Once in a while, there were days when one could expect to be trussed up and tossed into a cargo hold, warped halfway across a galaxy, and thrown to the mercy of spacewolves.
When one listened to as many peepholes and illegal wiretaps as Alex Winger did on the regular, the idea that one's actions might cause such problems seemed inevitable. But expectant as she was, the particular wolves who held her captive, who were responsible for plundering every drop of information out of her mind--surprisingly, about a topic she knew naught of--lacked even an ounce of the aforementioned mercy.
First the sessions were like being caught in the upper atmospheric turbulence of a gas giant, injections of uppers, then downers, in quick succession, driving words from her lips about everything from her childhood--despite being the disappointment, the unwanted child, she would be worth a ransom; they were not interested--to her Agency work--covert missions in engineering completed, information long cashed in. They were also not interested in queries about whether or not she could have opportunity to wash the red hair that came to her waist, thoroughly coppered with old blood, nor whether or not her prison garb could be exchanged for something clean and whole for the vibrawhips to slice through.
The beatings did not continue until morale--or her babbling, nearly delirious intel--improved. They continued. And continued. And continued. Long past any time at which it was determined, by yet another man in her life, that she was useless. At least as far as information went. As far as entertainment? She may as well have been an untapped asteroid of metals.
The criss-cross of hatchmarks upon her backside were not given the dignity of a bio-tank to heal the injuries, rather layering damage upon damage until her tormentors were bored for the evening. Or until they wanted to play with another prisoner. There were many, and she couldn't imagine useful information coming from their split lips and tortured, howling visages either. Alex supposed it was all that a man set out in space for weeks on end without an alternate source of entertainment could find to alleviate the doldrum. And after work was done, eventually even this "play" grew weary, the practice of abusing not just her but the rest of their charges driving some to kill. A final high, lost to the madness of voidspace.
Her co-prisoners voices had begun to fade from the collective screams of the interrogation vessel. Alex could remember wondering at some point if she might be the last one to stick it out--or maybe the only one still capable of screaming. She could remember, because that was when they came for her the last time.
The day/afternoon/evening/whothestarsknew that the scratching started. Outside. Whether it was an enemy, a rogue bot, asteroids, pirates, spaceworms, or WORSE, no one would say. Because they were too busy running, yelling, pounding their feet against bulkheads designed to shield heat signatures from the pressures of nosy spaceport authorities, running with nowhere to go from an attack that went from scratching to punching to rocking to EXPLODING.
Now no one screamed.
Now, no one came to hurt her.
But no one came to tend her either, which meant she lay bound and dazedly determined to escape even as her captors tried vainly to flee. By the time her familiar sea of pain subsided post-attack, and she was at least certain that it had been that, she was almost too weak to act. But act she would. Now. Well. As soon as she could open her eyes.
Anyone looking in on the Diem Vuong cruiser from above, below, or indeed, any angle at all, would see a once-proud and supposedly "entertainment" vessel torn asunder. Within, airlocks and seals were thrown shut, the survivors clinging to final breaths of life--that life being not quite as attached to their mortal coil. Without, hulls were broached, plating stripped handily from its construction, until it was little more than scrap metal drifting in loose configuration around two halves of a former sole structure. And by the time the beacon would be received, for all intents and purposes, the Diem Vuong appeared nothing more than another dead ship met with an untimely accident.
When one listened to as many peepholes and illegal wiretaps as Alex Winger did on the regular, the idea that one's actions might cause such problems seemed inevitable. But expectant as she was, the particular wolves who held her captive, who were responsible for plundering every drop of information out of her mind--surprisingly, about a topic she knew naught of--lacked even an ounce of the aforementioned mercy.
First the sessions were like being caught in the upper atmospheric turbulence of a gas giant, injections of uppers, then downers, in quick succession, driving words from her lips about everything from her childhood--despite being the disappointment, the unwanted child, she would be worth a ransom; they were not interested--to her Agency work--covert missions in engineering completed, information long cashed in. They were also not interested in queries about whether or not she could have opportunity to wash the red hair that came to her waist, thoroughly coppered with old blood, nor whether or not her prison garb could be exchanged for something clean and whole for the vibrawhips to slice through.
The beatings did not continue until morale--or her babbling, nearly delirious intel--improved. They continued. And continued. And continued. Long past any time at which it was determined, by yet another man in her life, that she was useless. At least as far as information went. As far as entertainment? She may as well have been an untapped asteroid of metals.
The criss-cross of hatchmarks upon her backside were not given the dignity of a bio-tank to heal the injuries, rather layering damage upon damage until her tormentors were bored for the evening. Or until they wanted to play with another prisoner. There were many, and she couldn't imagine useful information coming from their split lips and tortured, howling visages either. Alex supposed it was all that a man set out in space for weeks on end without an alternate source of entertainment could find to alleviate the doldrum. And after work was done, eventually even this "play" grew weary, the practice of abusing not just her but the rest of their charges driving some to kill. A final high, lost to the madness of voidspace.
Her co-prisoners voices had begun to fade from the collective screams of the interrogation vessel. Alex could remember wondering at some point if she might be the last one to stick it out--or maybe the only one still capable of screaming. She could remember, because that was when they came for her the last time.
The day/afternoon/evening/whothestarsknew that the scratching started. Outside. Whether it was an enemy, a rogue bot, asteroids, pirates, spaceworms, or WORSE, no one would say. Because they were too busy running, yelling, pounding their feet against bulkheads designed to shield heat signatures from the pressures of nosy spaceport authorities, running with nowhere to go from an attack that went from scratching to punching to rocking to EXPLODING.
Now no one screamed.
Now, no one came to hurt her.
But no one came to tend her either, which meant she lay bound and dazedly determined to escape even as her captors tried vainly to flee. By the time her familiar sea of pain subsided post-attack, and she was at least certain that it had been that, she was almost too weak to act. But act she would. Now. Well. As soon as she could open her eyes.
Anyone looking in on the Diem Vuong cruiser from above, below, or indeed, any angle at all, would see a once-proud and supposedly "entertainment" vessel torn asunder. Within, airlocks and seals were thrown shut, the survivors clinging to final breaths of life--that life being not quite as attached to their mortal coil. Without, hulls were broached, plating stripped handily from its construction, until it was little more than scrap metal drifting in loose configuration around two halves of a former sole structure. And by the time the beacon would be received, for all intents and purposes, the Diem Vuong appeared nothing more than another dead ship met with an untimely accident.
Dreams come in a size too big so we can grow into them.
The following 1 user Likes danixiewrites's post: Tindome
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 04-30-2015, 02:49 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 04-30-2015, 03:42 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-01-2015, 02:17 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-05-2015, 04:35 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-05-2015, 11:38 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-07-2015, 12:17 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-11-2015, 04:39 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-16-2015, 02:54 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-19-2015, 09:27 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-26-2015, 04:44 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 06-02-2015, 02:02 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 06-13-2015, 08:15 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 06-28-2015, 04:52 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 07-04-2015, 10:55 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 07-25-2015, 07:54 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 08-18-2015, 06:55 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 08-26-2015, 12:15 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 09-14-2015, 03:29 AM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 11-09-2015, 12:10 PM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 11-28-2015, 07:57 AM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 01-07-2016, 12:09 PM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 12-12-2015, 01:34 PM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 02-24-2016, 06:30 AM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 05-23-2016, 04:02 AM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 09-30-2016, 04:46 AM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 07-23-2016, 03:10 PM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 03-18-2017, 01:09 PM
RE: Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by Ghostly - 04-06-2017, 01:37 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 04-30-2015, 10:27 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-03-2015, 07:25 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-05-2015, 11:01 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-06-2015, 11:59 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-08-2015, 10:15 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-14-2015, 03:06 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-17-2015, 11:20 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-24-2015, 12:24 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 05-27-2015, 11:30 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 06-07-2015, 10:16 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 06-21-2015, 10:29 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 07-02-2015, 11:15 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 07-16-2015, 12:32 PM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 08-11-2015, 11:04 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 08-19-2015, 10:43 AM
Welcome to the Greenhouse [Closed] - by danixiewrites - 09-09-2015, 10:37 AM