Log:Array Consortium: Cannibal Queries

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Cannibal Queries

Location: Serious Business, Nar Shaddaa Orbit
Participants: Atria Foster, Adhar Gann

Though the hostages could not be saved, a number of Kandaka Blades have been taken prisoner. Atria gets to interrogation, but gets some needed help from the Captain.

The prisoners are quiet.

Since brought into the detention block, the surviving cannibal-soldiers have been stripped of all their horrible fetishes and clothing, shovedn into orange prisoner suits, and left to sit in the cells. Where anger, even homicidal rage was expected, the pirates sit and sulk much as Nobody does - though it must be said that while Nobody has started to sleep on the 'rewards' of comfort you've arranged fo him, the others refuse to sleep anywhere on the floor. They've also refused to eat.

More importantly, they also refuse to talk. They just...stare. In silence. It's more than a little creepy, even if you don't factor in what they've done to your fellow crew.

Atria hasn't forgotten what they've done. Picking one at random, she enters the cell dressed in her light duty armor and no visible weapons just as she did with Nobody. The door remains open with two armed guards right outside. She looms in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest as she regards the prisoner before her. She says nothing for the time being, her face an impassive mask though only the part below her visor is really visible.

The man stares at you with those empty eyes, this human that is somehow less than that. His mouth is slightly open, as if forever forgetting something that he'd wanted to say; his hands, resting upon his knees, clutch like claws as you enter - this alone is the only real sign that he even sees you. His teeth, you can see, are filed in places, like the fangs of the Trandoshans. Looking at him, indeed, is like looking into the face of a shark.

"Not exactly a pretty sight," Atria mutters as she takes a single step forward. "Do you have anything to say for yourself? Some excuse for why you would perform such atrocities on sentient beings?" Her voice is cold. No starting with pleasantness this time around.

"No." His fingers flex like talons as you approach a few steps. His eyes track over you, as if looking for weaknesses. Speaks of practice. "Who are you?"

Atria lowers her arms to her sides as she notices the searching look. She smirks, silently daring him to make a move towards her. "I'm the one in charge around here," she replies. "I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to give me the answers. We can do this the easy way or the hard way, it's up to you. If you choose the easy way, you will be rewarded. Do you understand?"

The prisoners from the other night are in shoved into orange suits and left in the cells for the last thirty-six hours; rather than freaking out and clawing at the walls, they simply...sit, staring at the camera with blank eyes, they sleep on the floor, /when/ they sleep. It doesn't happen for long. So very different from Nobody, who sleeps happily in his new bed.

The man stares at Atria with those empty eyes, this human that is somehow less than that. His mouth is slightly open, as if forever forgetting something that he'd wanted to say; his hands, resting upon his knees, clutch like claws as she enters - this alone is the only real sign that he even sees her. His teeth, you can see, are filed in places, like the fangs of the Trandoshans. Looking at him, indeed, is like looking into the face of a shark.

"I understand that you are going to die," the pirate replies. His mouth remains slack between his words. A rope of saliva hangs between his lips, giving him the further image of some kind of village idiot - but the teeth say otherwise. "Bando will come for you. He'll take your pretty face and wear it in battle. It's what he does."

Well, he seems to be going the easy way so far. Atria's somewhat disappointed, but she runs with it anyway. "Well, my face does love battle. Bando, hmm? And who might that be so I know when my death is coming?"

This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.)

"Bando is with us all," says the pirate. "He's in our minds. In our hearts. His teeth are in our jaws. You want to call it a cultist's words, what I say, but it is true. We feel him. Always."

A long pause. "There was a girl that looked like you, among the ones we killed. Her hair was red, though. I wonder if you'd scream like her?" The pirate tilts his head one way, then the other, almost like a bird, squinting at you - his eyes fill with light, malicious and glittering, as he recalls the memory and his mind ponders his own terrible question.

Atria shrugs her shoulders, "Never have been much of a screamer. Just ask my last boyfriend." She frowns a little, picking his words apart in her mind. "Feel him. Is that some kind of Force thing like in the Jedi stories?"

"She screamed and screamed..." you're not here anymore, apparently, the way he looks through your face, into the wall behind; he licks his lips, shuddering just a bit at this recollection. "Even after we took off her face...and her teeth were so white...so pretty..."

Atria sighs and shakes her head, "You're not quite all there anymore, are you?" She takes another step closer and waves a hand up and down through the direction of his gaze. She's still out of arm's reach of where he sits on the floor.

At this point, a voice chimes from the hallway through a hidden speaker.

"Getting anywhere with him?" The Captain's voice, grim and dry.

Atria takes a step back and then turns to step out into the hallway. She seals the door so anything said between her and Adhar can't be heard by the prisoner. She shakes her head, "I don't think he's all there anymore. But I did get some mention of someone named Bando." She then pulls up the holorecording from minutes ago when the prisoner was spouting his cultist nonesense about feeling Bando always, etc.

"Uh-huh." Adhar grunts. "The others gave me the same story. Keep at it. He doesn't give you nything, I'll step in."

Atria shrugs a bit and waves a hand dismissively towards the door, "This one's lost in a memory of torturing crewman Shia." She clenches her fists and makes a soft growling sound. Unclenching her fists, she says, "This is some crazy shit. Do you think the Force is involved or have they just gone barvy?"

"Might just be insane," Adhar says. "Dark side can't be repsnsible for /everything/. Do you think you can handle him?"

Atria chuckles and nods, "That's true. It just sounded a little weird with him being in their heads and all." She gives the door a glance before she adds, "I haven't given up yet, but I need to reconsider my approach." She gives Adhar a smirk, "You sure I can't rough him up a bit?"

"Probably wouldn't do anything," Adhar says. "Gonna need to use some psychology."

"It'd do me some good," Atria suggests jovially, then she nods, "Yeah, I'll need to brush up on that, too. Most of my interrogation training has been unofficial. It's not something common footsoldiers have to do on a normal basis."

"Think about what he wants, then," Adhar urges from the other side. "Read what might work for him."

Atria nods again and considers, "I'm sure he'd love to take a bite out of my fleshier parts. Or slice my face off. But I'm rather partial to those parts myself. I wonder if there's any raw meat in ship's stores."

"Doesn't have anything to do about food," Adhar says with a grunt. "Or violence. Think about it. If he won't speak to you as you are, who would he speak to?"

Atria considers this for a moment before she asks, "Bando?"

"Something like that. Step back."

The door hisses open, and stepping into the cell is an abomination. The head of the Trandoshan, which Sion had so savagely removed, has been reformed into a kind of helmet - a helmet that Adhar wears over his head, and a jacket Adhar wears that's made not from leather, but from a vivid red, scaly hide that you would know anywhere. He is wearing garb made from the Trandoshan captain's very body! Entering he stares down at the man, whose eyes widen as he stares at Adhar, not seeing his boss but a man who wears his corpse.

"I am the leader," he rumbles, his voice hard. "Your leader is dead; you belong to me, now. You belong to /her/." He jerks the thumb of a gloved hand in your direction, his mismatched hard and cold from between the open jaws of the horrible helm. "You will not refuse, you will not resist. You will do as you are told - or, if you do not, I will butcher you and eat you /myself./"

The transformation that sweeps over the man is instantaneous; he bellows in terror, shrinking down and covering his head as if those dead jaws would close over it even now. "Yes," he cries, "Yes! I'll do it! Don't eat me, oh, Bando, please --"


Adhar's angry snap silences the man immediately, who drags himself under the bed to curl into the fetal position, sobbing quietly out of sight. Taking off the helmet - which is a battle armor helmet to which the better parts of the dead Trandoshan's skull have been fitted - Adhar gives you a blazing look of satisfaction. "Give him overnight," he says. "When you come back, he'll tell you anything you want, I expect."

Well, no /shit/.