unfortunately, had to deal with on a constant basis. The only fortunate thing about dealing with steadfast Alliance soldiers was that when they did break, it was much more satisfying.

And they always broke eventually.

Such was the case with Loran, she figured. He would be able to take more than the average recruit simply because he knew what to expect and had probably gone through training against such techniques. But that mattered little when it came down to it--the techniques that she'd perfected over the years were meant to break a person's will first, and then their body, quite the opposite of the older arts. Xira wanted one thing from Loran and that was information. She would do whatever necessary to get it, as well.

Xira tapped a few buttons on a control panel and stepped back as a hole in the ceiling opened up. Roughly a few seconds later, ice cold water began streaming through the hole right onto Loran's head, quickly surrounding the entire thing. It was a process known as waterboarding in which, through forced suffocation and inhalation of water, the subject experiences the process of drowning and is made to believe that death is imminent. Add onto it the icy coldness of the water and it could produce painful sensations as well. She allowed the water to flow onto him, watched as the realisation that he was beginning to drown set in.

Victims often looked like beached fish floundering about pathetically, but unable to move anywhere due to being restrained. Xira kept her steel gaze on him the entire time, waiting for the moment to stop and ask him the first question...one of many that she would see answered by the end of this.

Letting it go for several more agonizingly long moments, she pressed a button and the water ceased. She strode over and grabbed Loran by the back of his head and forced him to look up a bit, just enough to cause some pain in his neck but not break it...to allow him to cough up some water to speak.

"Who is supporting the Alliance? Where do you get your funding from?" she demanded. "Are you in league with the Jedi?"

She waited to see if he would respond, though she doubted he would.

[Wes]

Wes endured the silence for a little while, remaining still and keeping his mind on the now rather than on the events to come. He gave the metal under him a resolute stare, ready to take whatever Stone had in mind for him. He’d already gone through a whole list of terrible techniques in his head that she would be likely to use, but he wouldn’t know until she started.

When it finally did start, despite him being mentally prepared and ready for it, he did give a slight gasp as the water hit him. He did his best to not squirm or resist in any violent way, as it could lead to permanent damage for him, he did his best to resist the oncoming feeling of being drowned, but no one was as full of willpower to resist it entirely.

Eventually he found himself in a vague state of limbo, feeling his body try to resist the drowning, but ending up swallowing a lot of water, and his mind floating, present, but at the same time not entirely there. His lungs protested for air and he felt the water being swallowed in his futile gasps for the air that wasn’t there.

When it stopped, he tried his best to raise his head from the water, but found himself unable to as he gasped for air. When she grabbed his head and lifted it up, he managed to expel some of the water, but still felt that he had water in his lungs. He gave a few swallows, looking up at Xira as she spoke, barely noticing the pain in his neck.

"Who is supporting the Alliance? Where do you get your funding from? Are you in league with the Jedi?"

Wes gave a little snort at that. The Jedi? Was she seriously thinking the Alliance was working with them? The peace lovers didn’t lift a finger for the Alliance, they were too hung up in their little meetings concerning the wellbeing of the galaxy without actually doing anything. While Wes would welcome any Jedi wanting to join their ranks, he hadn’t met one yet. All they did was sit around being all philosophical, thinking of the past and the future, and while they said they were thinking of the now, rarely were. If they were concerned for the now, they’d help the Alliance get rid of the Confederation.

He gave Stone a disgusted look, clearly telling her what he thought of her. Not that she’d care.

[Xira Stone]

"Do you think that you're helping your cause by remaining silent?" Xira asked, continuing on. "How much help will you be if you're dead? For if you keep this silence up, that is exactly where you will end up...And the Alliance will be without a Director of Intelligence."

She was wasting her breath and she knew it. The Director was steadfast in his devotion to his terrorist cause, a resolute thing that would not be easily broken. While she could torture his body, his mind would merely fight against her even more. No, these physical tactics would only serve to soften him up a bit, ready him for the real interrogation that had not yet truly begun.

The man was still soaked to the bone by the chilling water that she'd forced upon him, and she was tempted to induce some more waterboarding on him, but decided against it. If she kept up the same techniques, he'd grow resistant to them. She needed to break up the pattern, keep the torturous art fresh and new. And, fortunately, she knew just what sort of instrument to do that with.

"Nrghrr," she said, summoning her dark-furred counterpart. "If you would be so kind as to bring me the Wires, please."

The Togorian didn't hesitate in retrieving the devices that Xira requested. Within moments, he was returning to the room with a handful of small wires that possessed vicious fang-like clasps on the ends of them. This was all lost on Loran, however, as he could not see Nrghrr from where he stood behind him. The Togorian seemed to take pleasure in watching the Director still coughing and sputtering a bit from the earlier bout of semi-drowning.

"As you requested, Mistress," Nrghrr said, handing over the wires.

A dark gleam entered Xira's eyes for a moment, before hiding behind her usually gaze of steel. They said that one's eyes were the window to the soul, and Xira always kept her expression as guarded as she could to disallow any intrusion into her thoughts or feelings. They were her own and belonged to no one else.

"Thank you, Nrghrr," Xira replied. "Now, remove him of his jumpsuit, if you will."

The Togorian removed the restraints from the Director and yanked him upwards. Now on his feet, the Togorian stripped him of the jumpsuit he was wearing so that he was completely devoid of any sort of clothing that would hinder the effects that the Wires would have on him. Xira regarded both her bodyguard and the Director with a cold look of indifference. Humiliation was merely another technique that could be used, and Xira considered it since Loran appeared to be a very proud man. But for now, the humiliation tactic would have to wait. Without clothing, it would only further show Loran that he had no protection whatsoever to defend himself with.

She nodded her head back towards the slab, and the Togorian forced him back on it in the same position as before. Once he was restrained again, Xira moved to Loran, but did not explain what she was going to do. He would find out first-hand soon enough. Grabbing one of the wires, she lowered it to his left shoulder-blade, and applied some pressure on the wire, the fang-like claws of it shot into his shoulder, latching on tightly. The process was repeated with the other wires in several other pressure points on his body to maximize the pain output.

Without hesitation, she stepped back and flipped a switch, allowing volts upon volts of electricity to course through his body, increased by the water still on it as well as the metal conductor of the metallic slab.

[Wes]

"How much help will you be if you're dead? For if you keep this silence up, that is exactly where you will end up...And the Alliance will be without a Director of Intelligence."

Wes wouldn’t grace her words with an answer, but his mind was voicing everything he wished he was saying. While his death wouldn’t yield much for the Alliance, it would ensure their safety. He was better off dead with no information revealed than alive. The Director of Intelligence could be replaced, the position could be filled, but the information could never be revoked. He’d rather die than reveal anything.

The Confederation Grand Admiral probably knew she wouldn’t get anything out of him anytime soon anyway, which was probably why she didn’t press with the questions. She knew the usual brand of Alliance soldiers, fanatically obsessed with the cause and unwilling to betray it. Everyone did crack though; Wes was hoping he wouldn’t anytime soon.

"If you would be so kind as to bring me the Wires, please."

He shivered slightly, more due to the water soaking him rather than the ominous sound of what would come next. They could think what they wanted over his reactions, but the bold truth was that he didn’t fear anything she’d throw at him. He wasn’t a stranger to pain, not at all. Stone would have to keep this up for a long time.

Listening to them move around, he knew they were up to something, his position made it impossible for him to see what though. This was frustrating and unnerving at the same time, the control he usually had was nonexistent in this situation.

"Now, remove him of his jumpsuit, if you will."

As soon as the sentence was finished, he felt the beast remove the restraints. Bracing himself as the alien yanked him off the slab; he ended up on his feet. The jumpsuit was quickly removed, Wes, still feeling detached from the whole situation, didn’t offer up any apparent reaction other than shooting a quirked eyebrow at Stone.

He hadn’t known she was into that sort of stuff.

Again he was forced onto the cold metal slab, the restraints fastened again, forcing Wes to settle into the same position as before. He heard her steps come closer and felt a cold wire being pressed onto his skin. A sharp stab of pain erupted briefly when claw like things attached onto his skin, but it didn’t hurt enough to make Wes emit any sort of reaction to it, apart from a small amount of squirming at the uncomfortable effect it had.

When the electricity hit, he felt the effects over his whole body. Muscles contracted and he seemed to be stuck in a series of violent spasms. He twitched, writhed and struggled on the metal slab. A long drawn out yell of pain erupted from his mouth as the electricity continued to surge through his body. It seemed to overload his senses, as he lay there and received the torture. The restraints rubbed against his limbs as his body was overcome by spasms, he was unable to stop the manic twitching of his muscles.

[Xira Stone]

She flipped the switch once more and electric output ceased, though the man's muscles would continue to contract and spasm for several moments more while his heart struggled to maintain a rhythm as well. Electricity could be quite dangerous in its raw state, as witnessed on Loran, even going as far as to stop the heart if too much was used. Right now were just preliminary results of what the electricity could do to a sentient body such as the Director's.

Without bothering to ask another question as she knew she would receive no answer, she turned the wires back on, allowing the electricity to wreak havoc on Loran once more. His body was tough, hardened by years of military and terrorist service. And his mind seemed to be made of even sterner stuff, willing his body to take the torture and reveal no information. But, she was still convinced it was only a matter of time until he was broken. And she would take great pride when that time came.

Xira kept her gaze on him, watching him writhe in pain with a cold, detached look. She took no pleasure in torturing, it was simply a means to an end. She would employ any tactic in her arsenal to procure what she wanted...even the age-old art of torture.

Once more, she shut the electricity off, curious to see how he was holding up now. She believed his body would break long before his mind did, but it would be wise to gauge how far along both were in this process. There was also the rare instance when she judged someone wrong, and they broke far sooner than she would have imagined, only to spare themselves future agony. While she highly doubted that would be the case with Loran, it never hurt to check.

Being careful not to touch the metal slab upon which he lay (since she was quite certain that it was still electrically charged), she leaned next to him to peer into his weary face.

"You know," she said. "It is a shame that you went to work for terrorists instead of us. You would have been an invaluable asset...And just think of all the good you could have done."

She looked upon him with disgust. "But no, instead of attempting to make a viable change, you decided to wage war upon us. Us, the same government who helped to overthrow a dictator. We brought peace and stability to the Galaxy, and you strive to destroy that. For what? A pathetic ideal of equality?"

Xira stepped back next to the control panel again, watched as he braced himself as if he expected more torture. "The strong are there to prosper from the weak's inability to...Such is the way of things. Now, imagine all the innocent people swept up in this war, slaughtered because of a mere disagreement and unable to realise their potential. But perhaps that is where you seek to find the equality, hm? For we are all equal in death, are we not?" Her tone was mocking, subtle as it was but undoubtedly there.

Sighing, she flipped the switch and allowed him to suffer alone in the room as she departed from it. "I grow weary of his resolution," she told the Commander.

"I warned you earlier of it," replied the man, not tearing his eyes from the window from which he viewed his prisoner's suffering. "How long are you going to do the shock treatment?"

"Treatment? Hardly." She kept her face impassive. "His mind is far too strong still, able to resist any sort of treatment."

"Perhaps it is my turn then?"

Xira looked at him, suspicion narrowing her eyes. "Are you so certain that's wise?"

"Not at all," he said. "But you are obviously not having much success."

"Indeed."

There was an unspoken agreement between them and Xira nodded her go-ahead.

"Just don't kill him," she told him.

"I won't," he said. "Yet."

And then he entered the room.

[Wes]

While the surge of electricity ceased, Wes’ writhing didn’t stop. The rapid, irregular, and unsynchronized contraction of the muscle fibres in his heart continued. It felt as if a horrendous amount of pressure was building up, he was half expecting his heart to just give up and fall apart. When his body finally ceased its twitches, with an occasional jerk of a muscle, the pressure seemed to dissipate all at once, throwing him into a dizzy sensation, despite the fact that he hadn’t moved an inch.

His respite from the electrocution was momentary, as soon as he’d had a chance to relax his body, she switched it back on. The repeat of the excruciating technique sent all his muscles into the same tango as before. A ragged yell escaped from him mouth, despite the struggle he was doing to keep it in. The limbs straining against the restraints would have hurt, if he hadn’t been consumed in the electricity surging through his body and making his heart beat in an unsynchronised pattern.

When it ceased, he let out a groan as the residue of the electricity continued to surge. He clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth and feeling that pressure cease with a bout of dizziness once again. He barely registered the sounds of footsteps coming towards him and stopping by the slab, he twisted his head the best he could, as saw Stone peering at him. He gave her a weary look, another talk about how wrong he was and how right she was?

”And just think of all the good you could have done."

“So much good I could have done,” he croaked. “Killing those who stand against a tyrannical empire. My hearts breaking at the bad choices of my youth.”

He shot her a look of disgust. Her logic was twisted, she saw good in evil, evil in good. She ignored the fact that some just wanted to be free. She seemed unable to see in hues of grey, as they were there as much as good and evil. He was sure the term ‘If you’re not with me, you’re against me’ was her motto.

Without free will and freedom there wouldn’t be peace and the Confederation seemed set on depriving the galaxy of exactly those two elements.

”A pathetic ideal of equality?"

Better a pathetic ideal of equality than a despot mentality, he mused to himself, deciding that anything Stone said wouldn’t make sense to him anyway. They were opposites, he could never work alongside her without choking her to death, and he had a feeling she wouldn’t either.

”For we are all equal in death, are we not?"

He let out a scoff at that, her words were ridiculous, seemingly ignoring everything else he knew of the rebellion.

“Life is what we fight for, no-“ His words turned into a pain filled scream as she switched on the electricity without letting him finish.

For the third time his muscles were sent into an uncontrollable series of spasms. The twitching was more violent than before. His heart was seemingly feeling like it was going to explode.

This continued for several minutes before it finally ceased. Seconds passed, and the heart monitor Wes had been plugged to, ceased its urgent beeps, turning into a long drawn out one as he flatlined.

The Commander worked fast, unfastening the restraints and turning the limp man over on his back with ease. He fastened a plaster on the Directors chest that was connected to the defibrillator device that rested on a small table. With an effortless press of a button, the machine delivered a therapeutic dose of electrical energy to the heart. The first attempt was unsuccessful, as the flatline continued. Another press and another surge of electricity made the Director jerk a little, and his heart start beating again, still erratically, but it would calm down soon.

Moving the defibrillator equipment away, the Commander surveyed Loran critically, looking pensive.

Wes blinked, returning to the conscious world with no small amount of confusion. He stared at the man before him, as if in disbelief.

“Am I dead?” He croaked.

The Commander gave a disgusted sigh, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him up and off the slab of metal. It was sudden for Wes, he stumbled and fell, expecting to meet the floor head on, but the Commander caught him, steadying him.

“You always were pathetic, little brother,” he said scornfully, leading Wes to the chair he’d been on previously, dumping him rather roughly down.

“Get some trousers on, for Force’s sake.”

He tossed a pair of trousers at Wes, a rough fabric, but good enough for their purpose. It took a few tries for Wes’ muscles to manage the feat, still twitching slightly from the overload of electricity. Even then, the Commander had to give a helping hand, enduring it with a scornful silence.

Wes gave the man before him a confused stare.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” The words sounded small and pathetic, as if he’d psychologically grown smaller. “You’re dead.” The words were uncertain, as if he wasn't sure. He seemed unable to comprehend the sight before him.

[Xira Stone]

“I’m dead, aren’t I?”

March shook his head, but retained his cold, harsh and uncaring stare. "No, but you're going to wish you were soon enough."

“You’re dead.”

"Am I?" he snapped. "That's news to me. Because, you see, I feel very much alive. Or as alive as one can be when they've been betrayed by the ones they trusted."

March could see the indecision, the lack of understanding in John's expression. He was confused--that much was good. If he could disorient him, they would have a better chance of making him break. And the sooner that happened, the sooner he could have his revenge.

"Now, let's cut this small talk and get down to business," he continued. "You have something that my superiour wants and know this: I will make sure she gets it no matter the cost. Understand me, little brother?"

March looked directly at John, repulsed by the very sight of the man who he once considered a brother. They had once been very much alike, though those days were long since gone. Their paths had led to opposing factions, and now here they were, facing off against one another just as they had pretended to when they were little--only difference was they were no longer pretending. This wasn't just some game, this was life or death. March held Wes' life in his hands and that fueled him, gave him a sense of control that he had lacked for many, many years.

"So this is how this is going to go," March explained. "I ask you a question, and you give me an answer. Give me no answer, and I hurt you. Give me a bad answer, and I hurt you. Am I talking slowly enough for you to understand?" The condescension was present in his tone.

Without provocation, March pulled back his fist and then connected it with the side of John's face. A resounding crack! could be heard as bone met bone and March almost smiled at the sound, at the power he felt. All these years he had suffered, and now it was John's turn. Not giving him a chance to recover, March grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall.

"And if you think I'm joking, think again," he snarled. "Now, let's begin."

Xira watched from outside of the room, unmoving. While she wouldn't go as far as to say that she trusted March, she knew that he could get the job done. Physical pain was not the only means of torture, and using his own brother against him would no doubt catch the Director off guard...especially since March was suppose to be dead.

And so she waited and she watched. If March slipped up, she'd take over. But until that point, she would allow him whatever means he wanted to ascertain the information from the stubborn Alliance officer.

[Wes]

”Or as alive as one can be when they've been betrayed by the ones they trusted."

Wes blinked; feeling confused, but felt the haze of pain from the torture lifting each second that went by. Frowning at March’s words, he remained silent, honestly finding no words to give the man before him. He was still swallowing the information that his brother was alive, not dead, and that apparently he was holding the delusion of being betrayed by those he trusted. If this was his brother, and not some whacked up clone created by the Confederation to make blurr the lines, he knew they were capable of such dastardly plans; he had no other option than to assume his brother was insane.

”Understand me, little brother?"

Yes, he did understand, perfectly.

His brother had betrayed the idea by which they had stood for before Corellia’s fall, he’d allowed the Confederation twist his insane delusions into something potentially lethal for the Alliance, the Alliance that wished to bring the galaxy back into the glory days of an era long past. Now, with the Confederation mowing over those who stood against them, Wes had suffered a greater betrayal than what the Confederation had done against their allies, and he was furious.

”Am I talking slowly enough for you to understand?"

Gritting his teeth, he gazed at his betrayer of a brother, a dangerous glint lighting up in his eyes. His brother had made the lethal mistake of assuming Wes was unwilling to deal with a problem when presented to him, March was underestimating the changes his brother had gone through in his long years in the military, in the rebellion. March saw his little brother, John; a meek little boy overshadowed by his brothers, and then dragged kicking and screaming into a service he didn’t want to be in.

March hadn’t counted the fact that Wes had adapted.

The fist came out of nowhere, Wes being still too unclear to keep his thoughts of things other than the pure unadulterated anger he felt. His head cracked to the side from the force behind the blow, and he saw the twitch of a smile threatening to come upon his brother’s face. If anything, it only made him angrier.

He was shoved into the wall, his head slamming into the hard duracrete with a resounding thunk. It made him momentarily dizzy, unable to come with a response for several moments.

"Now, let's begin."

As the words left March’s mouth, Wes slammed his whole weight into the man standing before him, propelling them both to the other side of the room, where they ended up in a struggling pile of tangled limbs before March managed to toss him off. They scuffled for a few more minutes, punches exchanged, and more than a few dirty tricks from Wes’ side, March finally subdued him. While March was older than Wes, March hadn’t endured torture and had the upper hand.

Now straddling Wes, pinning him to the ground, with his arms trapped under him, March had successfully subdued the Director of Intelligence. Wes gave him a ferocious glare, showing clearly what he thought about the man.

“I’ll kill you!” He snarled, but refraining from struggling, wasting his strength wouldn’t be wise. “You betrayed us all!” All was a fairly broad term, but in general he was speaking about the betrayal of himself, their other brother and their parents ideals.

“Good luck,” March muttered, clocking him in the face for extra measure.

[Xira Stone]

Nrghrr tensed at her side, prepared to barge into the room and separate March and the prisoner but Xira held up a hand to steady him. The imperious gesture was all she needed to get her point across which was thus: let them be. March's tactics were not the most well thought out, but they had their purpose. As one grew angrier, they began to grow more emotionally unstable...When that happened, they tended to slip up, let secrets out without realizing it. Whether Loran would fall prey to this tactic remained to be seen but she was content with watching it play out at the very least.

In a few moments more, the Commander had successfully subdued his brother, thus ending any minor threat that the Director would have posed. Xira was not surprised; March had had experience with combat long before they had gotten a hold of him. It served him well, along with his desire for revenged...even if it was slightly misplaced.

Xira folded her arms across her chest, watching the two through the mirror with an uninterested gaze. She knew that Loran would never willingly give up any information, not while he was conscious anyway. But perhaps there was another way...a way to ascertain the appropriate knowledge that the Director was hiding within his head. If only she had some sort of leverage, or a way to gain access to his thoughts. Already plans were forming within her head, but she would let some time pass before enacting any of them.

It wouldn't hurt to put them in as a contingency plan right now, however.

"Nrghrr," she said, turning to face her Togorian bodyguard. "I would like you to deliver a message to one of my...associates."

She handed him a datapad and instructions on where to forward the information on it too. Nrghrr departed, eager to do his mistress' bidding.

Xira turned back to the window.

March had forced Loran back onto the metal slab, viciously strapping him down so he could tower over him. There was much more to such an action, she noted, than one would think. It not only made the victim feel helpless but also below the torturer, showing just where the power truly laid.

The Grand Admiral watched as March interrogated Loran on a number of subjects...and Loran refused to answer any of them. It was obvious the prisoner was seething with rage now. She wondered what March would do next to try and coerce Loran into telling him something.

"...I ask you again, little brother, what are the codes to gain access to Corellia groundside?" March was saying. "You know, if you don't tell me, one of your people will. Of course, we'd have to torture them a bit first, too. Why not save them the pain that you've already endured? Aren't you the selfless hero of the Alliance?"

His tone was slathered in sarcasm and condescension. He was enjoying the power he had over his brother right now.

"Well, John? Time is ticking, you know," continued March. "And I find your silence quite annoying."

Seeing that he had no intention of giving up the codes, March grabbed one of his hands and broke his index finger. It snapped with a sickening crack! but still March wasn't done. He broke a second just as the pain had began to ebb away in the first.

Then he lowered his dark face to his brother's. "Do you think that I'm playing a game, John?! I want answers! The sooner you give them to me, the sooner your torment will end. But if you continue to be difficult? Well, then I can only promise you an extended death, long and agonizing. Would that be fitting enough for you, Hero?"

[Wes]

”Aren't you the selfless hero of the Alliance?"

Wes fixed a cold gaze at his brother. He was still reeling from the mental blow his brother had dealt him with his betrayal, but rather than confusing him, it made him just more set on keeping his secrets for himself. March had ceased to be anything recognisable in Wes’ eyes, as far as he knew; March was just another Confederate puppet. His brother was still dead.

Even speaking insults was not an option for Wes. Everything a person did was a telltale sign of what was going through their head. His silence had to remain, as a sign of his unwillingness to cooperate with backstabbers. Actions spoke louder than words, his silence would say enough to them.

"And I find your silence quite annoying."

Quirking an eyebrow, he regarded March with a blank expression, finding it amusing that his silence, of all things, annoyed the man. Wes could think of dozens of others things that would annoy him more, but those wouldn’t be a likely course of action for Wes. Being an annoyance was the farthest from his mind; he was merely hoping the Alliance wouldn’t leave him to rot, and that there had been some trace of his absence.

His posture stiffened when March grabbed his fingers, he braced himself, knowing that he could only want to do one thing with Wes’ hands. When the crack came, he let out a strangled half-cry half-yell. He struggled against the bonds that held him down, wanting to do nothing more than punch the enfuriating man right in the face. Force knew he deserved it.

When the second crack came, Wes’ cry was even louder, and the pain in his yell was apparent. He gritted his teeth together angrily, jerking against the bonds. His infuriated glare directed full force at March.

”Would that be fitting enough for you, Hero?"

Wes kept his silence. He had plenty to say, but he wouldn’t give March the pleasure of any shred of information, may it be mundane and useless. March didn’t need him to point out how fully he was underestimating the Alliance, and how the Alliance worked. To call Wes a hero was an action brought out of ignorance, Wes had no intention of enlightening him.

[Xira Stone]

March was getting nowhere fast with Loran. The man's willpower simply was too strong, even as he reigned in his hatred for the older man. Xira noted how it was such a pity that a man was working for terrorists; he would have gotten quite far in the Confederation had he not been brainwashed by the Alliance. It was always the same story, she feared, good people being seduced to wage war against the Confederation by terrorist propaganda. It got old after a time.

Pressing a button, the comm in the room opened. "That will be all, Commander," she said in a tone that dared him to argue with her.

The Commander didn't look the least bit happy at being called out but obeyed the same, showing dissent and disobedience in front of Loran would only further his resolve. As soon as the door was closed behind him, however, his anger was turned on Xira herself.

"I was getting somewhere," he snapped irritably.

"No, you were not. You were wasting time," she replied smoothly. "It was inefficient. We have seen that he will not cave to torture and anything further will simply push his mind farther into retreat. We need to draw it out into the open along with his thoughts and knowledge...I have already sent for the necessary equipment."

March obviously wanted to say more but kept his mouth shut, knowing it would not be wise to counter his commanding officer.

"You are dismissed for the time being, Commander," Xira continued. "If I need you, I shall send for you."

"But--"

"Dismissed, Commander."

Turning on the balls of his feet, March stormed from the room, his anger and frustration obvious. At the same moment, a group of what looked to be doctors entered the room. They all wore typical labcoats but were very quiet, almost like drones. And with them was a metallic machine on wheels, covered mostly in a tarp.

"As you requested, Grand Admiral," said one of the "doctors".

Xira gave a nod. "Very good. In that room over there, please. He's restrained so you are in no danger."

They moved quickly and quietly, filing into the room along with the machine. Xira remained outside where she could watch without getting in the way. These "doctors" were not doctors at all, but rather trained torturers working for the Confederation. They had degrees in medicine as well as psychology and everything in between. For all intents and purposes, they could be doctors if the Confederation so wished but that was not what they were in need of today.

The doctors did not speak to Loran even as they surrounded him and began hooking him up to the machine that they uncovered. It was something like a lie detector test along with the capabilities of inducing truth as it shot some sort of serum into his mind that was very like truth serum only stronger...It was also much more dangerous, able to send the victim into shock at times.

When they turned the machine on, it hummed with an anti-climactic whisper. The first thing it did was inject the serum into Loran's mind. It would then wait for a bit, until it had been able to take effect, judge on if he needed more and apply the proper dosage. Then Xira would begin asking her questions and see if he was anymore amicable in his answer-giving. If he still refused to answer, she could start asking specifics in which the lie detector would detect if he was lying or not, giving her her answer anyway.

And so it began.

((Does the truth serum lower the inhibitors in Loran's mind, making him more pliable for answering questions?))