Era of Rebellion - Navigation

Sean Brandt, Christopher Levy, and Sarah Riggs-Shute.
Zero years after the Battle of Yavin (35:10:25) in the Essesia system: Interrogator.
El-Nay Darr, Captain Serra Eona, Captain Hakan Jarl, Commander Hunter Luscri Dimona Xirie Nuebla, and High Inquisitor Serine Thanor.

It had been a few days since the now infamous crash landing within the hangar bay of the Interrogator occurred, and the High Inquisitor was no closer to any answers than she had been at that time. It was extremely infuriating to know that potential solutions and resolution was right in front of her, but she was forced to have to wait for the two captives to recover. The price of acquiring the target had been extraordinarily high since dozens of personnel and her own private assault ship had been destroyed. She had back-to-back sleepless nights due to building frustration and an ever growing hunger to get her hands on those woman... The High Inquisitor had tasked the interrogation ward's surgeon with both El-Nay and Dimona's recovery, which was separate than the standard medical bay. The Interrogator was outfitted with the most expensive equipment devoted to holding individuals once captured, and questioning them ... extensively. Serine herself may have had difficulty escaping from these wards as many of them were custom tailored to incarcerating Force-users. She paced angrily around her room ... the wait was excruciating for her. Finally, the High Inquisitor's patience evaporated fully and she made her way down towards the interrogation ward to visit its specialized medical facilities where the two bounty hunters were being treated.

Doctor Hakan Jarl nervously prepared to give the Inquisitor an update on the two captured bounty hunters, but as he knew his report was likely to displease her, he was taking his time. The doctor had a secret ... ever since his new master had come aboard, he felt an intense attraction building inside of him. He never had this problem with his former master, the one-eyed Tremayne, but this new High Inquisitor was a different sort. Maybe it was her striking white hair, or maybe it was the combat armor that was about one size too small, but whatever it was ... it was leading him down the path of lust. As a master of reconstructive surgery, he found the opportunity to work on the two hunters as a chance to prove himself to Inquisitor Thanor, and gain her attention ... perhaps even favor. There was just one problem with his plan ... the patients were not cooperating. Enough time had passed, where he realized he was just as likely to be punished for being late as he was for the lack of progress, so he adjusted his uniform and proceeded towards the interrogation ward. When he arrived he discovered she was already there, causing him to anxiously grit his teeth and grimace. He dutifully walked near her presence, clearing his throat to announce himself. "Beg to report, High Inquisitor," he said, followed by a firm nod of his head, before he waited to proceed.

As soon as Serine stormed into the medical center, she caught sight of the still unconscious women lying in beds, adjacent to each other and restrained while being monitored by medical droids. Her eyes flared with intense hatred as she quickly covered the distance, now looming over both of them with an increasing rage. How dare they be unconscious! Her growing temper was picked up by the droids as they shifted uncomfortably, while still trying to provide medical assistance and continue their duties. "Pathetically useless." She growled as a hand slipped to the handle of her lightwhip. It a matter of mere moments, a blur of crimson obliterated both droids simultaneously as molten metal and crushed bits scattered over the medical beds. Unfortunately some scorching droid remains fell upon El-Nay and Dimona, and with no assistance to remove them, starting burning and searing through cloth and flesh. The doctor's presence jolted the High Inquisitor's attention quickly away from the two prisoners, for a second seeming surprised there was another occupant in the room. "You had two days, Doctor!" She yelled at him extremely displeased in both the wait and lack of progress as she absentmindedly flicked the whip that was still ignited that dug into the durasteel flooring, leaving ugly gashes. She was dangerously close to murdering one of those woman right now, as she really only needed one to answer her questions.

The Doctor cringed as the Inquisitor unleashed her wrath on the droids, pulling his head back as the sparks began to fly. The rumors of the Inquisitor's misdeeds were already beginning to fill through the ship's grapevine, originating from her pilot's loose lipped manner. There was even a rumor going around that she was a cannibal, and had literally devoured some of her victims. "Given the severity of patient number one's injuries it is something of a miracle that she is alive at all," he informed her, as he went to work removing the debris from his two patients with the aide of his staff. "I can inject a stimulant into patient number two to awaken her, if you desire, Inquisitor," he informed her, as he began to apply treatment to the newly inflicted wounds administered to his patients. "Provided there are no further injuries to them," he said, lightly, almost under his breath, as he finished caring for them. His interest was not in their well being, but rather his desire to excel at the task the Inquisitor had placed before him, so that she might reward him. The Inquisitor had instructed to only keep them long alive for questioning, after that they were no longer his concern.

Before the doctor could get too ahead of himself, Commander Luscri emerged from the shadows. The first thing that anyone would notice about the man was that only half of his face remained, leaving a jarring burnt visage that he chose not to have reconstructed in order to unnerve his subjects. He was a member on the Interrogation branch of Imperial Intelligence's Analysis Bureau. "You must be careful with the drugs you administer, doctor. Your pain medicine has the unfortunate side effects of altering the neurochemicals in the brain, causing them to experience a state of euphoria that makes their answers ... how shall we say? ... *unreliable*," he said, as he moved closer towards the Inquisitor and the master surgeon. "I care not for their pain or their well being. Only for the information in their limited brains," he said, as he cast his one good eye to look down at the young blonde woman lying unconscious in the bed. He reached out with his right hand, and grabbed the shoulder of her broken arm, and began to squeeze tightly ... but received no reaction. Without releasing his hand, he shook her mercilessly on the bed ... but again nothing happened. "You've made her too comfortable, doctor. She is not a patient ... she is a *prisoner*!" he shouted, before deferring to the Inquisitor.

Serine mused that this medical ward was becoming quite the unofficial conference meeting as yet another doctor entered the fray. The Inquisitor deactivated her lightwhip and coiled it safety by her side to afford a bit more room for the gathering professionals. She eyed the new occupant with a heavy scrutinizing glare as she knew that man well, but had not physically spoke with him for sometime. "Dr. Hunter Luscri." She greeted him coldly, but with the faintest hint of respect in her voice. Their history was rather unique. She had been witness to his horrendous scar by then High Inquisitor Tremayne many years ago. Back then the doctor was a bit too loose with his opinion that the then very young Serine could never survive as an Inquisitor and would be a complete failure. He had expressed those opinions to Serine's master at that time, Tremayne, who had disagreed with the doctor's assessment and then promptly burned the flesh off of his face. Even though Luscri had been very critical of Serine and perhaps even was now, she honored the fact that he survived Tremayne, not many others having that esteem, and thus held him in regard. She watched silently as he mercilessly manhandled the unconscious prisoner, evaluating him now as compared to the man she remembered. Serine concluded that he had not changed in all of these years and was still the same cold, frigid bastard. The High Inquisitor deferred to his opinion, perhaps a bit surprising considering she had been overcome with rage but a few moments prior. "Very well, I expect to receive reports from you both by the end of the day. Do not make me wait, doctors." And thus she quickly departed towards her chambers.

As the Inquisitor left the interrogation ward, Luscri followed her movement out of the room with his eyes. She had grown since he last saw her. She was no longer the frightened child that Tremayne carried aboard the warship more than a decade ago. Her ruthlessness now surpassed even his, and they would all need to be on their toes. As he arguably knew Serine the longest out of anyone stationed aboard, this made him both an asset and a liability. He would not put it past her to have him eliminated so that he could not share with the crew tales from her past, when she was a mere girl rather than the intimidating presence she projected to them. Like any analyst he knew her behavior was caused by her complicated childhood, her relationship with her estranged father, and the death of her master, Jerasea Ginhers. Subtle reminders of all three of those events introduced at just the right moments might be enough to unnerve her, and cement his position aboard the vessel. Those plots would wait for another day, however, as he had more pressing business to attend to. He brought his charred left hand, whose fingers had been fused together, to gently rub at the unconscious Mandalorian's cheek. He lowered his face down to the battered woman, placing a grotesque kiss upon her. "Soon, my child. Soon," he whispered into her ear, knowing that it would not be possible for her to hear him. When he rose, his attention turned to Doctor Jarl with an intense glare. "Awake her. Immediately," he demanded, before turning on his heels to leave the room to prepare, his long white cape flowing behind him as he marched. "...and nothing for the pain, doctor. No matter how much the little bitch screams," he said, without turning to face the man, as the door sealed behind him.

Hours later the young Mandalorian El-Nay Darr began to stir. Her blue eyes began to weakly focus on her surroundings ... she was in a small, dark, metallic room with dim red lighting. She felt as if she were standing based on how she perceived things, but before she could think of anything more ... the *pain*. "Ahhhh!" she cried out helplessly, as she tilted her head up to get a better view of the predicament she was in. She had been strung up like a dead animal left to be draids of its blood, with her wrists pound together and held above her, and then suspended from the roof by them. It was pulling so hard that it nearly dislocated her good shoulder, and caused incredible agony on her bad one. Her feet were hovering almost a meter off the floor, and she began to swing slightly in order to find any surface she could put her weight on to take the strain off her arms. "Ungh," she groaned, as the pain began to intensify, and she could literally hear her arms being pulled from their sockets. She had no idea where she was, or what was happening ... was this the work of Dimona or some other fiend?

"There's no use in struggling, child," Commander Luscri said softly from the darkness, choosing to sit behind her so that she could not see him, only hear him. He was quite the theatrical performer, who used this art to intimidate and manipulate his victims. "No one can hear you. No one that would care anyway," he said, as he watched the poor woman carry on to no good end. "Answer my questions, and I will see about getting you lowered," he said to her, his voice changing in tone to sound more sympathetic to her plight. "But for now there is simply nothing I can do. I am powerless, you see. Almost as powerless as you," he said, smirking broadly as she could not see him. This would prove most interesting ... he had always wanted to get his hands on one of her kind. Not the ideal specimen mind you, but she was better than nothing. "Your name?" he asked, choosing to begin with the simplest of questions. He found once people started talking it was very difficult to get them to stop. Tremayne never let him go this far, but he expected the naive Thanor to allow him to get away with such diversions. He would use her lack of experience in the position to expand his realm of power.

When El-Nay heard the disembodied voice behind her a shiver ran up her spine, causing all of the hairs to stand up on her. "Who are you? Where am I? What do you want?" she asked, weakly, pathetically even, as her head hung low, with her chin almost touching her chest. She was beyond broken ... she had been shattered into a 1,000 pieces and then reassembled. "What?" she asked, sounding a bit confused then the man asked her name, having assumed that whomever had her would surely now that. "El-Nay, clan Darr," she answered, letting out a tired and utterly defeated breath of air, as she hung there as if in a butcher's shop.

"Would that be the same El-Nay Darr who was born on Concordia to Odell and Sarin Darr on the moon of Concordia?" he asked, as he rose from his seat, and drew increasingly near her. "The same El-Nay Darr who was spirited to Corellia in her youth and raised by her parents in violation of the Imperial blockade of Mandalore?" he asked again, not even wanting answers, until he was now directly behind her, his mouth practically pressed against her left ear. "The same El-Nay Darr who has been operating illegally as a bounty hunter these past years? Aiding and abetting Imperial fugitives?" he asked, as his mangled left hand came around her, rubbing against her exposed midriff. He shuddered silently as he felt her warm flesh upon that deformed claw of a hand. "And tell me, my sweet, how is your father these days? Oh. If he could see you now..." he said, as he continued to grope and toy at the bound young woman ruthlessly.

The mention of El-Nay's parents caused her to grow increasingly uncomfortable, as her home life was less than stable. Her father had never shared his Mandalorian culture with her, and discouraged her from learning on her own ... he wanted her to be a Corellian and avoid the warrior's life. Everything she knew came from her mother, who trained her in secret, and provided her with her own set of armor when she came of age, as they could not travel to Mandalore to forge her own. The man behind her seemed to know more about her than anyone she had met since she left home to begin her career as an unlicensed bounty hunter. "I-I ... don't know what you're talking about. I've served the Empire loyally. I am under contract now," she explained, telling the truth from her point of view. But when the conversation turned to her father, whose love she had lost when she left home against his wishes, she grew remarkably silent. She closed her eyes, gritting her teeth, as she was touched in a way that traumatized her more than the injuries she sustained.

"Oh. I see," Luscri said, as he arched his one remaining eyebrow at her reaction, while a perverse smile crept upon his lips. "Daddy issues are nothing to be ashamed of, my dear," he said to her, as his hand moved upward into inappropriate territory, beginning to violate her. "Perhaps you would find me a welcome substitute?" he asked, as he finally moved around her, out of the shadows into the light. She would now be able to see the extent of his facial injuries and the damage to his hand, that looked like it had been melted, and then cooled down. "Tell me about the pilot of the ship," he said, as he brought his claw to her lips. He attempted to place it between her lips, but her mouth would not open. He brought his good hand up to the side of her face swiftly, slapping her so hard a mass of blood and spit flew from it, staining him. His tongue slid from his mouth to taste the mixture of her fluids, and his smile only intensified. His hand then grabbed at her jaw, squeezing it until her mouth was forced open. With access granted, he shoved his claw into her mouth, as far as it would go until she began to choke. He watched as her eyes became glazed over, the supply of air cut off, and just as she was about to lose consciousness he pulled his hand from her mouth to let her breath.

El-Nay was being subjected to the most degrading experience of her life, but she would not allow the man to see her cry. Dimona had already drained her of all of her tears anyway. She thought for sure the perverse psychopath was about to kill her, when he suddenly pulled his claw from her mouth. She began to cough violently, gasping for air, and eventually began to throw up stomach acid and bile, as they had not bothered to feed her, instead relying only on IV fluids. "Dimona..." she began, weakly, bringing her face up to look at the man, trying to understand why he was doing this. "Dimona Xirie Nuebla. I was hired by you people to find her..." she said, her head momentarily falling, as her eyes rolled back in her head. "And I found her ... so fucking pay me and get me down from here!" she yelled, losing her patience, and unleashing all of her rage on the only person that she could.

"Language," Luscri quipped, as he listened to her foul mouth curse at him. He could not help but smile at her outburst, for she had revealed all that he needed to know. "Spoken like a true Corellian. Your father would be proud," he said, smiling at her with the kind of arrogance that seemed to only exist within his corner of Imperial service. "I am afraid I am merely the appetizer," he said to her, as he moved his hand up to touch the shaved sides of her head. "You know ... your roots betray you," he said, as he noted her natural hair color was showing through. He reached down to his belt where he produced a vibroblade, almost immediately activating it. He held the vibrating blade in front of her face, and teased that he was about to sever her nose. When suddenly he lifted it to cut her restraints, causing the young woman to topple to the metal deckplating like a sack of legumes. "When my master questions you I suggest you refrain from any outbursts. I would not see you permanently damaged like I have been," he said, as he knelt down next to the battered woman. "If you survive, perhaps I will give you the honor of being my wife. Marriage to an Imperial officer is quite the privilege," he said, as he brought the vibroblade to cut off the upper portion of her meager athletic wear. "Forgive, my dear. But I had to verify that your hair color was the only fake part of your body," he said, before rising from the floor, and turning to leave her presence. There was one more woman to speak to before he met with Thanor.

It always took a day or so for Captain Serra Eona to settle in on a new assignment. Even though her provided quarters upon the Interrogator were a temporary arrangement, certain measures had to be taken. Among these was an initial bug sweep. Serra knew better than to mess with any built in surveillance in the room, but knowing what existed would help determine what sort of countermeasures she should have on hand incase an occasion should warrant the need for true silence. As it stood right now, though, she had almost nothing in the way of personal effects aboard. Her private terminal was still on the Warspite, along with the bulk of her meager possessions. Right now the Interrogator only played host to a bed, a spare uniform, a pair of datapads, and an enhanced air filter, requisitioned specifically for her room as a consideration for the Inquisitor's feelings regarding Serra's habit. The filter was already working overtime, as the reasonably clear air in the room could attest to, despite the garbage disposal already having seen a fair number of spent cigarras chucked through it. Serra, for her part, was burning down one last smoke before she went to visit the Inquisitor. Out of courtesy and common sense, the Captain felt it was best if she didn't smoke through the halls and passageways of the Interrogator. The cigarra burned away and soon was sent to the same fate as those before it. Serra slipped on her uniform jacket and headed out, destined for her first meeting with Serine since her arrival on the Inquisitor's ship. It would be their first interaction in some time, and although Serra had initially hoped to catch the Sith sooner, the timing had ended up playing to her benefit. In addition to what she had come here to report, there was already a brand new issue aboard the Inquisitor's own vessel that required Serine's attention.

Despite Serra's short time onboard the Interrogator, she was likely to pick up the rather abrasive atmosphere, and it had little to do with the disaster that had hit the ship previously. Due to the fact that this had been the flagship of once High Inquisitor Tremayne, there was a feint ominous air to the vessel that could not quite be pinpointed, no had it faded once Serine took control. If one knew where to dig and look, there were some reports of personnel disappearing or being lost due to some 'accident'. The officers on board the Interrogator were vicious and cold, quite the contrast to the more animated and jaunty individuals of the Warspite. Serine had been overwhelmed with the recent catastrophe which was unheard of for this ship and was not at all in the mood for unannounced visitors. Though her crew was remarkably well suited to handling nearly any calamity, they would from time to time require her signature, or permission for various things. Thus there was actually a line of a few individuals outside of the High Inquisitor's head office, waiting patiently for their turn to have Serine's audience.

The atmosphere of the Inquisitor and its people was a stark reminder of her days in training with the Intelligence Bureau. The coldness, the cruelty, the efficiency ... and beneath it all a thick layer of suppressed fear. Back then it had been her own fear, her own uncertainty. They had worked that out of her though. Serra had been one of the most pliable recruits when it came to emotional conditioning, and though she still felt, it wasn't like it used to be. These things that would send shivers through most, the unsettling eyes and the uncomfortable mannerisms all felt like a return home. In a way, Serra felt like she belonged. The line outside of Serine's office wasn't exactly short. Given the circumstances it wasn't surprising, but there was a hint of annoyance at it all the same. She choked it down, though, and settled in, deciding that it would be in her best interest to let whatever business these others had to be handled first. It was, after all, worth the wait if it meant she could have Serine's ear without others waiting their turn behind her. Serra moved aside and produced a small cigarra carrier from her jacket, lighting one up and taking a deep inhale. The fact she had thought against doing this was pretty well forgotten entirely; a rare sort of slip for the woman, and a strong indication of her loyalty to the addiction. Most in the line found it an utterly intolerable thing, but Serra didn't seem to care.

Despite the line appearing to be rather long, it moved increasingly quickly as Serine had little patience and wished to get through this annoyance rapidly. Most of the requests were signatures, and before the other individual had much time to explain what exactly they had needed, the High Inquisitor had already promptly signed the document and then glared for the other to leave. She assumed this was all for protocol and procedure, likely these requests were to replenish the devastated hangar bay and order more supplies. She doubted these officers would bring anything that was not absolutely necessary to her attention. In between patrons moving through her office like the entrance was a series of revolving doors, she had brief moments to ponder if Tremayne had an assistant at one point because this was dreary. Her dark thoughts were disrupted as a woman came in that she recognized. Serine had met Captain Eona twice before, and had been rather impressed by the woman's uncanny intelligence and resourcefulness. The Warspite was where good officers went to disintegrate, and thus the Inquisitor had been rather pleased when she had received word that Serra was briefly transferring for some duties, though she had not been informed on the whole situation. "Captain." she said indifferently, not wishing to even hint that Serine had preferred her company to the hordes that had been previously posted outside her office. "What is it you wish to report?" The Inquisitor was not yet privy to the situation regarding the transfer of power from Min to Serra, nor had that even been official. Cold silver eyes gazed at the other's form, scrutinizing briefly, and concluding she had not changed since they met before ... though there was an absence of a cigarra. And that ... was rather wise.

The cigarra, of course, had been disposed of before entering the office. Serra Eona was no idiot, and while she might not have the same amount of close experience with Sith as the rest of the crew, she knew better than to antagonize one unduly. For her own part, Captain Eona didn't know that she held much favoritism with Serine. They had seemed to understand one another on the Warspite, but even then she'd had more interactions with Kia, the Sith's apprentice. All the same, she knew enough to understand that the fact she was receiving a level of cold indifference was in itself a good omen. "Inquisitor Thanor." She gave a salute, a formality that came before her report. "Two things. First, Major Traebor has seen fit to include me on the operation as regards to Jelena Rodney. This means I will be serving as a direct liaison on your behalf to the Bureau. Our resources are, of course, at your command." Her hands folded behind her, assuming a professional but more comfortable stance. Her eyes remained on Serine's, standing true to their calm, almost apathetic nature, not floundering in the slightest even as Serine's own attention took in the officer more fully. "I regret to say that I was not able to act outside of Major Traebor's initial orders to enlist the services of a sub-par bounty hunter. It was these orders that, I believe, directly lead to the incident you recently experienced aboard The Interrogator. Imperial Intelligence deserves the blame for the inconveniences suffered by your crew. Please accept my apology on behalf of our Bureau, as well as my assurance that, so long as I am in a position to do so, such mistakes will not be repeated." Serra had to play this carefully. Shifting blame could work, but it was a delicate balancing act. If Serra was perceived to be happily throwing blame on everyone else, it would paint her in a negative light that she didn't want. The hope was, of course, to frame the failure as Min's, while placing herself in a position to prove that she was more competent and capable.

The Inquisitor was not at all surprised to hear word that Major Traebor had shifted responsibilities away from herself to another, as that woman had barely made it out of the Interrogator without breaking down. The Inquisitor had a strong inclination that Min was unfit for the position she held and Serine was not even aware the Major had a catastrophic meltdown quickly after boarding the Warspite. It was clear that the Inquisitor received the far better officer despite being of a lower rank... perhaps if Serra continued to perform her duties that met or were even above her fierce standards, the Captain would find herself in a far better position at the expense of her unsuitable Intel superior. These thoughts continued to be silently digested as the Captain continued her report but the new direction it headed started to spark uneasy animosity causing the Inquisitor to rasp her fingers upon the desk. There was a bit more to this story than Serra knew and that Serine wished to disclose. The Captain might have misperceived this as anger towards her person, but the reality was that the High Inquisitor was upset at her own orders to hire El-Nay Darr despite understanding that the woman was completely inept. At the time, she had pitifully little other leads or options, and in hindsight, the mission in its own bizarre way, was indeed successful, but the loss upon her ship had been great. "Yes, I know! Enough!" She had heard about enough of this, slamming her first upon the table, causing small articles to jolt in place, a few knocking over to roll off the side of the desk. The Inquisitor was quickly desiring the conversation to change course or end completely. "Is that all, Captain?" She glared at the other in an abrasive manner.

The bubbling fury became clear as Serra continued her report, but she did not stop, or cower, or raise her voice. She simply carried on, right up until Serine brought it to an immediate halt. Serra fell silent, her brows rising slightly, in the manner a parent might do when faced with a minor fit from a child. It wasn't intentionally demeaning, of course; a simple expression of mild surprise at an unexpected outburst. As Serine's glare settled on the Captain it was met with the constant, chilled eyes of the Intel officer, her brows resting once more into the stillness so often displayed. Internally, her mind was at work. What had made Serine so furious? At the moment she could grasp to very little that was revealing, other than the fact it might have been too soon a reminder of the invasion of the Inquisitor's so recently acquired ship. Regardless of the source, it was clear she ought to move forward. "Commander Luscri, Inquisitor. I noticed the name when I was going over the ship muster. Imperial Intelligence, Interrogation Division. I had hoped to have a chance to observe his technique, but it seems he's already started work on the current prisoners. I would appreciate an opportunity to sit in next time his services are put to use, however."

Serine's interest perked when the Captain mentioned the Commander, her anger began to subside as she pondered their shared complex history. "Doctor Hunter Luscri, yes. He is the psychoanalyst that screens the prisoners before I question them. His contributions are unique in that he provides me a mental profile of the subjects." Serine had assumed the doctor was questioning them now, and that fact was verified, but she did not realize he was also harming them in unauthorized ways. He was merely to analyze them, not prescribe torment or suffering in any way. It just was not his place, nor would she ever have permitted that access. "If you are so inclined, I may forward you a copy of the interrogations, after they are deemed unclassified..." she paused for a moment, as a contemplative gaze fell upon the Captain. Serine actually held herself to a certain form of professionalism with her more grisly torture assignments, and despite what may be thought, she did not usually get a personal satisfaction, unless of course, it *was* personal. She wondered if the Captain had other motivations for asking to witness the procedures. "...that may not take long." She added darkly and was not expecting both woman to survive. This was far too personal and the absolute disregard for her new ship will be taken out on every inch of their flesh to be certain. "Now, is that all?"

The Inquisitor was wise to question what motives Captain Eona might have. It was in the very nature of the Intel Officer to have layers of reasons for what she asked or did, and often her motives could seem at odds with each other, driven by some secret or another that lay at the heart of it. An exterior that seemed incapable of being concerned with anything at all masked a mind that invested deeply in analyzing the world around her and turning it to the benefit of her cause, which could be an ever changing and fluid goal. "The methods of our Interrogation Officers can be unorthodox, but of course, it's nothing one of your caliber won't be familiar with. Given what I have seen of his interrogation of El-Nay Darr, I don't imagine she'll last very long." Given how Serine had described Luscri's duties, she had some slight suspicion that a full interrogation hadn't been ordered. All the same, it was up to the Sith whether the Doctor's enthusiasm for his work was beneficial or problematic. Serra was simply going to ensure she knew. "That is all, Inquisitor." With that, Serra turned to leave, reaching into her jacket for a fresh cigarra. She wouldn't light it until she was much closer to her quarters, but it felt right to have it in her hand all the same.

"What?!" The reveal that the doctor may already be interrogating the prisoners was a resounding shock to her. She practically leap from her chair, causing it to swing madly around then topple over with a heavy clang. With a growl, Serine heavy-handed slammed her palms to the table with compressed rage. How dare he overstep his bounds so quickly! "That was not authorized!" She yelled, all the while exposing that she had been completely in the dark about the procedures and thus appeared weaker and ignorant to her subordinate. A far more controlled commanding officer would have been able to take the information in stride and dismiss the other without conceding any damaging information. However, Serine at times was far too emotional and that could be a serious flaw for future exploitation if one was so cunning. In a fit, the High Inquisitor brushed right past the Captain to track down the good doctor ... and explain to him his severe error in overstepping his bounds.

Serra barely got the words out of her mouth when the Inquisitor was off in a rage. Serine was intelligent and cunning in her own right...but she was ruled by the power of her emotions, not unlike so many Sith that came before. It was something Serra was incredibly aware of, something that stayed at the forefront of her mind. To say she had thoughts of manipulation would have been an extreme; the Captain knew better than to play such dangerous games with those as powerful as the Inquisitor. Still, it could be an advantage, a means of leveraging that power against others as she saw necessary. These thoughts and more drifted through the Captain's mind as she settled into her temporary quarters, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that the air filters sucked in, wiping the air clean.

Dimona slowly started to stir awake after days of being unconscious and on the verge of death for most of them. She had assumed she would die after such an explosive entry into the Interrogator, and had been well prepared mentally for that end. At first it was not terribly clear if she was indeed dead or not. Blurred vision attempted to focus upon her surroundings, in which she only managed to make out the dim red lights that lit the small empty room. Soon it became obvious that she had trouble breathing, and Dimona started weakly gasping in forced wheezes. "Oh ... that's right..." it dawned on her that she had been impaled by a metal rod through her chest ... it must have caused a collapsed lung ... but something else seemed to be in addition to that. Weary eyes peered towards her own body and she finally discovered large weights had been placed on her chest and stomach. "Well ... there's the problem!" She exclaimed with a heavy cough that convulsed her body momentarily. It was also apparent that she had been bound to a metal table. There was no point in even attempting to squirm out of there, plus she was too weak to bother. Dimona was excessively clever and could imagine this might be an interrogation. "Now now ... don't keep a girl waiting." She spoke into the surroundings as if someone could hear her, and she assumed someone could.

Commander Luscri was lying beneath the table, mimicking Dimona's position. He had lay there for hours to get a sense of her, smelling her, caressing her. When she spoke, his eyes finally opened, and an anticipatory smile formed upon his wretched lips. "Dimona Xirie Nuebla?" he asked from beneath her, unmoving at first, but eventually he raised his hand to touch the underside of the table, where he could feel just a trace of her body heat transferred through the metal. "Yes. It is you, isn't it?" he asked, his voice growing louder, with a hint of excitement. "I have read a lot about you," he said, feeding into her ego, which he was almost certain she had. "You are quite the accomplished hunter, per your dossier," he said, as he rubbed at the table with enough pressure that it would transfer back through the table to unnerve her, savoring every light trace of that heat. "A *nearly* flawless record," he said, sounding almost disappointment, in an attempt to goad her.

Despite her weakness, she strained her neck to look around the room the moment she heard her name spoken by an unseen male voice. It took her a moment to catch her breath before she spoke. "You know it ... hun." she rasped out, the weights and her damaged lung making it very difficult to respond to the question, but she managed. Where was this guy? She pondered, not at all occurring to her that he would be lying right beneath her. That was... rather uncommon. Dimona peered around aimlessly until she felt the table vibrating just slightly about where her shoulder blades were. With a weak laugh her head fell to the table once again. "You know... you don't have to settle... for anything less than the ... real thing." She gasped out but with a slight smile. She did feel a bit puffed up when he mentioned her outstanding history of heists and captured targets. "You'll be ... hard pressed ... to find someone ... better." And when he suggested her record was not absolutely perfect, well ... she did have some objection. "Was it no t... abso-fuckin-lutely spectacular?" She was referencing her explosive entry into the hangar bay of course. A happy sigh turned into a sputter of air as she gasped heavily in an involuntary manner.

"Perhaps one better," the Commander said, before he rolled from beneath the table, and then rose to stand next to her. His face entered the light, the shadows making his grotesque half of a face seem all the more horrid. "You see, we have you here, in our clutches..." he said, as he reached out and grabbed several locks of her hair, playing with them aimlessly with his one good hand. "Whereas the Nerf Herder has evaded our agents. Some might say that would make him better..." he said, before letting go of her hair, and turning his back to her. The back was no prettier than the front, with the back of his head also half hairless and deformed. "And while our dossier on you is rather complete, his is as empty as the contents of your little traveling companion's head," he snickered, moving away from her in an attempt to feign he was not as interested in her as he really was. He was attempting to use her vanity against her, but was not sure if that was the weak spot to be exploited.

Dimona was completely surprised by his grisly and unsightly face, not at all expecting that. "Damn darling! Get back under the table!" She managed to shout in initial reaction shock before coughing horrendously followed by a sorry set of wheezing. After a moment to reflect, she did feel a bit bad about being so hard on his looks, who knows what horrendous affair happened to cause that and she had been completely insensitive. "Now ... you think ... I'm a bitch. I'm sorry." So that was not the best first impression for either of them, but it could not be helped now. Interesting enough that *this* was what she was most concerned about. "Who cares about those losers? Let's talk about us. I feel like... we might get kinda intimate soon ... I just need to know you a bit more." These weights were really bothering her, and making this conversation extremely painful and difficult. "I think ... someone accidentally left ... their huge ass heavy weights ... on my chest. A little help, luv?"

The Commander turned suddenly with four additional weights that he dropped mercifully on the arrogant hunter's chest and abdomen. "Oops," he said, as he looked down at her, his half charred lips smiling to reveal the damage even moved internally to reveal half of his teeth were missing on one side. "Let's talk about why a woman, such as yourself, would give up a 100-percent success rate," he said, as he placed his hand upon the weights for just a little bit more pressure. "Let's talk about why Jelena Rodney never made it to the Empire," he said, as he removed his hand to allow her diaphragm the room it needed to make speech. "Perhaps the Nerf Herder is skilled at more than livestock?" he asked, as he circled the table like a predator, his eyes never moving off of her face. "Or are you just a cow?" he finally asked, raising his voice sharply as he reached the head of the table, directly in front of her face.

The woman was not at all surprised when he turned around with additional weights, she knew it was coming and was almost a little impatient for it. However, she was a bit surprised when there were four weights, instead of what she would expect as another two. "Isn't this ... supposed ... to be ... more gradual?" She managed to choke out the words right before the four weights hit her chest and depressed her diaphragm to dangerous suffocating levels. However, the moment he further pressed upon her chest, was the air completely knocked from her causing Dimona to frantically gasp and pant, desperate to get air back in. This was no good, not because she could not breath, but because she had quite a few clever remarks to say and she was missing her opportunity. Her vision started to blur again as she felt herself starting to black out, but right before that could happen, he removed his hand from her and that was just enough to barely heave in air to prevent unconsciousness. Unfortunately, she could not speak and thus looked rather disappointed.. He really missed out on a hilarious jab. Asshole's loss.

The good doctor would not even have enough time to question the woman further because word got back to the High Inquisitor of the unauthorized interrogation of El-Nay earlier and she had managed to track him down to this room. The door burst open to slam into the adjacent wall, revealing an irate Serine and soon there would be another object slamming into a wall. Luscri would find himself hurdling backwards through the air, right through the ajar doorway to collide into the bulkhead with a resounding *thud*. The High Inquisitor was waiting to intercept him eagerly and wasted no time grabbing him by his collar, hoisting him up with unnatural strength before bashing him back into the wall brutally. "Shall I remind you what your job is again?!" She screamed at him in bitter ferocity before a vicious backhand connected with that hideous face with enough power to nearly snap his neck.

The Commander was not unnerved by the sudden telekinetic pull used against him, as he had served alongside members of the Inquisitorius his entire career. Being tossed around by the insufferable wizards had almost become a daily occurrence for the junior officer. The collision with the bulkhead left him momentarily dazed and disoriented, but with a quick wobble of his head, he found himself regaining his composure. Her backhand connected with the scarred half of his face, which was found to be exceedingly painful, but he had built up a high tolerance and learned not to give her the satisfaction of knowing she had injured him. Without wiping the blood away from her inflicted wound, he snapped into rigid attention, and turned his face to look at her. "I have done my job, Mistress Thanor. Would you like my report?" he asked, speaking in a calm, collected, militaristic tone of voice. He knew how to play her little games.

Dimona was battling consciousness with six total weights still pressing upon her chest causing an excruciating amount of pain. Thankfully for her, she was still awake enough to witness the next calamity, but one that was not directed towards her this time. To her joy and delight, her tormenter was getting his smarmy ass kicked by none other than that Inquisitor she remembered completely wrecking her would-be rival El-Nay Darr a while back. The thrill seeker was now starting to struggle to squirm one or two of these weights off so she could say something ... this was the worst torture ever! She couldn't talk!! But alas, those weights would not budge. She was far too pathetically weak and barely able to strangle in air to not die. At least she got to see what was happening and her eyes lit up with excitement and amazement. This was not the first time Dimona got to witness Serine's explosive power.

Despite her aggressive advance on him, Hunter composed himself brilliantly, thus causing the High Inquisitor to pause. She rarely saw such admirable qualities, but then again, she needed to remember what ship she was on. Such behavior was expected onboard the Interrogator, she nearly forgot that fact due to spending a good deal of her time on the Warspite before she was promoted, and having to suffer through the idiocracies. Serine took a step away from the man to allow him to further gather himself, her eyes narrowed dangerously, he was not at all out of the woods yet, but he had managed to halt any potential onslaught momentarily at least. The High Inquisitor did respect those who in turn respected themselves, especially in the face of adversary. "Very well, Doctor. Proceed." She desired that report right now, never mind that Dimona could overhear or that the captive was struggling not to die with every labored breath. Serine could care less on either of those points.

The Commander turned to face the Inquisitor, angling his head down to look at her. Tremayne was a tower of a man, whose physical presence was equal to his power. The woman that stood before him had grown in power since he first encountered her, but physically she still appeared the young girl. "Subject Darr is useless. If it were up to me she would already be in the trash compactor," he said, rather coldly, but was per usual for him and other members of Intelligence. "She is not a true Mandalorian, but rather a Corellian girl playing dress up. It does not matter who her parents are. She knows nothing of the culture," he informed her, with a firm nod of his head. "And that is her weakness. If you wish to utilize her for additional information or assignments ... though I cannot see why you would ... the key to unlocking her is there. She is forever in her disapproving father's shadow, who, by all accounts is the very definition of a Mandalorian," he said, trying his utmost not to laugh at the poor woman's condition. "Subject Nuebla is a different story. Had I been allowed time to finish I might be able to provide more information of value, but I am confident that will not deter you," he said, pushing slightly, but feeling he had stayed within bounds. "Clearly she is holding back. She knows more than she lets on. Her tolerance for pain impresses even me, and I do not think physical torture will have any impact on her," he reported, matter-of-factly, as his eyes slowly turned to her holding cell. "I believe her undoing is her narcissistic traits. If you wish to extract information about her involvement in the Jelena Rodney affair, then I recommend you use the fact that it was her only failure as a bounty hunter. Ask her why she *failed*. Play to her vanity. But, ultimately, it *is* up to you," he said, clicking his heels together, and stiffening up again. He had completed his report, and thought it as thorough as he could hope given his limited time with Nuebla.

Serine was actually rather impressed with the thorough report that contained useful initial information that only a psychoanalyst could provide. Getting an accurate gauge on what motivated or flustered the subjects was vital data that could be used to further extract the necessary hidden details. She was still very much irked that he took to his professional duties a bit too liberally and leaned heavily on her own expertise of anguish and affliction. She did not wait days for the prisoners to be healthy enough for questioning just for them to get injured again before she even had a chance with them. "Next time, Doctor, request approval for any unorthodox techniques, understand?" She glared at him sternly before eyes washed over to the woman within the room still struggling for survival. "Prepare her properly!" Eyes snapped back to the doctor angrily. "I can not have the subject unable to answer." And with that, she turned from him abruptly to head towards the interrogation block where the first subject, El-Nay Darr, was being held.

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