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Not a Peep

Posted on Thu Mar 22nd, 2018 @ 1:45pm by Lieutenant Caradan Eunidas

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

The Klingon brutes drug Caradan into the room set up more like an interrogation chamber. She offered no resistance and was completely limp the whole way. Her energy was drained and will to fight on was completely gone. Her need for regeneration was well past due and that infernal device buzzing away in her chest made sure that regeneration was not possible.

Thusfar, no one had asked her any questions. The captain did not appear interested in any information. As the brutes worked on her, never was there any hint of information they wanted from her. They just did as their captain ordered and had their way.

Caradan was, by now, in a state of perpetual pain. Her clothing, technically a part of her, even hurt as they hung around her in ribbons from where the brutes tore and cut at her garments. Aside from that, she could feel herself change. Only two ways came to mind as a means to describe how she felt; ‘drying out’ and ‘withering away.’

The room’s single occupant pointed the brutes to a nearby table where they placed her, and they were not gentle. Not that Caradan felt she could feel any more pain as her entire being sang with it. She felt numb as well, but on fire at the same time.

She just laid there, unmoving. Her eyes wandered about only a little, taking in the room and confirming again that her eyes were not playing any tricks. This was still the Klingon ship and she was still being tortured.

“Not a peep out of you,” said the Klingon. The brutes had left leaving only them two in the room, alone. “Not a sound.” He picked up something and Caradan realized it was another blade as he held it up and turned it over before her eyes. “Or…” he said and hovered the point of the knife over her leg, over her inner thigh to be more precise. “I hear this can hurt a lot.” He withdrew the knife. “For each sound you make, I will find new places to stick you. And they will be most unpleasant. Now,” he put the knife down.

Caradan still did not move a bit. She gave no sign of attempting to defend herself. She was not even restrained, but also did not have the strength to offer any offense. She expected the worst this Klingon had to offer and was not surprised at all when he raised a fist over her.

He slammed his hardened fist down upon her clavicle. Waves of fiery heat seemed to venture through her being and back. Streaks of pain seemed to vibrate. Pressing her eyes shut, she opened her lips about to seethe a cry through gritted teeth.

“No. No,” said the Klingon grabbing at his knife. “Not even the slightest sound. Remember,” he held it over her again. Caradan opened her eyes and saw the blade. Only a little air escaped through her teeth before she did her best and managed to keep quiet. She did resort to deep breaths though. At least the sound of that was allowed.

“So you breathe. I wonder if that is through some necessity. We will test that in time. For now,” he put the knife back then slammed his fist down onto her clavicle again.

“A group of your Jem’Hadar once pounded on me the same way.” He hit her again. “They wanted to see how long it would take to break this bone.” He landed another blow. “Without it, you are quite useless.”

Caradan felt another blow fill her existence. She tried to think of something. Mindo…and the coursing pain brought her back. Riaan…and she felt a slight bend in that bone, perhaps a fracture there. Another crushing blow and she felt the bone snap. Though that fist pressed down, holding her in place, she tried to raise herself. Eyes were wide and she saw the gratifying look of her Klingon torturer. Caradan pressed her eyes shut and her mouth opened instead. With every ounce of her will that she had remaining, she held back her cries. Her face contorted, teeth gritted and grinded over each other and she fell limp again. Her limbs vibrated unwillingly, through both immense pain and her being’s attempt to return to her natural state. She could not will herself to remain in her state any longer and her body seemed to curse her for it, but the device buzzing inside kept her cells as they were.

“I would like to know,” said the Klingon, “why did you choose a human form to copy. Why not something stronger? Your Jem’Hadar spent almost an hour before my clavicle broke. Yours broke in minutes.” He stepped back to observe his work. “You should have chosen better. I would have.” The man grew disgusted. “You look so small and weak. If I had your abilities…well…I would certainly not act so cowardly.” He stepped back up to the table and glared down at her.

“Now to test this breathing theory.” He did not give her time take a breath before slapping his hand over her mouth and nose. The form Caradan was stuck in did actually seem to require the event of breathing. As she grew more experienced in her abilities, she tweaked her form more and more to be more human than ever, without making her outward appearance mimic a human precisely. Though she knew she could not be injured permanently or even killed in this manner, the fear of suffocating took a hold and she finally moved about bringing her hands up in hopes to remove his. He fought back but eventually stopped and watched as she grabbed his arm but proved too weakened to remove his grip. Caradan kicked about with her feet but to no avail. Her mimicked lungs started screaming for new air but were disallowed the satisfaction. The Klingon bent down for a closer look and seemed to enjoy the fearful look she gave him return. There was fear and terror in those eyes dancing about as well as a begging for him to allow her to live. Perhaps even a desire to kill her then and there.

Caradan turned to hitting him in the face but her blows only landed as soft taps barely resulting in any reaction from him. He did seem to avoid her swings at him with her broken and malformed hand as though disallowing such a wretched thing from touching him. Her good hand pressed against his chest as though attempting to push him away, an event which he allowed as he withdrew his hand from her face and stepped back, taking in mental readings from his observations.

Gasping heavily, Caradan laid back deciding to never take on such a detailed form again. Anger grew within her and she acted without thinking, “You bastard.”

After a surprised look on the Klingon’s face turned to anger, he immediately grabbed the knife on the tray by his side. Before Caradan could get in any word of apology, he sent it down into her leg, slicing into her inner thigh and venturing on into the table, pinning her down. Caradan nearly sat up involuntarily, face contorted in both pain and surprise. The first utterance of cries came forth leading to her calling out loudly. A hand pressed onto her chest and forced her to lie back.

“There there,” the Klingon said as her cries mitigated. “It is all over…for now. A part of me does wish you could return to your kind. To let them know what we do to the likes of you.”

“We would return in full,” seethed Caradan. “And we would crush your pitiful empire.”

“Is that so,” he asked. “I do think the Federation will have something to say about that. Let’s see. A Changeling force coming through the wormhole to wipe out the Klingon Empire. The last time your kind came through, the Klingons, the Federation, the Romulans, the Cardassians, all banded together to stop you. No, I don’t think you are ever coming through again.”

“We are already here,” she taunted him. “You don’t think I am alone do you.”

“Of course I don’t. At least your kind will be down by one here real soon. As luck would have it, we are one our way to meet your ship as we speak. It’s slow going though as we have more activites in store for you.”

Caradan lied back. Of course they had more in store. No amount of begging would cause them to show any lenience. After all the Klingons had done to her, after all the violations and the disrespect, she could only imagine the horrors they had left.

“ You see, we’ve worked hard recently to turn this ship into a massive broadcast relay. To send to all, proof of your death when the Tornado refuses to turn around. He looked her over and took in her bruised and broken body, her dried out look. Her skin had begun to crack open in places. Her clothing was tattered. “I would say, make yourself look better, but…” he tapped on her chest right over the buzzing device.


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