Previous Next

Prisoner of War

Posted on Tue Mar 20th, 2018 @ 2:12pm by Lieutenant Caradan Eunidas

Mission: For Honor
Location: SoK Battle Cruiser
Timeline: Current

Her mission was accomplished, the task fulfilled. Stability in the region was to remain for a while yet as the Sovereignty of Kahless and the Klingon Empire fought for leadership and fought to regain their once prominent stance. On top of it all, Caradan knew the location of Captain Takato. The end had been reached and little else mattered.

The bad news was that Caradan was left with no option to return home, she had no avenue to get back to her family aboard the Tornado. Ultimately, the price of accomplishing her mission was herself, her position, even the secrets of her mission, once the damage had been done of course. At that point, it did not matter. It did not matter if she were to die.

The Battle Cruiser fired a torpedo directly at the shuttle. It took its sweet time positioning itself directly in front of her. It even used its tractor beam to stop the shuttle from its slow spin, then it moved in front, took its time, and fired. They wanted their Changeling prey to see her own death for as long as it took. Caradan took a breath. That was one of the small pleasures she was left with. Solids sometimes seemed to take breathing for granted. She took it as a privilege. Her chest expanded and she felt her mimicked ribs flex in agreement. Holding it but a few seconds, Caradan eased the air out allowing her chest to contract. She looked back at that bright dot of a torpedo speeding her way, but Caradan saw her surroundings start to wave and fade.

The Klingon shuttle started going away as the bridge of another Klingon vessel faded into existence.

Caradan found herself standing on the bridge of the Klingon Battle Cruiser. On the viewscreen, she saw that torpedo speed away and toward the now vacant shuttle. Exploding in the distance, Caradan suddenly had a fear that it might have been better to have jammed transporter frequencies, to die then and there than to be beamed away by her pursuers. Her life was spared for the moment, but this was, by far, no rescue. Death was suddenly gone and she knew that another entity was to take its place; torment.

As she turned to face the Captain, a Klingon rushed at her. With his mak’leth in hand, he aimed the blade to pierce her in the belly. Retreating was no use as another Klingon appeared behind her and heavy hands on her shoulders, complete with a knee thrust into her back, held her still.

She had suddenly wished she had not gotten so experienced at creating nerve endings to better sense the surrounding environment based on touch. As the point of that mak’leth entered her belly, she felt her skin slice and tear. Calling out through both pain and the surprise of the amount of pain she felt, Caradan grabbed the Klingon’s hand with both of hers attempting to remove the blade.

With a single flex of his muscles, the Klingon brought the blade up like a zipper opening up Caradan’s torso like a bag, unzipping her almost to the neck. Shouting in pain, Caradan squirmed in a futile attempt to escape captors. The Klingon behind, held her still whilst her attacker seemed to search her insides with the point of his blade. A hand slapped itself over her mouth, silencing her cries, bending her head back. Her eyes darted around searching for any means of rescue or salvation. The blade of the mak’leth sliced across her throat opening her up again. Caradan could feel the skin of her neck tear as the Klingon behind her used additional force to bend her head back. She felt the brute sought to wring her head right off.

The Klingon captain rushed upon her and, as her attacker sliced her cheek then backed away, he thrust a fist into the open gash of her chest cavity. The Klingon behind her, holding her, went away leaving her solely in the grasp of the Klingon captain, grabbing her by her mimicked spine and lifting her off the floor. Fingers wormed around and between her mimicked organs. The sensation was both unique and dreadful at the same time.

The pain was immense, yet it spiked as the Klingon Captain withdrew his hand quickly, allowing Caradan to fall back to the floor. Dizzying pain almost made her lose balance but Caradan kept herself upright, though shook violently, both in pain and the display the Klingons had already shown her. Caradan willed herself through all the pain, and reformed herself as though no blade had ever touched her skin.

“You do know,” she said through a whimpering and terrified voice, trying at the same time to be brave, “that you cannot actually harm me.” And it was at that second that she saw the captain bring up a remote with his other hand and press a button. Simultaneously, Caradan realized something was inside of her. It was metallic and cold. Right then, it started into a little buzz.

“Yes,” said the captain, “But I want to see how much pain you can endure.”

Looking at her hands, Caradan saw as much futility in attempting to change form as there was in trying to eject the foreign object inside her chest. “What is this?” There came, flooding into her conscience, a sudden and unexpected terror. “What have you done to me?”

“That,” he pointed at her chest, “is a stasis device, emitting a signal that keeps you from changing form.”

“You turn it off,” she rushed at him but was clobbered in the back of her head by a blunt. Falling, she saw a foot rush up meeting her in the face.

Finding the floor with her back, she looked up but a heavy knee planted itself on her chest. The pressure was excruciating, especially as it moved the device within. Caradan sent a hand up to punch at him but her hand was caught. Sharpened Klingon teeth bit into her hand and another hand came over her mouth, silencing her screams.

Throwing her gashed hand again, the captain stood and stepped away from her, allowing her a few seconds to recover before beginning again. “This,” he held up the remote, “is the only thing that can turn off that device.” He threw it to the side then shot it with his disruptor. Caradan watched as the remote was half destroyed. The other half flew in varying directions in glowing and burning bits. “Oops. Now I guess it cannot be turned off.”

Knowing nothing better to do, Caradan turned over and started crawling away. She was completely at the mercy of these Klingons, stuck in her form and already beginning to tremble in fear. He wanted to see how much pain she could endure, he said. The terror encroaching upon Caradan was the realization of how long this test would take, how much she could actually endure, and the varying levels of activities the Klingons had in mind. Right then would have been a fantastic moment for a rescue. Alternatively, it would have been a great moment to die she felt.

As she pulled herself along the floor, another blade stuck her in the back of the leg, nearly pinning her to the floor. Screaming and suddenly reduced to headbutting the floor in an attempt to redirect the pain, she reached back instinctively and wanting to remove what was causing pain to course up and down her leg, but her hand became smashed under a heavy foot. Attempting to pull her hand free, to a more painless existence, that foot twisted and seemed in the desire to work her hand into a pulp.

“No,” she screamed out. “Stop this. Please.”

The blade was yanked free but a malicious hand grabbed her hair and pulled hard. Caradan’s cries were cut short as her neck was pulled taught and her vocal chords rendered useless. She was reduced to little grunts hissing through gritting teeth.

“This is what we do to honorless cowards who stick their noses into our business.” That hand pulled her up by her hair. Another hand thrust itself into her abdomen, lifted her off the floor. Caradan found herself weightless as she was thrown through the air, the bridge and the captain’s chair moving beneath her. Her chest found the surface of a computer console and the rest of her tumbled awkwardly over it where she found the floor once again. Another Klingon spat on her and kicked her away like an unwanted pet.

Caradan breathed heavily. That was the only sensation that seemed to have any measure of pleasure at the moment. The pain in her hand, her leg, the back of her head, her chest, the infernal device inside her chest, it all seemed to multiply. Mixing in the fear of what she felt the Klingons had in store for her, made her decide on what seemed to be her only option. Without the cavalry of the Tornado speeding her way for a rescue, Caradan felt that surrender was her only course.

It took a moment, but she got herself up to kneeling. Using a computer terminal as a crutch, she slowly stood. With her recent developments in mimicry, her hair was a mess, her face was bruised, her leg was bleeding though the blood would never fall free, and Caradan flinched and jerked as she looked around taking note of all the Klingons around her, which ones moved, who had weapons. They could not physically harm her but certainly seemed to enjoy this experiment in pain, an experiment that Caradan was suddenly unable to rid herself of.

She jerked and looked in the direction of one making the slightest move.

“Turn this device off,” she said and looked around nervously. “Please.”

“Oh,” said the Klingon captain. “I would be happy to do so. Only, I’ve destroyed the remote.” He flopped into his chair and spun around to face her. “Besides, just what would I get out of it?”

Caradan attempted to walk but only managed in a severe limp as the gash in the back of her leg tore a little, sending sharp pains throughout her being. Caradan relied upon a shaky arm to steady herself as she leaned against the console. “I can…I…I can,” she stammered out, hoping to find something of interest for the Klingon. At the moment, all she wanted was to put an end to all this. For the first time ever, she knew what it felt like to be hopelessly trapped; trapped in her form; trapped at the mercy of a malicious crew wanting nothing but revenge. “I can…give you the…” she did not want to say it but fear spoke on her behalf, “the shield modulation of my ship.”

That resulted in an eruption of laughter from everyone on the bridge except Caradan. She looked about, cradling her crushed hand, unable to reform herself into a healed state, attempting to understand their laughter.

“Do not play this game with me Shape Changer,” said the Captain, his laughing mitigating. “I know you got a signal out before we destroyed your shuttle. We intercepted it but could not stop it. As soon as your ship knows you have been captured, they will rotate the shield modulation as a precaution.”

Caradan trembled, her entire being vibrated in terror. A Klingon moved and she jerked to look in his direction. He ended up returning to his station and working. She continued to maintain constant surveillance of all the Klingons. “Then what do you want,” she shouted. After all the practice she had in the event of crying, producing tears, and sobbing, she wanted to do just that, but the device of terror held inside her chest kept her from changing anything about her form. There would be no tears. Her voice came out as a whimper, “Just turn this thing off,” she looked at herself, broken, cut and bruised. She scratched at her chest as though beginning an attempt to dig into herself. “Please. Just turn it off.” She felt the entrapment of her fleshy form. It could not heal and it could not change. That one thing Changelings were famous for was taken from her. “I’ll give you anything.”

The captain stood from his chair and looked at her sternly. “Begging only makes me want to kill you more.”

“Please, please, please,” she said hoping to provoke him into doing just that. Even death seemed a better option at the moment.

Growling, the Klingon captain rushed upon her from the other side of the console, grabbed her head and shoved it down onto the console surface. “Do not provoke me!” he growled. He lifted her head only to slam it down again. Caradan screamed in response. He did it again and added a fist for added measure.

Caradan felt the console touchscreen crack as her face slammed down upon it. Another smash and it shattered. Exposed wires grazed her face, sending electrical convulsions throughout her body. The captain likewise felt the shock but maintained his Klingon mettle. Lifting her up, he sent the back of his hand into her face, sending Caradan spinning backward where she crashed into a wall then collapsed to the floor.

“I will tell you what I want, you filthy Shape Changer,” Caradan heard his words and felt his heavy feet carry him around to hovering over her. She did not move but knew that surrender, even playing dead, had absolutely no use at all. “When your ship comes looking for you, when your captain wants to bargain for your life, I want that ship to turn and go away, never to return. I want your pitiful club you call the Federation to stay out of our business. This is Klingon internal affairs,” he stressed as he stomped on her back. Caradan recoiled and drew herself into a fetal position. “And what does the mighty Federation do? They want to play space police.” He kicked her in the side.

Caradan squirmed and cried in pain and cradled herself but that did not stop him from kicking her repeatedly. In the side, in the head, in the back, in her legs, her arms. Fearing this was it, this was the end, Caradan cried out and showed her palms whilst attempting to withdraw to some mystical safe location.

“What I want is an undoing of the damage you have already caused. House leadership has fallen. The Sovereignty is fracturing. And you have the temerity to ask me what I want?”

Reaching down, the captain fought against her as she squirmed and resisted, but despite her greatest effort, he gripped her around the neck and lifted her off the floor. Turning, he slammed her against a wall and held her there. Caradan had no need to breathe but attempted to speak though her words only came out as grunts and short coughs from beneath his vice grip.

“There is no fate I can imagine for you that will ever repay what you did to us.”

After a solid punch to the face, Caradan found herself weightless again, complete with the Bridge moving about beneath her. The whole room was rotating and spinning. Her limbs dangled and she fell limp as she hit the floor and rolled against two pair of feet. Looking up, she could almost see the faces of Mindo and Riaan. She could almost see several faces coming to her rescue. She nearly heard the voices of Riaan and Mindo, but those faces and voices turned into Klingon. Those hands were not the kind and caring hands that she hoped for but were the coarse and malicious hands of Klingon brutes. They picked her up and stood her there. One grabbed a greedy lock of her hair and yanked her head up.

“As I understand it,” started the captain, “Shape Changers need to regenerate after some time.” He was slowly walking in her direction. “When was the last time you regenerated?” He slammed a fist into her gut, nearly doubling her over but the brutes held her upright. “Also, strenuous activity can make you need to regenerate far sooner than expected. Am I correct?” He punched her again and again, those rough hands stood her straight each time, forcing her to take what was delivered.

Caradan stood there. She did not say anything but did her best to deal with the pain already inflicted. She gritted her teeth, trying to work herself through the pain.

“I want to see just how much you can take.” He spat on her then the captain turned his attention to his brutes. “Don’t cut on her…much. Just don’t sever anything. Indulge yourselves. Do what you want. Have your way with her. Have fun. Just get her off my bridge.”

As the Klingons pulled her away, she set her pain-filled and tormented eyes on the captain who did not even seem interested in looking back to her.

“Don’t do this,” she cried out. “No,” and a fist landed right square in the mouth sending her downward back to where she hope to find solace on the floor.

The door to the Bridge slid closed. Caradan found herself being drug down the corridors face down on the floor. The Klingons pulling her were speaking Klingon. Speaking and then laughing.

 

Previous Next

labels_subscribe