Family Cleaved

Posted on Sat Aug 31st, 2024 @ 6:52pm by Ensign Henry Ivo & Ensign Anya Bagh
Edited on on Sun Sep 1st, 2024 @ 8:30am

1,491 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Joint Logs
Location: Unknown
Timeline: Wednesday, October 4th, 2400, about 1400 hours

Anya woke with her arms held taut above her head, thick metal cuffs chafing at her skin. She was on her knees, and additional metal brackets were fastened to her legs underneath the knees, bolting her to the floor. Another set of these was around her ankles. Around her neck was a tough leather collar that she could feel a chain attached to when she moved. The sound of beeping machines, overlaid by cheerful whistling, were behind her.

She stayed there, silent for now. Her eyes closed as she tried to gauge how far the person was from her. She surveyed her surroundings before muttering. “I suppose the torture begins now.”

The whistling continued unbroken, until a man appeared in front of her. He was unremarkable, easily forgettable--and he held a device in his hands that looked dangerous, though its exact function eluded her. He touched one end to the side of her neck, and a short, sharp pain followed.

Her ice blue eyes shot up to him as she heard the heart rate monitor jump. She barely flinched. “Ahh, that game.” She smiled, challenging him.

The man ignored her comments, still whistling thinly as he extracted a vial of her blood. Then he moved behind her again, where she could not see him. Only the sound of his whistling betrayed the fact that he was still in the room.

“Let me know if you find anything interesting.” Anya sounded almost bored as she continued looking around. Her vitals stayed steady as she measured the room mentally. The room was dark, except around her, where a bright light shone above her.

The man returned to her field of view, this time holding a long metal probe of some kind. He pressed it against her thigh, and she felt it pierce her clothes, skin, and muscle, until it reached the bone, where it extracted bone tissue. There was no anesthetic.

She grinned, the pain registered according to her heart rate and other monitors rapid beeping. She was still motionless, mentally steeling herself as the probe dug through her deepest nerves. “You know that's going to have cloth fibers in it. So you must not be trying to clone me.” She blinked at him nonchalantly. Physically, the pain registered. Mentally, she had disassociated, still trying to talk to the man.

The man made no effort to engage with her beyond taking what he pleased from her, which included more blood, a bone sample from the other leg, and a handful of hair, roughly plucked from her skull. Because of the braids she kept her hair in, he simply took an entire one, leaving a raw wound in it’s place. Each time he took something, he brought it to the area behind her, where she could not see.

Anya could feel the blood trickling down the side of her head. She breathed through the pain, but only because he didn't respond “usually, picking someone's brain isn't literal like that.” She felt a wave of nausea, but didn't show any signs of pain as she took another deep breath.

The man continued his cheerful whistling as he returned, holding a small device, which he used to mend the skin on her scalp. When he finished that task, he finally looked at her. He said nothing, merely standing and staring at her. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and, despite his bland features, she began to make out the details that identified him as Julian.

“Of course you have to bind me when you see me. Scared of me still, I assume?” She smirked.

Amusement lit his eyes at that, but he did not speak.

“Ahh, the silent type. Don’t mind me then. I know I'll forget you soon anyway.” She continued goading him, still looking slightly bored.

Julian continued smiling at her, like he thought she was cute. Then he moved closer to her, crouching so that he was on eye level with her. He was holding something in his hands, turning it over and over in long fingers. After a moment, she realized it was her comm badge.

She looked to the badge, then to him. “Yes, I assumed you had that. Though I would usually make a person take me out to dinner first before they could get that close to my chest.” She looked at him, defiance clearly in her eyes.

“It is active. You called for help.” He noted, speaking for the first time.

“Of course I would. Unlike you, I have people who would notice if I was missing. They might actually be sad. Where as you…. No one would notice. No one would care if you just dropped out of existence. We would just… forget you.” She held back a smirk.

He continued smiling at her pleasantly as he set the badge on the floor, and opened a small vial. He poured several drops of a yellowish liquid on the badge, which promptly melted. Then he stood up, and left through a door that she only saw because the door opened, and the hall outside was dimly lit with soft blue lights.

She looked to the badge, grinding her teeth for a moment before relaxing. She knew she was still being watched. She would have time to mourn later. Her attention shifted to the newly found door. The door, when closed, was a darker void in the fabric of darkness that surrounded her. The light directly above her made the dark seem dense and harder to penetrate.

She strained her eyes, taking in every last detail of the room she could see. She observed her restraints to see if there were any weaknesses; the chains were well oiled and carefully maintained, but the cuffs were almost a little...loose. Like they had once been padded and now were not. It might hurt, but there was a possibility of slipping out of them, if she was given enough time alone.

She rolled her head, appearing to be stretching, but actually testing the collar. It was snug against her skin, loose enough not to restrict her breathing but tight enough that it could not be removed without having hands free to undo the buckle. The chain attached to it rattled with the movement.

She looked at the puddle on the floor, measuring how much space she would need to slip out. She tried to remember any detail Sean had told her about Julian’s ship and anything she remembered about the layout; unfortunately, it wasn't much. Sean hadn't spoken often of his time on Julian’s vessel, though she was reasonably sure she could find the mess hall if she could get out of this room.

After not hearing any movement for a while and nothing from the hallway, she folded her hands, making them into a smaller cone shape. She swayed her hips forward and backward slightly. After a few movements, she sat back as hard as she could manage, throwing her center of gravity down to pull her arms out of their confines.

The manacles bit into her skin, which she expected. The chains held, which was also expected. Her shoulders screamed at her as she abused them mercilessly in her attempt at escape, which hurt a great deal but was still within the realm of expectations. But at the same time, the chain attached to her collar tightened considerably; it nearly cut off her breathing entirely--the amount the chain tightened being directly proportional to the force she used on the manacles--which was far less expected.

She nearly blacked out from the lack of air. Seeing no way out, she swayed limply, hoping her signal at least got to Henry in time to follow her. If not, well, there were worse ways to die.

She did not hear or see the door open, or the footsteps that hurried towards her. She did however feel the pressure at her neck ease as someone loosened the chain attached to her collar.

She looked immediately at the person, or tried as she coughed and gasped for air.

“Easy, easy. Slow, deep breaths. You’re okay.” A soft, deep man’s voice told her. It took a few moments for the black spots on her vision to clear enough to see him; he had long dark hair, and a scar ran from his left temple down to the corner of his lip, making his lip curl in that direction as if he had a permanent scowl. His skin was pale--or perhaps it was just the lighting washing his skin out--and his basic shape was unmistakably Cardassian. He kept glancing at the door, as if afraid someone would walk in on them.

She looked at the man as she rasped, “obviously not.” she took another breath. “Who are… you?”

“I am Loryll. And you must be Asha Dejar,” the man half smiled at her. “You’re the image of your mother.”

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