The Questioning

DISCLAIMER: This short story contains material of an adult nature, intended for audiences of 18 years or over. Please be advised.



The room was dark, almost pitch black. As he sat there his eyes had slowly begun to adjust to the gloom, though he was not sure if that was actually a good thing:
No windows in the entire room, just solid, grey, steel walls. Furniture of a sort existed but it was all metallic as well, and rusted. Work-benches which held dirty, unused tools ravaged by time and neglect. Meat-hooks hung from the ceiling and gently swayed to and fro, the creak of the old metal the only sound he could hear bar his own erratic heartbeat and forced breathing.
Stains lined the floors and walls but in the shadow it was difficult to make out the colour or shade, if not for the smell he could almost kid himself it was not really blood.

Things did not look good.

His name was Kraton Varn, a profitable businessman who traded spices and various textiles from a reputable shop in Lower Coruscant. He had prided himself on staying on the right side of the law – regardless of who was the Law at the time – not falling in with the wrong crowd and keeping his nose clean. He had been so pearly white that even a bad smell would have had issues sticking to him for long.
Until last week, that is.
On the second day of the previous week (also known as 'Katunda') Kraton received the terrible news that his main warehouse had been destroyed in a gang-fight, ruining over eighty percent of his entire stock. Worse, it seemed that what remained of his stocks and shares had dropped to an all-time low since the damage done by The Mandalorian Blockade had seriously damaged many portions of the stock-markets.
Broke and out of luck, Kraton eventually went to a loan dealer to arrange some money to get himself through the hard patch but inevitably ended up spiralling into debt.
When he was paid a visit by a tall and somewhat effeminate looking man shadowed by two knuckle-dragging thugs he knew his days were numbered. He had no money to give them of course, but as he prepared for the inevitable and excessive violence to shortly head his way, he was surprised to find it was not he who would suffer that pain but the bodyguards in the form of a women who lept down from somewhere higher than the alley he was currently trapped in like a caged animal.
With cat-like, military trained reflexes she drew two identical and ornate daggers and moved them in such an elegant, flowing motion that it was difficult to take one's eyes off her long enough to notice she had dispatched the guards and their lifeless forms had slumped to the floor.
Overwhelmed with joy he remembered he had called out to her a 'thank-you' and she had turned to face him with those cold, dark gray eyes – a look he would never forget.
However insodoing it gave the other man the opportunity he needed as he activated the stealth field generator he had on his belt and vanished.
With a frustrated snarl she ignored the rescued Kraton and ran off down the street in search of her prey.
He remembered how grateful he felt as he walked the streets of Coruscant toward the sky taxi rank, how relieved, how happy.
Yet he also remembered the sudden and unseen blow to the black of his head. He remembered the pain. He remembered he hit the ground. He remembered the blackness that rushed up to fill his consciousness.

Moments ago he awoke in the darkness of this room – this cell in which he found himself bound to the floor and opposite walls by stets of shackles.

This really did not look good.

As he sat there, crouched in the dark wondering if he would see another living soul before the fire of his life finally burned away, the handle of the large steel door turned - as if the universe itself had heard him pondering.

As the door creaked open light flooded into the room,blinding Kraton, he was unable to turn away and so instead endured the pain of it until his eyes slowly readjusted.

Standing in the doorway silhouetted against the bright light behind, was a humanoid. He squinted but could not make out the form or race until the figure entered the room and out of the harsh white glare of the hallway. The figure was a 'she' and she looked human.
He rapidly recognised her: He knew the jet-black hair in a sharply-styled bob, he knew the short and loose-fitting top that draped across her curvaceous and slender torso. He knew the black sarong that hung about her waist and the dark stockings and the large, black, knee-high boots. Most of all, however he knew the cold, dark look on her face and the sharp, angry eyes.
Unable to help himself, he smiled as the woman from the alley stepped into the dismal room.

Her boots clicked heavily as she walked, he found the scent of another person – let alone an attractive young woman – almost overpowering as she walked up to where he was chained and looked down at him. Overjoyed that this young woman, this capable, daring, kind-hearted young woman had found it in herself to save his life not just once but twice in one day, Kraton felt a tear of happiness roll down his cheek. He was going to be free! He was going to live!

Weakly, for he found his throat dry and hoarse, he spoke to her:

'A-a thousand thank you's miss, I had begun to give up hope! I -'

His sentence was cut short as she backhanded him so hard across the jaw that one of his teeth flew out followed by a spurt of blood. His vision blurred from the pain, he looked quizzically at her.

'I did not give you permission to speak.' She said, matter-of-factly.

Walking over to one of the work-benches she picked up several tools one at time, turning them over in her hands as if inspecting them. Deciding upon a long, thin rusted knife covered in dried blood yet still sporting a wickedly-sharp point, she walked over to the man who was glaring at her, all sign of admiration and gratitude gone, replaced instead with restrained aggression.

'You have information I require, Mr. Varn. I will ask you about certain places, people, times, dates. You will answer me and, if you please me to my satisfaction; you may yet live to see another dawn..'

(Part one Continued...)

Blood dripped from the corner of Kraton's mouth, splashing noisily onto the steel floor.

'I don't know what you expect me to know, but there is not need for all this. I will answer your questions...'

She smiled then: a wicked, sadistic smile that a particularly vindictive child gives before beginning to rip the wings off an insect.

Suddenly the knife moved, two quick and precise slices and the blade's jagged serrated edge cut into flesh, ripping open the skin above both clavicles, blood immediately beginning to well up and form a pool of crimson.

Kraton screamed in agony and shock at what she had done, but the woman just grinned at him.

“I still don't believe I gave you permission to speak yet, Mr Varn.” Wiping the blood off the knife on the man's knee, she caused him to flinch which only caused more pain.

“Now, shall we begin?”

She crouched down in front of him then in a pose which - had he not been fearful for his very life - might have seemed provocative. Her viscious demeanor and mannerisms seemed masked in something altogether alien to such an enviroment: aristocracy. She held herself with a sense of obvious superiority as if dealing with him was almost beneath her.
He'd lost count of how many times he wished that was the case.

Instead he just hung his head and sobbed quietly, his arms aching and his wrists chaffing from the iron shackles that kept his kneeled form from collapsing to the floor.

Cupping his chin with one of her slender hands she lifted his head to look at her and she saw the fear in his eyes; obvious, unbidden....primal.

She smiled.

"You are Kraton Varn, a trader who lives here in Coruscant but was born on Corellia thirty-three years ago." Her words were quiet but seemed full of dread.

"You have a wife and two daughters and an untarnished record as both trader and model citizen. Recently you had to borrow money and went through a man who calls himself 'Zaresch Malrar'."

Kraton smiled weakly, not wanting to antagonise his captor. He gently moved his head up and down in a nod as her hand allowed.

"There," She said. "Better. It is a pleasure to meet your aquaintaince Mr Varn, my name is Xen."

Letting go of his chin, Xen brushed her silken-black hair from her eyes and continued:

"You must remember our meeting a few hours ago - in the alley? You were being....harrased by the man I was after and when you distracted me you allowed him to escape. I want you to tell me what you know of this man."

When he looked at her with desperation she rolled her eyes back in annoyance.

"You may speak, Mr Varn."

Barely able to help himself, his words came gushing out like an unstoppable torrent of fear-fuelled ramblings.

"I-I don't know who he is, I swear to you, miss Xen! I have spoken only to this Zaresch, he gave me a loan and I was due to repay it, but-but I coudn't! things haven't worked out and I've not been able to get the money! I tried, please tell him I tried... tell him I need more time! tell him..."

"I do not work for Zaresch Malrar. He is not my client." She cut across him, stopping his blurtings.

"Then what do you want from me? I already told you I don't know who this man is! I can't tell you what I don't know!"

Xen sighed as she stood up.

"I am inclined to disbelieve you, Mr Varn. I think you are well aware who this man is and futhermore I think you will give that name to me. I shall leave you now and return in one standard hour. In that time you will contemplate your situation and if you wish to be freed you will give me the name I require."

She walked toward the door then, looking out of place as ever in the dark, rust-coloured room.

"But!..." he began to protest, but knew his words fell on deaf ears.

The door handle turned and light flooded once more into the room.

"Please," he said quietly. "Just let me go, if you have any humanity at all in you..."

Stepping through the door, she turned to him and smiled. With words like venom she said:

"I am no Human, Mr Varn. I am Epicanthix."

The door slammed shut and he was left alone to his pain and sorrow as he hung in the dark.

Kraton hung in the darkness suspended by his wrists with his head bowed low for a time he could not measure, being as there was no way to do so. With no windows he could not tell if it was day or night and with no company except the damnable Epicanthix woman he had nobody to speak to.

She had left him there and he had ample time to think. He thought about his darling wife Nyeralla and his two daughters Enchi and Moilana, he thought about the worst deal he had ever made in his life and he had thought about trying to escape. To his dismay he had found no way to do so and now a lack of food and drink was starting to make him feel faint on top of everything else. There was a wet heat about his shoulders which he assumed was his own blood as it had collected in the recesses of his clavicles, but being unable to move his head to any great degree prevented him from confirming his assumption.

He might never see his wife and children ever again, and for what? credits? pride? This woman was obviously mentally unstable and he was acutely aware that it woudn't take much to push her over the edge. Yet what could he tell her? likely anything he could divulge would be insufficient at best, and inciting her wrath in the hope of making her slip up would be as good as suicidal.
He would have to lie to her, and lie well.

The latch on the opposite side of the large mental door turned with a creak and the portal swung open, the dismal room once again flooded with almost blinding white light as what constituted the outside world made its way into Kraton's cell, briefly filling it with hope and spendor, a hope that vanished with the closing of the door.

As his eyes adjusted he saw her standing by the door looking at him as if inspecting him for something. Mere signs of life perhaps? he blinked at her a few times to indicate he did indeed still live, but this seemed to amuse her more than anything else as a snake-like grin spread about her face as she walked toward him. About a foot from him she stopped, pulling something from a pouch at her side and throwing it to the floor in front of him. It landed with a gentle 'clink' on the metal floor and shone elegantly in the dismal dark.

Focusing on it a moment, the colour seemed to drain from his face as he looked up at Xen.

"Where did you get this?!" Struggling against his restraints he seemed the most defiant the Epicanthix had seen since meeting him. She merely tapped her long fingers on her chin in thought as a response.

"I see you recognise it." Xen said, smugly.

Finally realising his struggle was doing nothing but weakening him futhter, Kraton relented and his head slumped forward.

"It belongs to Moilana, my daughter."he began. "She keeps it locked in a jewellery box that is next to her bed. Only her sister, mother and I even know about it."

"Well, and now me of course," Xen replied, her sadistic grin growing ever wider.

"Please....you don't need to involve them, they haven't done anything, they..."

But before he could finish his sentance she was upon him, moving with exceptional speed and precision as she grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground until he was beginning to choke.

"You brought them into this! she belowed, exploding into anger like a released Rancor "You and your inaction! your unwillingness to tell me a few simple truths has put these innocent people in danger! If they die it is on your hands! Remember that!"

She released him then and he swung forward, his knees slamming painfully into the metal as he began to cough as air made it back into his system. He had never felt so powerless and useless in his entire life, never so much a simple mass of meat.
By the time he'd found the energy to lift his head again Xen looked more calm and collected. He couldn't shake the feeling that wasnt neccesarily a good thing.

"So, in light of the new situation do you feel compelled to tell me about this man you met with? who he is, what his business here is, where he can be found?"

"I don't know what to tell you, please! I swear!" he began to wail, but she only shook her head disapprovingly and walked over to the work-bench that had all the 'questioning tools' on it.
"He never said his name! I can't tell you what I don't know. I..."

He stopped his protest as she turned back around, placing an odd-looking black glove upon her left hand. A glove which sported a long spike-like syringe which extended from above the middle knuckle and potruded like a single claw. A clear tube full of a pinkish liquid ran from the base of the glove down to a pack on her hip.

"W-what's that?" he said as she walked toward him "A truth serum? I've told you all I know, that would be pointless!

As she got closer he tried to pull away from her, turning his head as far from her as possible but it was a futile effort as he could not really move more than a few inches. With her free hand she grabbed the scruff of his hair and kept his head still as he realised all too late that he had left his neck exposed. There was a sudden sharp pain as he felt the needle enter the skin of his neck, followed by a burning sensation and then, nothing but a slight numbing.

"Don't be so foolish," she whispered in his ear, which - for some reason which made no sense to him - he found oddly arousing. "I've injected you with a perception stimulant. Within seconds all your senses: sight, sound, smell, taste and..." she brushed a hand across his thigh and he felt the hairs on his arms and legs stand on end and a shiver run down his spine... "Touch, they well all be working in over-drive allowing you to feel things with a kind of clarity you never thought possible.

As she snaked her way round in front of him she deliberately moved her body against his so that she could provoke a reaction of both considerable mental and physical magnitute; her inner thighs brushed his knees, her breasts pushed against his chest. As his breathing became heavy and erratic she leaned in closer so their lips were almost touching.

"Tell me what you know of this man and I can.....make it worth your while.."

(part three continued...)

As his senses began to swim things became jumbled in his mind, love for his wife was replaced by lust for this woman in front of him, so close and eager, so young and firm. His fear gave way to desire as the scent of her became overpowering. He begin to grin, blissfully.

"I've told you everything. I don't know who he is, really. Unshackle me, lets....lets have some fun together..."

Pulling back from him she suddenly glared. He had not given her the answer she wanted or expected and now he was just grinning at her stupidly, as if in a trance. She'd never seen a reaction so powerful before. No matter.

Reaching over to the work-bench, she picked up the jagged knife from earlier and walked toward him. He showed no resistance, so drugged were his senses with pleasure, so full of rapture and desire. He wasn't even paying attention when she went to plunge the knife into his rib-cage.

The pain was almost unimaginable. At first he couldn't even cry out, couldn't whimper or sob or scream. There was no way his body could register the pain sufficiently and it went into shock. He convulsed as if his very nervous system was shutting down. She twisted the knife and he just opened his mouth like a fish out of water.

"You think heightened senses don't include pain?" she said venemously "I can show you suffering so esquisite that you will be begging for death in mere moments! Who is he? tell me!"

Again the knife twisted as blood ran down the blade and dripped to the floor. This time he was able to scream. It was a strong, desperate cry that put a smile on Xen's lips and reminded her the day hadn't been a complete waste of time.

"Who is he..."

"I....I don't know....

Another twist, another scream.

"Who....is....he...."

"I don't know! I don't know!

Her anger suddenly flared up without warning as she ripped the blade from between his ribs, a spray of blood following it and narrowly avoiding her otherwise untarnished black outfit. Pulling the blade up high she plunged it into his right eye as he wailed in agony, the eyeball puncturing and bursting on the tip of the blade, puss and blood coagulating around it and seeping out of the socket.

"Oh, don't make so much noise," She virtually spat as she removed the knife, the remains of the eye coming with it. "The room is utterly sound-proofed, nobody can hear your pathetic cries..."

Kraton just looked to the floor with his one remaining eye, whimpering as he did so...

"My eye...my eye!"

Then the knife was in his view again, but this time it was at his throat.

"You have one last chance, little human. Tell me who this man is and I will spare your life and that of your family."

Slowly, painfully Kraton lifted his head and looked at her.

"You....will spare my family?"

She nodded.

With a sigh, and a slight shake of his head, he said:

"Very well... the man you are searching for is an associate of Zaresch Malrar, a strong-arm of his called 'Macaris Jhee'. He might not look, but he is a killer. I don't know all of his haunts but he is said to be found in The Zacarin Club most nights in Lower Coruscant..."

He hung his head, defeated.

Xen smiled and simply dropped the knife. "There, that wasn't so hard, now was it?"

As she turned from him and walked toward the door, she began quietly humming to herself, happy that she knew where to look next. As her hand reached out to turn the door-handle, Kraton called out:

"Where are you going? you cant just leave me here!

She stopped and turned to him, a puzzled look on her face.

"Why ever not? I have the information I require, you are of no futher use."

"B...but my wife? my children?....."

"Hmmm? oh them. They're dead. I killed them hours ago. How else do you think I got that jewellery?

As he looked at her agasp, one eye missing, stabbed and cut in several places and suffering from dehydration, she opened the door and went to step through.

" YOU @%&#! " he yelled at the top of his lungs, and she smiled one last time before leaving.

"Sound-proof, Mr Varn. I told you before. Now behave and starve to death."

The door clanged shut and Kraton Varn spent what little he had left of his life alone and in darkness.

On the other side of the door Xen closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, one step closer to her mark and her bounty.

The sound of a blaster powering up on her right and the barrel pressed against her right temple made her stop and the smile almost left her face....but not quite.

"Xen Raffini, you're coming with me."

Xen just smirked.

"Well, you took your sweet time..."

fin

(If you have any comments, questions or want to throw rotten tomatos, please do so over

here in the thread Black Heart has provided.

Ta!)