Codename: Renegade
The CIC's Most Wanted
CIC Command. Undisclosed Location
A trickle of blood. It seemed remarkable that that thin trickle, escaping from the left nostril, was the only trace of that vital fluid. Certainly, saliva glistened in the intense lights, across the chin, and in gobbets down the chest, but aside from that one thin stream there was no trace of crimson. No bruises, no lacerations, not even a fingerprint. In fact, the most serious physical injuries on this person were probably sore arse cheeks from the prolonged period of being strapped to the chair.
But the mind of this prisoner.... that's quite a different story. A flayed, tortured collection of emotions - mostly fear at the moment - that more than compensated for the lack of physical damaged.
Muscles in the prisoners face twitched, his stubble covered cheek spasming as if some small animal was burrowing around inside his mouth. Things were coming to a conclusion. Very soon now, this man's last mental defences would be stripped away, and he would reveal the last secrets he held. Then he would die or be killed. Either way, they would know what they wanted, and the traitor would be dead.
Operative Spectre longed to reach out and take some kind of physical part in this interrogation. Or at the very least, unleash some sort of Psionic strike at the traitor strapped to the chair. But he knew well enough that any intervention by him at this late stage could kill the prisoner, and ruin days of interrogation, not to mention the months of field work. He knew it, but he still hated just sitting here, watching.
He could feel brushes of the interrogator's work as she delicately pared the traitors mind, extracting and storing the information it revealed. The strain of the interrogation was showing on Interrogator Domina's face. Beads of perspiration glinted on her face, as she frowned at the imprisoned rogue Operative. She made no movements, and the mesh of fine cables connecting her to the terminal behind her never wavered a hair. No muscle twitched that Spectre could see, and the simple bodysuit was revealing in that department. Nothing moved on her lithe body. Unless he concentrated, he couldn't even see her breathe.
He shifted his gaze from the Interrogator to the captured renegade. He still wore his HES suit, although it had been stripped of all it's hardware and wetware. It was now little more than a tough rubberised suit, since the traitor no longer had the Psi-power to strengthen it with his Inhibitor set to maximum, and with its armour removed.
Spectre regarded the trapped Ghost with contempt, wishing he'd been able to strip the HES from him completely. This despicable traitor didn't deserve to wear anything provided by the CIC. He had personally cut away the remaining insignia from the suit when the prisoner had arrived. The moment this scum had turned his back on the Control, and chosen the lowly path of the hired assassin, he had forfeited the right to wear them, and in Spectres mind, the right to live.
The prisoner jerked, and then slumped against his bonds, muscles that had been held taught for days relaxing in paralysis.
"It's done" Domina's voice was hoarse, and she wiped sweat from her forehead as she spoke. "We have extracted everything. There's nothing he knows that we don't now"
Spectre rose from his seat in front of the prisoner, and grabbed a handful of brown hair, brutally yanking the man's head up. Blood still trickled from his nose, and he was drooling around his tongue as his jaw hung slack.
"Can you put him back together?" Spectre asked, looking at Domina.
"I can give him a few minutes of lucidity, but not much" she scowled at the senior Operative "Is it really necessary Spectre? I - "
"It is necessary, Interrogator" Interrupted Spectre "I am in charge of this interrogation. Waked him up". Spectre opened his hand, and the prisoners head flopped forward, half-closed lids obscuring his blue eyes.
***
From the comforting darkness he was dragged, too tired and beaten to even attempt to resist. Light began to flood his consciousness, and his head swam as his vision slowly blurred into focus. Reflexively he tried to move his hands, to protect his eyes from the harsh lights, but they were tightly bound to the arms of the chair. He could move none of his extremities. After a few moments, he resolved to lift his aching head. Wincing at the light, he raised it, looking at the figure before him.
Even with his Psionic Inhibitor at maximum, his ocular implants were functioning enough to identify the man before him, even with his face mask on obscuring his features. He knew who it was without even acknowledging the data from the implants; Spectre. He knew it'd be him that caught him in the end. There'd been a few close calls with other Operatives, but he knew it's be Spectre that got him if anyone did...
"So you knew did you?" Spectre said without his vocal modifier, and he realised he spoken his last thoughts aloud "Then you knew you were dead"
"I.. I knew a lot of things. I knew anything was better than st... staying here. It's wro... wrong" He managed. His mouth didn't seem to be working properly.
"Wrong? What do you know about wrong? You are a traitor! You are a traitor, and you will die. That is all you know!" Answered Spectre, drawing a small sidearm. "You won't even die with dignity. This was taken from a terrorist. It's a crude weapon, base a primitive. It will serve to end you, renegade"
A grunt was all the renegade Operative could manage. His jaw seemed to have seized. All he could see was Spectre and the weapon, and all he could hear was Spectres voice. "Die" Was all he said.
***
The explosive report of the pistol reverberated through the steel-walled chamber, and now there was significantly more blood than just the thin trickle. The body of the traitor hung against it's restraints, it's head thrown back at an awkward angle, and Spectre holstered the dirty pistol. His own upgraded ocular implants showed that the former Operative before him was dead, and his FoF identifier turned red, staining the words Operative: Jackal.
"Get this mess cleaned up. We'll have more work for you soon enough Interrogator" said Spectre crisply as he turned to leave the chamber. They'd extracted enough information to give them a new lead on tracking Spectre's real quarry. The first traitor. The first renegade.
Soon enough it would be Ryan Collier in that chair, no mere imitator. And Spectre would end him in a far more painful way than the late Jackal had experienced.
A trickle of blood. It seemed remarkable that that thin trickle, escaping from the left nostril, was the only trace of that vital fluid. Certainly, saliva glistened in the intense lights, across the chin, and in gobbets down the chest, but aside from that one thin stream there was no trace of crimson. No bruises, no lacerations, not even a fingerprint. In fact, the most serious physical injuries on this person were probably sore arse cheeks from the prolonged period of being strapped to the chair.
But the mind of this prisoner.... that's quite a different story. A flayed, tortured collection of emotions - mostly fear at the moment - that more than compensated for the lack of physical damaged.
Muscles in the prisoners face twitched, his stubble covered cheek spasming as if some small animal was burrowing around inside his mouth. Things were coming to a conclusion. Very soon now, this man's last mental defences would be stripped away, and he would reveal the last secrets he held. Then he would die or be killed. Either way, they would know what they wanted, and the traitor would be dead.
Operative Spectre longed to reach out and take some kind of physical part in this interrogation. Or at the very least, unleash some sort of Psionic strike at the traitor strapped to the chair. But he knew well enough that any intervention by him at this late stage could kill the prisoner, and ruin days of interrogation, not to mention the months of field work. He knew it, but he still hated just sitting here, watching.
He could feel brushes of the interrogator's work as she delicately pared the traitors mind, extracting and storing the information it revealed. The strain of the interrogation was showing on Interrogator Domina's face. Beads of perspiration glinted on her face, as she frowned at the imprisoned rogue Operative. She made no movements, and the mesh of fine cables connecting her to the terminal behind her never wavered a hair. No muscle twitched that Spectre could see, and the simple bodysuit was revealing in that department. Nothing moved on her lithe body. Unless he concentrated, he couldn't even see her breathe.
He shifted his gaze from the Interrogator to the captured renegade. He still wore his HES suit, although it had been stripped of all it's hardware and wetware. It was now little more than a tough rubberised suit, since the traitor no longer had the Psi-power to strengthen it with his Inhibitor set to maximum, and with its armour removed.
Spectre regarded the trapped Ghost with contempt, wishing he'd been able to strip the HES from him completely. This despicable traitor didn't deserve to wear anything provided by the CIC. He had personally cut away the remaining insignia from the suit when the prisoner had arrived. The moment this scum had turned his back on the Control, and chosen the lowly path of the hired assassin, he had forfeited the right to wear them, and in Spectres mind, the right to live.
The prisoner jerked, and then slumped against his bonds, muscles that had been held taught for days relaxing in paralysis.
"It's done" Domina's voice was hoarse, and she wiped sweat from her forehead as she spoke. "We have extracted everything. There's nothing he knows that we don't now"
Spectre rose from his seat in front of the prisoner, and grabbed a handful of brown hair, brutally yanking the man's head up. Blood still trickled from his nose, and he was drooling around his tongue as his jaw hung slack.
"Can you put him back together?" Spectre asked, looking at Domina.
"I can give him a few minutes of lucidity, but not much" she scowled at the senior Operative "Is it really necessary Spectre? I - "
"It is necessary, Interrogator" Interrupted Spectre "I am in charge of this interrogation. Waked him up". Spectre opened his hand, and the prisoners head flopped forward, half-closed lids obscuring his blue eyes.
***
From the comforting darkness he was dragged, too tired and beaten to even attempt to resist. Light began to flood his consciousness, and his head swam as his vision slowly blurred into focus. Reflexively he tried to move his hands, to protect his eyes from the harsh lights, but they were tightly bound to the arms of the chair. He could move none of his extremities. After a few moments, he resolved to lift his aching head. Wincing at the light, he raised it, looking at the figure before him.
Even with his Psionic Inhibitor at maximum, his ocular implants were functioning enough to identify the man before him, even with his face mask on obscuring his features. He knew who it was without even acknowledging the data from the implants; Spectre. He knew it'd be him that caught him in the end. There'd been a few close calls with other Operatives, but he knew it's be Spectre that got him if anyone did...
"So you knew did you?" Spectre said without his vocal modifier, and he realised he spoken his last thoughts aloud "Then you knew you were dead"
"I.. I knew a lot of things. I knew anything was better than st... staying here. It's wro... wrong" He managed. His mouth didn't seem to be working properly.
"Wrong? What do you know about wrong? You are a traitor! You are a traitor, and you will die. That is all you know!" Answered Spectre, drawing a small sidearm. "You won't even die with dignity. This was taken from a terrorist. It's a crude weapon, base a primitive. It will serve to end you, renegade"
A grunt was all the renegade Operative could manage. His jaw seemed to have seized. All he could see was Spectre and the weapon, and all he could hear was Spectres voice. "Die" Was all he said.
***
The explosive report of the pistol reverberated through the steel-walled chamber, and now there was significantly more blood than just the thin trickle. The body of the traitor hung against it's restraints, it's head thrown back at an awkward angle, and Spectre holstered the dirty pistol. His own upgraded ocular implants showed that the former Operative before him was dead, and his FoF identifier turned red, staining the words Operative: Jackal.
"Get this mess cleaned up. We'll have more work for you soon enough Interrogator" said Spectre crisply as he turned to leave the chamber. They'd extracted enough information to give them a new lead on tracking Spectre's real quarry. The first traitor. The first renegade.
Soon enough it would be Ryan Collier in that chair, no mere imitator. And Spectre would end him in a far more painful way than the late Jackal had experienced.
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