12-17-2019, 06:19 PM
Unknown Facility, Lauchenoiria
17th December 2019
Maricela Tobin had expected better treatment. This was Lauchenoiria, after all. Yet since her capture, she had been fed nothing but bread and water, allowed to sleep no more than six hours a night and interrogated for 12 hours straight with no breaks every day. Her cell was so bitterly cold she shivered at night, though it did not seem cold enough to kill her. Her bed was hard and uncomfortable, her only blanket thin enough that she could see through it. She was thoroughly miserable.
The first night, almost two weeks ago now, she had been rather amused. She had woken strapped to a chair. They’d asked her questions, and she had given sweetly sarcastic answers – which had prompted her interrogator to slap her across the face. She had reacted to this violence by bursting into laughter, finding the weakness of his slap hilarious. He hadn’t even managed to draw blood.
“If you’re going to torture me, you should be less incompetent at it,” she had remarked. “And I would also like to point out that torture is unconstitutional, so I demand you release me right now because any evidence you do gather would not stand up in a Lauchenoirian court.”
Her interrogator had spat at her for that comment – and had ordered her beaten. As beatings went, it was not the worst she could imagine. She had managed to bear it well, avoiding both screaming or crying. Eventually they had stopped, afraid of knocking her unconscious before they were finished for the day. By the time she was sent back to her cell, she couldn’t move without pain, but she still managed to grin at the thought of how frustrated her interrogators had looked.
Almost two weeks later, she no longer found it remotely amusing. She was covered in cuts and bruises, and when she was in her cell, she just slumped on her bed, unable to move because of the pain. She sometimes felt tears of despair begin to form, and had to blink them away quickly, lest her captors see. She no longer managed to avoid screaming completely when they hurt her. Yet the physical pain was not the worst part – it was her sheer, utter hopelessness.
The facility she was in had no natural light at all. She figured it was likely underground. She had seen other cells, but no other prisoners. Everything was grey, there was no colour, and every day was the same miserable schedule. The moment they had first beaten her, she knew for certain that she was screwed. They were operating outside of Lauchenoirian law, which meant she had very little chance of rescue. There was also the chance they would kill her, down here, and she would never see daylight again.
“Get up,” a voice commanded as she lay in her cell, shivering under her thin blanket and contemplating the hopelessness of her situation. She didn’t move. “Take her.”
Two guards came forward and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her up roughly and causing her to wince as they squeezed on one of her many bruises. She was dragged through the corridors, not bothering to fight, too weak from the relative starvation and the pain. If she had been going to attempt escape, she would have had to do it earlier, before the torture had weakened her. Now, it would have been pointless, she could barely stand without assistance, never mind run.
She was taken to the interrogation room and strapped to a chair as usual. She sat there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how hungry she was. They didn’t feed her until after the interrogation session. One of her interrogators – there were three, who seemed to work in shifts – entered and sat down across from her at the table.
“Good morning, Ms Tobin. Are you planning on being more cooperative today?” he asked pleasantly.
“No,” she replied dully, in a monotone. The first week, she had answered with a variety of sarcastic responses, but by this point her hunger and exhaustion and the pain took the fun out of winding them up.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I guess that is it,” he sighed, and shuffled his papers together and stood up, turning as if to leave.
“What? You’re not going to ask me more?” she said. That was what always happened, hours of questioning. Her interrogator had never tried to leave so early before.
“No, it seems you have made your decision. You will not even answer the simplest of questions, so we are wasting our time and resources keeping you alive.”
Tobin looked alarmed. She couldn’t help it. Her physical weakness was impacting upon her ability to suppress outward displays of her stronger emotions. And, in spite of everything, Maricela Tobin still feared death.
“Since you will not even confirm if you are an Aurora, I see no point in continuing. We shall schedule your execution for a couple days from now,” he said, shrugging.
“Wait, you can’t kill me!” Tobin replied desperately.
“Oh? And why not?” the interrogator asked, eyebrow raised.
“It’s… it’s against Lauchenoirian law,” said Tobin weakly.
“Ms. Tobin, I do not think you are foolish enough to believe that we are operating here entirely within the confines of Lauchenoirian law. That will not be enough to save you. Now, if we knew you were definitely an Aurora, perhaps it would be worth feeding you a little longer. Perhaps even giving you something different for a change, more filling. You do look ever so hungry.”
“I…” Tobin said, hesitating then biting her lip and looking down.
“Execution it is,” shrugged the interrogator, beginning to open the door.
“Wait, I confess! I’m an Aurora!” Tobin blurted out. The interrogator paused and turned around, a wide smile on his face.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked. “Would you like to provide us with any further information at this point?”
Maricela Tobin was frozen to the spot. She was horrified at her own weakness, that she had been so unwilling to die, even for her country. She felt water on her cheek, and realised she was crying silent tears, afraid for herself and ashamed of her betrayal.
“Ms. Tobin?” asked the interrogator.
“No,” she said quietly. “I will not tell you more.”
“Not yet, anyway,” he replied cheerily. “Well, you have done enough to earn yourself a break for the day. I’ll have the guards take you back to your cell, and you will be given a meal. Your first proper one in a couple of weeks, I imagine. Enjoy your day, Ms. Tobin.”
The interrogator left. The Aurora sat, the tears still running down her cheeks as the guards came and led her back to her cell. She was still in shock that she had confessed to what she was, and let herself be led very easily through the corridors. But when she got to her cell, her eyes opened up wide. Sitting on a tray on her bed was a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese, one of her favourite dishes. She eagerly leapt forward, picking up the fork and stuffing some in her mouth.
The flavours! It was beautiful. She didn’t even notice them lock the cell door behind her, she was just too focused on the taste. She sat back, not even noticing the discomfort of the bed as she savoured the flavour and satisfied her hunger. She forgot about her betrayal as she ate, feeling full for the first time since her capture. When she was finished, she lay back on her bed, some of her strength returned. Her confession had brought a great reward.
Oh dear, she thought. This can’t end well.
17th December 2019
Maricela Tobin had expected better treatment. This was Lauchenoiria, after all. Yet since her capture, she had been fed nothing but bread and water, allowed to sleep no more than six hours a night and interrogated for 12 hours straight with no breaks every day. Her cell was so bitterly cold she shivered at night, though it did not seem cold enough to kill her. Her bed was hard and uncomfortable, her only blanket thin enough that she could see through it. She was thoroughly miserable.
The first night, almost two weeks ago now, she had been rather amused. She had woken strapped to a chair. They’d asked her questions, and she had given sweetly sarcastic answers – which had prompted her interrogator to slap her across the face. She had reacted to this violence by bursting into laughter, finding the weakness of his slap hilarious. He hadn’t even managed to draw blood.
“If you’re going to torture me, you should be less incompetent at it,” she had remarked. “And I would also like to point out that torture is unconstitutional, so I demand you release me right now because any evidence you do gather would not stand up in a Lauchenoirian court.”
Her interrogator had spat at her for that comment – and had ordered her beaten. As beatings went, it was not the worst she could imagine. She had managed to bear it well, avoiding both screaming or crying. Eventually they had stopped, afraid of knocking her unconscious before they were finished for the day. By the time she was sent back to her cell, she couldn’t move without pain, but she still managed to grin at the thought of how frustrated her interrogators had looked.
Almost two weeks later, she no longer found it remotely amusing. She was covered in cuts and bruises, and when she was in her cell, she just slumped on her bed, unable to move because of the pain. She sometimes felt tears of despair begin to form, and had to blink them away quickly, lest her captors see. She no longer managed to avoid screaming completely when they hurt her. Yet the physical pain was not the worst part – it was her sheer, utter hopelessness.
The facility she was in had no natural light at all. She figured it was likely underground. She had seen other cells, but no other prisoners. Everything was grey, there was no colour, and every day was the same miserable schedule. The moment they had first beaten her, she knew for certain that she was screwed. They were operating outside of Lauchenoirian law, which meant she had very little chance of rescue. There was also the chance they would kill her, down here, and she would never see daylight again.
“Get up,” a voice commanded as she lay in her cell, shivering under her thin blanket and contemplating the hopelessness of her situation. She didn’t move. “Take her.”
Two guards came forward and grabbed her by the arms, pulling her up roughly and causing her to wince as they squeezed on one of her many bruises. She was dragged through the corridors, not bothering to fight, too weak from the relative starvation and the pain. If she had been going to attempt escape, she would have had to do it earlier, before the torture had weakened her. Now, it would have been pointless, she could barely stand without assistance, never mind run.
She was taken to the interrogation room and strapped to a chair as usual. She sat there for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think about how hungry she was. They didn’t feed her until after the interrogation session. One of her interrogators – there were three, who seemed to work in shifts – entered and sat down across from her at the table.
“Good morning, Ms Tobin. Are you planning on being more cooperative today?” he asked pleasantly.
“No,” she replied dully, in a monotone. The first week, she had answered with a variety of sarcastic responses, but by this point her hunger and exhaustion and the pain took the fun out of winding them up.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Well, I guess that is it,” he sighed, and shuffled his papers together and stood up, turning as if to leave.
“What? You’re not going to ask me more?” she said. That was what always happened, hours of questioning. Her interrogator had never tried to leave so early before.
“No, it seems you have made your decision. You will not even answer the simplest of questions, so we are wasting our time and resources keeping you alive.”
Tobin looked alarmed. She couldn’t help it. Her physical weakness was impacting upon her ability to suppress outward displays of her stronger emotions. And, in spite of everything, Maricela Tobin still feared death.
“Since you will not even confirm if you are an Aurora, I see no point in continuing. We shall schedule your execution for a couple days from now,” he said, shrugging.
“Wait, you can’t kill me!” Tobin replied desperately.
“Oh? And why not?” the interrogator asked, eyebrow raised.
“It’s… it’s against Lauchenoirian law,” said Tobin weakly.
“Ms. Tobin, I do not think you are foolish enough to believe that we are operating here entirely within the confines of Lauchenoirian law. That will not be enough to save you. Now, if we knew you were definitely an Aurora, perhaps it would be worth feeding you a little longer. Perhaps even giving you something different for a change, more filling. You do look ever so hungry.”
“I…” Tobin said, hesitating then biting her lip and looking down.
“Execution it is,” shrugged the interrogator, beginning to open the door.
“Wait, I confess! I’m an Aurora!” Tobin blurted out. The interrogator paused and turned around, a wide smile on his face.
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked. “Would you like to provide us with any further information at this point?”
Maricela Tobin was frozen to the spot. She was horrified at her own weakness, that she had been so unwilling to die, even for her country. She felt water on her cheek, and realised she was crying silent tears, afraid for herself and ashamed of her betrayal.
“Ms. Tobin?” asked the interrogator.
“No,” she said quietly. “I will not tell you more.”
“Not yet, anyway,” he replied cheerily. “Well, you have done enough to earn yourself a break for the day. I’ll have the guards take you back to your cell, and you will be given a meal. Your first proper one in a couple of weeks, I imagine. Enjoy your day, Ms. Tobin.”
The interrogator left. The Aurora sat, the tears still running down her cheeks as the guards came and led her back to her cell. She was still in shock that she had confessed to what she was, and let herself be led very easily through the corridors. But when she got to her cell, her eyes opened up wide. Sitting on a tray on her bed was a bowl of spaghetti Bolognese, one of her favourite dishes. She eagerly leapt forward, picking up the fork and stuffing some in her mouth.
The flavours! It was beautiful. She didn’t even notice them lock the cell door behind her, she was just too focused on the taste. She sat back, not even noticing the discomfort of the bed as she savoured the flavour and satisfied her hunger. She forgot about her betrayal as she ate, feeling full for the first time since her capture. When she was finished, she lay back on her bed, some of her strength returned. Her confession had brought a great reward.
Oh dear, she thought. This can’t end well.
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