The Curtain Goes Up

Posted on Tue Jun 29th, 2021 @ 1:31am by Lieutenant Melvyn Kosta & Flight Officer Onyesonwu Zyd

Mission: Scoundrels, Cuttthroats and Rogues
Timeline: Day 2 at 1930

Melvyn came to with a pounding head and broken memories of the past few hours. He did remember clearly the wookie's growl just before he'd gotten knocked out, though not what he'd said or done to warrant that.

Well, he's a wookie. Doesn't really need a reason to rough up Imperials, I guess.

He cracked his eyes open, wincing at the light - too white and too bright - that sent spikes of pain stabbing at his brain. Blinking back tears he looked around. He wasn't in the same room as before. The metallic walls looked more like what he'd expect from an Imperial base than a rebel hideout...

He was still cuffed to a chair, with what looked like standard issue handcuffs. Melvyn swallowed, a bad premonition slowly building in the back of his confused mind. Right now he actually would be pleased to see the wookie.

Look at the bright side. You're still alive. But that actually did not help very much. He could think of a worse fate than being dead.

The door opened before he had time to ponder that unpleasant thought, and a tall, handsome man dressed in a black uniform stepped inside. Melvyn's sight was a little blurry from the likely concussion he'd just suffered but he recognized the uniform the second he saw it, and his eyes widened in shock. What had happened to the rebels ?

Behind the officer, a familiar spherical droid floated, ominous red lights flashing from its sensors. Interrogation droid. Melvyn's breath caught in his throat and it felt like his heart stopped beating until a rush of adrenalin hit and it started again. Dread, sheer terror and bitter fatalism grew and spread from the pit of his stomach.

Michael knew how to make an entrance. He waited until his partner in improvisation appeared to be awake, and then strutted to the center of the room, shoulders back, and posed. He did not speak right away, savoring the moment, letting the antici...pation grow.

Once his leading man focused on the floating droid, Michael spoke in low, seductive tones layered in ironic disdain. "Lieutenant Kosta. Such a lucky man. I am so looking forward to our time together. It promises to be… entertaining."

Three words flashed through Melvyn's foggy mind. Imperial security bureau. It must be. He had never met any of their agents before, at least not that he knew of, but the disdain and the strutting left little doubt in his mind. As much as he could make sense of anything ; his brain still pounded with each heartbeat and his vision remained a little blurry.

And with that conclusion came the realization that he was utterly, completely and absolutely screwed.

"For one of us, I suppose," he croaked. His mouth was dry, both from terror and actual dehydration. "What happened ? Who are you ?"

He couldn't help but glance nervously at the interrogation droid, which still hovered malevolently next to its owner.

"Oh, my dear… Melvyn. Yeeessss. Yes, I do believe I will call you Melvyn." Michael folded his arms, and tapped his chin as though considering how he might name a pet – or a plaything. "And you, my dear Melvyn, may call me sir. I'm asking the questions, you see. This is my game."

Michael stepped closer to his prisoner. "I'm afraid the stormtrooper force sent into that nasty rebel hideout was overly zealous in their enthusiasm. Slaughtered every living thing, except you." Michael's regretful sigh was marred by a practiced sinister smile. He examined Melvyn's visible bruises and tsked. "That leaves me with only you, Melvyn, to play games with."

Michael sauntered over to the interrogation droid prop, and gazed at it with un-acted admiration. "This droid is a work of art, don't you agree, Melvyn?" A delighted smile spread across his face - the droid appeared real, not just a prop. It was just so validating to be really acting again. Michael caressed a smooth section of the droid's dome and licked his lips.

The ISB officer looked like he was genuinely enjoying himself. Melvyn sucked in a long, slow breath. He'd heard stories about the ISB, and even leaving room for exaggeration... well. There was little doubt as to what must have happened to the rebels. Slaughtered them. But not me. Why ? The only thing he could think of was that they wanted to make an example of him. Which meant, whatever he said would make no difference to the outcome of this little chat.

Melvyn closed his eyes briefly. He felt incredibly tired. He'd given it a good shot, he thought. Stayed alive longer than expected. He could cling to that little scrap of pride at least. Guess there won't be a rescue, after all. Elo might already be dead anyway...

Finally he opened his eyes again and stared at his interrogator. The man's demeanor was reminiscent of a predator. A rancor toying with its prey. Too bad Melvyn wasn't much interested in playing. At this point he had nothing left to lose.

"I'm not sure what you want from me," he said quietly. "But you'll be disappointed either way. I know nothing that can possibly be of interest to you. You've already caught or killed my contacts. There's nothing left." And, he might pay for it, but there was no way he'd call this man sir. At least not until he'd been dealt a lot more pain.

"Oh, my dear Melvyn, you naughty boy. Don't underestimate yourself. You have so much yummy spirit, I'm quite certain you won't disappoint me." He sashayed behind the prisoner, and ran his hands along Melvyn's shoulders and chest, humming approvingly at the muscles beneath his fingers. Then he leaned close enough for his warm minty breath to tickle the man's ear, but not close enough for Melvyn to throw his head back and hit him. "The longer you hold out, the longer our fun can last," he whispered.

Michael's fingers trailed along Melvyn's arm as he returned to his position in front of his prisoner. "Now then, Melvyn darling. This question is just a formality, really. Proper etiquette dictates I must ask a question before we get started." He sighed apologetically. "Tell me everything you know about the Rebellion."

Melvyn's shoulders had tensed to the breaking point under the interrogator's hands. The invasion of his personal space unsettled him, almost as much as the promise of what was to come. Now that he'd had time to think about it, he preferred the wookie's interrogation techniques.

At least the wookie didn't call him darling.

"I don't know anything about the rebellion," he said. Discreetly he tested the cuffs. There was no give. "I sent information through a coded channel. I never met any of them face to face, aside from the ones you already killed. I don't know any name. They said it was safer." He shrugged, as much as he was able with his hands tied. "Evidently they were right."

"You. Don't. Know. Anything," repeated Michael, and stared down at Melvyn solemnly for a long moment. Then he knelt on one knee in front of his prisoner. "Oh, Melvyn," he gushed like a man who has just proposed to the object of his devotion and received a yes in reply. "You've made me a such a happy man." He brushed a real or imagined tear from his cheek, then jumped back to his feet.

Michael caressed the interrogation droid prop again. "Where to begin? Something quite painful, I think, to get us in the mood." He shivered with excitement and clapped his hands together with delight. "The anticipation is thrilling, don't you agree? Don't worry, we'll take it slow and enjoy ourselves."

He tipped his head to the side and pouted slightly. "I do so love playing with Imperial traitors, Melvyn darling, because you already know that amongst the Empires' weaponry are such diverse elements as fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency, and an almost fanatical devotion to the Emperor, and" Michael ran his hands down the sides of his torso. "Nice black uniforms."

Well, that settled it. His interrogator was a psychopath. An unsurprising revelation ; that was pretty much part of the job description.

"Well, get on with it then," Melvyn said, gathering his last scraps of courage. He closed his hands around the armrests of the chair, to hide the fact that his fingers were shaking. "I don't have all day."

After all, if Melvyn angered the man enough, he may well be just enough of a psychopath to give him a quick death.

Michael huffed. As a stage actor, this would be the literal fade-to-black point in the play. A lowering of the lights, dramatic shadows, screaming and moaning on the part of the actor playing the prisoner, maniacal laughter from the star of the show – him, of course.

He remained in character, obviously. Michael folded his arms and tapped his chin with one forefinger. Sadly, he could not actually torture the prisoner, so this little improv had reached a conclusion.

"Melvyn, my saucy minx, do you know what would make all this even more fun? A nice tall blood orange martini." He smiled wickedly at Melvin. "For me. I'll be right back. Don't start without me." Michael strutted out the door.

Michael knocked at a door down the hallway before opening it to find the Commander and the mysterious twi'lek watching the interrogation room video feed. "If you wish me to continue I'll need further direction."