Private Kings of Medicine

[Kiber Dorn]

“...ooooaa...”

A hoarse throat groaned, objecting to the apparent heavy hangover that slowly dragged Kiber Dorn back to the realm of consciousness. Force, his mouth felt like a damned ashtray. Nothing new there. Funny how that was always the first thing he noticed.

A shiver followed. He was cold and judging from the chill of air upon his flesh that prickled hairs he was decidedly naked. This wasn't necessarily a bad sign, did he get lucky yesterday? No, that didn't seem quite right but hey, let's not spit in the face of optimism here. He had charm when he needed it, glinting in a golden tooth and helped by the personal stash he was willing to part with to please those of desperate addiction. Must have broken out said stash because holy feth did he have an ache in his ar-

He couldn't move.

On that note eyes finally opened, only to snap shut in response to the light above him. Touch of panic rising in his chest. Bloodshot emeralds tried once again, but this time slowly squinting at his temporary accommodation. Didn't seem to be much going on, definitely wasn't the bedroom of a bondage-loving one night stand. In fact, it was ominous. A secondary wriggle confirmed the existence of restraints upon his arms, legs, chest and neck.

“Feth.”

Cause for concern? Abso-bloody-lutely. Cooler heads would have to prevail. You've been in worse scrapes than this. You'll be fine. His tongue lolled out of his mouth for a moment, stale and putrid breath polluting the room as Dorn continued to give himself an inner-pep talk. This could still be some kind of bedroom thing. You've gone home with weirder. Remember that Wooki-

On second thought, let's not remember the Wookiee.

The trouble-bound junkie could only imagine what he looked like, strapped down upon the horrendously rigid surface. His lanky, life-worn body exposed for all that might have entered the room. On the skinny side, like a man who would rather spend his last credit chasing the high than the next meal and the track marks that littered his forearms and thighs made that perfectly evident. Not the prettiest sight, but being pretty wasn't high on the list of his concerns.

How did he get here? Think back.

Grubby little spaceport. Yeah, was waiting for transport. Shady little shuttle to hop to the next planet as he never liked to stay in one place too long and by shady little shuttle, it was absolutely some do-gooder people smugglers.

Details were still hazy, Kiber hadn't exactly been sober at the time. Pink flashed in his mind. A Zeltron. How could he forget? She was an absolute ten, and even her standoffish demeanour when she rebuffed him hadn't lowered that rating. Made the lady an eleven if anything. Or was that the pheromones? Eh, didn't matter. Think back more.

There had been an argument happening around him. Small bunch of clean-cut twenty-somethings arguing about the flaws of pacifism in the face of the Empire's brutality. The memory slowly oozed back into his mind as he recalled himself scoffing. The faux-enlightened debate wasn't going to get into that pink alien's pants either. Absolute rookie move on their part. What next though? Dorn scraped for more enlightened recollections but not much else seemed to come.

A flash.

Then nothing.

His face fell suddenly, that did not seem like a promising prelude to his predicament and once more Kiber groaned, shutting his eyes again so he could attempt to mentally will himself out of this place and into the arms of that lovely Zeltron.

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

As if in answer to Dorn's innermost wishes, the door slid open, the very same Zeltron stepping through the opening, clicking her tongue as she evaluated the man without a trace of shame or discomfort. Dressed as cheerfully - and revealingly - as her kind usually favoured, she would probably be a pleasant sight, but a keen eye would see the hardness of her features, the glimmer of icy cruelty in her eyes no longer hidden.

"Ah, you're awake. Lovely." Striding up to the slab upon which he was strapped, her playful smile seemed almost predatory.

"I'm Cara, I don't believe we were ever introduced?"

Whether or not he answered, a second figure would enter soon after - a tall, slim man in a strangely posh-looking lab coat, the sterile white fabric broken by the crimson symbol of the Sith Order on his breast, a soft smirk on his lips. It was not every day he was lucky enough to capture a Force Sensitive entirely by accident, and if the preliminary tests were accurate, this one would be... useful. Very useful.

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

The door opened and Kiber was immediately torn from his futile attempt at thinking his problems away. Not that this was a bad thing, for when the man opened his eyes once more he was actually, almost unbelievable presented with the sight of that very same Zeltron from before.

Yes, the eleven.

Was this actually a bedroom thing!? It had been wild optimistic thinking before, but hey that's the power of positive thought for you!

Dorn grinned foolishly as the near-human introduced herself, cigarra-stained teeth bared in an awkward kind of nervousness only spawned from being helplessly bound to an ominous slab. The line between dream and nightmare was becoming increasingly blurred. Had he died? Overdosed? Was this some elaborate fever dream?

“Ah, I don't believe we were,” he replied as his fingers fidgeted and tapped slightly upon his bed, “normally that kind of thing happens before I lose my trous...”

Door opened again, leaving his words hanging in the air for a second.

Lab coat?

Oh feth, is this rehab?!

“...ah, uh....trousers,” it was subtle the way Kiber changed as his eyes spotted the emblem upon the man's chest, still grinning, still awkward but something within him became pulled taut, like a prey-instinct that didn't wish to give anything away, “vee-ery unconventional, might I add.”

In the life and crimes of Kiber Dorn he had been caught on a great many occasions, usually by local authorities, sometimes Jedi and even once by demented cultists (which by the way, was a total trip). Never, however, had the planet-hopping spice addict been nabbed by the Sith and for good reason. Kaine Zambrano wanted his balls stuffed and mounted upon his trophy wall, and that was just a bad time all around. Even a beautiful Zeltron couldn't properly distract from that.

The restraint around his neck suddenly felt like a noose.

“Bet you've taken a peep at my wallet and everything,” he improvised with an overly false scolding tone, finger waggling on his restrained right hand as if he was telling Cara off, “seen my identification," eyebrows waggled, “better still have all my change in there, y'know.”

Naturally, the man's current identification was a forgery and one of hundreds. A different name for every trip spent steeped in paranoia about his luck finally running dry. Great for border control, a lot more flimsy in the face of Imperial intelligence, however.

Still, it was a shot worth taking.

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

There was the brief glimmer of panic in the man when Adrian entered, but he managed to keep his mask intact enough - hardly good enough to fool someone who had spent as much time as he had in politics, and the almost hungry way in which his "assistant" eyed their subject had nothing to do with his trashed body and everything to do with his fear.

He found her inclinations a bit creepy, at times, but she was useful and reasonably loyal.

"Ah, yes..." Pulling the document from his pocket, he gave it a once-over before tearing it apart. "... you don't look like an Ansall. Too poor to afford a proper fake, are you? I wish that narrowed it down, but the galaxy is full of idiots wasting their lives."

"Tell you what, this is your first - and only - chance to be honest. Tell me who you are or I'll dispose of you; I don't have all day."

The man, whoever he was, knew that he was valuable, certainly - but did he know that Adrian knew that he was valuable? Probably not. Assuming the man's answer was not obviously ridiculous, he would look at his empathic (and not in the conventional sense) assistant. Should he be lying, the Sith Lord would casually reach out with his hand and his will, strangling the man until he began to suffocate...

... if he was a trained Force User, he would protect himself, fearing death. Not that Adrian was planning to waste such a valuable asset.

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Oof.

Inwardly Kiber scolded himself for being such a cheapskate as his forgery was torn up, effectively ending that charade and turning the air in the room sour. He felt that tightly knotted panic rise in his chest, his options seemingly narrowing down to die now, or die later.

Always did like putting off the consequences for later.

“Ah, ya've got me,” he chuckled nervously, fingers still twitching as his arms gave a gentle tug against the restraints in fear-laden nervousness. His gaze settled on the Zeltron instead of the man, if impending doom was on the horizon then it was only natural that he would opt for a pleasant view.

“I'm Kiber Dorn.”

Through his dread he fired off a wink in Cara's direction, if he kept himself cool and casual then hopefully the vibe would follow in his wake. Fear only breeds more fear.

“Just a guy, livin' his best life,” he drawled, bloodshot stare still placed firmly upon the pink-skinned woman, “really not what you're lookin' for in this uh, thing you've got going on here. I'm a dealer, man....and ah...occasional user. I'm a nobody, y'know and you look like a guy that's lookin' for somebodies.”

His next hope was pinned on irrelevancy. There was a chance that if they looked him up that nothing would ping, that his paranoia had been unfounded and that the Emperor's lust for his head had faded into irrelevancy with time. A very small chance, but a chance nonetheless.

Of course, if he was still wanted...

“I'd kinda like to y'know, leave. If that's uh...cool with ya'll.”

...ah, best not think about these kinds of things.

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

First rule of interrogation, maintain the facade. Truth be told, Adrian had no clue how to recognise a false ID... but his various subordinates sure as hell did, especially since he'd ran everything on the man's body - including some overly cheap drugs - through the standard tests.

As Dorn admitted to his identity - that was easy - Adrian would narrow his eyes slightly, though the man would likely only see Cara sniggering softly at his wink, given his choice of scenery - perhaps he could even delude himself into thinking it a friendly snigger?

"Grek? Display "Kiber Dorn", please."

It took a moment, but not long, for the inhuman being on the other end was plugged directly into the facility's databanks. A large hologram of Kiber, clearly a few years younger, would be displayed above the strapped down man, even as Adrian walked behind him, out of view.

Intimidating, yes, but the primary purpose was to quickly look up the man - to make sure that he was, in fact, that kind of Dorn.

"My, my, Mr. Dorn. You really should start taking care of yourself. Not that you were ever much to look at."

"Oh, I don't know, I'm sure some people are into the whole "Raxus Prime of Bodies" look."

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Oh, feth.

They were really going to do him dirty like that? Look up his details right there and then? It would seem that he had vastly underestimated the efficiency of his hosts. Maybe because he had evaded their grasp for all these years Dorn had assumed that they were sloppy in all facets. Unwarranted ego, when in fact it had all probably come down to Lady Luck.

Stare flickered towards the hologram that popped up like some kind of overly-forgiving mirror. That was him alright. A lot less worse for wear, mind you. Distinct lack of scabs, and dark circles under the eyes. A respectable percentage of body fat. Man, he couldn't even remember his noise ever being that straight.

Crooked grin fell away for a second, the concern more clear upon comparably gaunt features before it appeared once more as the pair mocked his appearance.

How rude.

“Hey, times are tough, y'know?” Kiber cracked back, his eyes shifting around to search for the lab coat who had now evaded his visible perception, “what with uh...war...and famine...ya get me.”

And addiction.

Dorn's gaze gave up searching for the other man and opted to return to the Zeltron once more, staring his own past in the literal face was hardly an riveting prospect at the best of times. Avoidance. Looking at greener, more attractive pastures instead of facing the truth of the matter. Classic Kiber Dorn. He even ignored the hungover street wisdom that told him that her playful nature was far more carnivorous than it appeared but acknowledging that would be acknowledging fear.

“Don't knock it 'til you try it, love.”

Pure sleaze in spades, golden tooth glinting as if he weren't looking down the metaphorical barrel of a slugthrower.

“So... uh, professor....doctor....man. Ya never answered my question. When ya going to let me leave? I'd be willing to haggle for a smoke break at the very least.”

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

"Famine? Only if there was a famine of good drugs; you've certainly put some interesting things in your body, over the years."

The only response from the Zeltron at his sorry attempts at being flirty would be a slight widening of her smile, though soon enough even her looks would be unlikely to distract the man from the severity of his situation, for Adrian had just confirmed that he was that kind of Dorn.

"Not Professor, Triumvir..." His tone was casual enough, the contents less so. "... and whatever makes you think you'll ever leave?"

Strolling back into view, the Sith Lord would smile coldly down at his subject, a holographic document projected from a gadget on his wrist.

"You are, after all, a wanted man. Caught consorting with rebels, no less. As far as I'm concerned, I own you." Waving his free hand in dismissal, he chuckled warmly, though none would call it companionably. "Still, I have little interest in familial quarrels. Your wasted potential, however..."

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

“Hey, a little experimentation once in a while doesn't hurt, babe.”

This was all around just terrible advice, please don't do drugs with reckless abandon, no matter how much you champion personal freedom. Some things just aren't supposed to be pumped into the human body.

The scenario was hurtling downhill at an alarming speed, as his host was revealed not to be a garden variety Sith medical professional but in fact...a Triumvir? The Triumvir? Kiber Dorn wasn't exactly up-to-date on his Sith terminology, but it sounded pretty darn important. Oh, wasn't that just fan-bloody-tastic?

“...so the smoke break is a no then?”

He was karked.

It was getting increasingly more difficult to keep some semblance of cool as his captor came back into view with what was, much to Kiber's dismay, all the correct information. Cheeky grin fading again into an expression entirely more deadpan the more the other man spoke. He could handle being owned, as long as the chance to escape still entirely existed it was just a word.

At least his family history was of little importance here.

But the words wasted potential brought with it the flash of a venomous little sneer. Heard that one before. Dorn chose to grit his teeth and shut his eyes, apparently being very much done with the facade of the cheeky chappy.

“Yeah yeah,” he muttered dismissively, feeling an all too familiar itch begin to creep into his skin, demanding the day's chemical tribute.

“Let's cut the shet. Right, you own me. Cool. What are ya wanting from it? You want me to grovel? Beg for my life? No problemo. You want me to do jobs for ya? Yeah. You got it, chief. Just tell me what you're after and we'll make things right as rain, eh.”

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

It was interesting, seeing the man positively wilt as he was bombarded by bad turn after bad turn. Bad from his perspective, anyway. His obsession with smoking, the track marks, the shit the test had found traces of in his veins - it was a wonder he was still alive!

Responding to his sneer with a look of disgust, he shook his head, even as the wastrel made clear that he would do almost everything to save his ass.

Not that Adrian wouldn't do the same, with a bit more class, but the man was no Sith Lord, not even an Apprentice. Nothing more than a street thug and those were a dime a dozen. Clicking his tongue, he looked down at the man with something resembling pity. "Ah, but you do me an injustice in assuming that in want your suffering, anyone's suffering. That being said, you have nothing to give me, no skillset I could possibly find valuable..."

Typing out a short command on his wristband, Dorn would find his bindings retracting - this wreck of a man was no threat to him. "... nothing, that is, but your potential. I so abhor wasted potential, so we shall have to see about fixing you."

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

No skillset?

Dorn's eyebrows knitted as he considered the harsh truth in that statement. Therein lay the problem with pursuing a life of pleasure and little else, it didn't really build up the old resume. Floating around from planet to planet, evading the law while chasing the high. Taught him how to be slippery, how to survive when the chips are down and you owe a fat stack of credits to a knee-breaking loan shark.

Weren't usually the types of skills classified as valuable.

With his eyes still shut Kiber felt the restraints draw away from his form, more unpleasant notions of potential being spewed forth by the Triumvir.

Fix him?

“Nothin' to fix,” Dorn drawled as he sat up, eyes opening once more but this time firmly staring at the door. As if the junkie had just stepped out of a nice nap he stretched, arching his back in a way that made shoulder blades protrude uncomfortably, skin stretched taut over sharp bone. Toes and fingers wriggled, as both the feet and hands they were attached to rotated in a symphony of small cracks.

“I can squander my potential if I like,” Kiber continued bluntly, eyes moving from the door to the Zeltron and then finally back to his captor as he slipped off the slab and onto his feet, didn't seem to be a lot of options on the table here in terms of freedom, “it's not yours. It's mine, and I don't give a flying feth about it. Sick of it, actually.”

He could feel it in him, that thrum of anger. Indignation. It always came down to this, since he was bloody born, people telling him what he should be doing with his life. How fortunate that he was to be blessed with the gift of the Force. The opportunities. The future. The potential. Could really make a name for himself. Be someone. Do something.

But for who? Certainly not for him, that's why he ran in the first place.

“You can't make me want to use it, believe me, plenty have tried, mate,” he seethed, getting caught up in the moment as his bare feet padded towards the other man, “take it, drain it, cut me off from the Force if you find it so abhorrent because you'll never make me use it.”

And then, rather questionably, Kiber Dorn threw a very sudden but very passionate fist squarely at the face of the Triumvir.

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

Dorn's speech was all well and good, but it was just that, a speech. Empty words from an empty man, too ineffectual to do anything but talk for the sake of talking, for nothing he said would awaken a spark of sympathy in the Sith Lord - and they both knew it.

Rolling his eyes, a smirk spread across Adrian's smug features. "Bravo; bold words, but ultimat..."

When the man struck, it was fast - a moment before, Cara began dashing forward to intercept, but he was closer, much closer, and the smug prick of a Sith Lord before him had long since dismissed him as a potential threat. Darth Prospero, Imperial Champion, Creator of a Dozen Monstrous Species, and Triumvir of Power took a sucker punch to the face... and it was almost enough to knock him flat to the ground.

Swearing loudly even as the air became denser, a barrier of invisible force manifesting around his form on instinct, Adrian flinched backwards, left hand stroking a nose that had, for the first time in his privileged life, been broken. At the same time, the Zeltron met his attacker with all the leniency of an experienced practitioner of Teräs Käsi, the look she sent her superior clearly asking if he wanted Dorn dead.

Holding up a hand, Adrian paused his swearing - which had transitioned from Corellian to Sith curses - to stride over to a wall panel, sliding it open to reveal a number of medical supplies. Ignoring the conventional, he pulled out a strange red stone, wincing as the healing amulet wrenched his nose back into place, before sighing in relief. Fething hell, that hurt.

Turning back to Dorn - blood still dripping down his chin - every last shred of mercy was gone. It had been years since his blood had been shed outside of tournaments and the like, clearly reflected in the glimmer of sullen orange in his blue eyes. "How dare you? I could have slit your throat the moment I found out who you are, and this is how you repay my mercy? Oh, you'll pay for that. Bastard!"

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Was that the smart play? No. Did it feel amazing? Yes.

Kiber's stained teeth were flashed in foolish triumph as the Zeltron moved in to absolutely man-handle him in swift response. Naturally, the spice-addled banter merchant wasn't planning on fighting his way out of the situation and immediately offered no resistance to well-trained Cara, letting himself be restrained by her rather heavy touch.

“Didn't realise you liked it rough, love. I'm sure...ow...some people are into that.”

Of course, his one moment of glory was a bright flame that grew dimmer as the Triumvir regained his composure and (rather frustratingly) repaired his broken nose in a flash of the arcane. While the smug smile remained upon Dorn's gaunt features that fear still lingered beneath. This good feeling wasn't going to last. In fact, it was probably about to get real unpleasant. End of the line.

The last stand.

His doom was no doubt approaching, faster now given his actions, which all-in-all was probably a good thing. Goad the bugger into making a quick demise, find that temper.

“Coulda, shoulda, woulda...”

Was he ready to die?

“An' you know what? I was always gonna pay, let's not lie to ourselves here, bud. At least this way I can go out knowin' that I broke the nose of a big, old, important Sith Trivertabrate.”

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

Striding up to the naked wastrel with murder in his eyes, the flawless - almost sculpted - facial features of the vain Lord almost seemed to bubble slightly as he visibly seethed with anger, the air around them growing denser and colder.

"You little shit. Do you want to die in... oh. Oh." Pausing slightly, he smiled, then he chuckled, then he laughed. "Oh, but you do, don't you? You want me to kill you. If you can't run from your problems, then you might as well die to escape them. Well tough luck, mate, it's too late for that."

As if on clue, the door slid open, revealing a combat medic accompanied by a quartet of heavily armed legionnaires. The Rapid Reaction Force, of course. Took a while, but then they would have been informed of the lack of urgency almost immediately after being dispatched.

Waving a hand at the restrained - and still very much naked - Kiber, he issued his commands even as he let the medic wash away the blood and examine his face. Just to be sure. "Restrain the fether, we're going sightseeing. Oh Mr. Dorn, to think that I was going to let you off the hook relatively easily. Worry not, I'll find some way of making full use of your wasted potential."

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Just like that, another plan turned on its head.

Kiber's smile froze as his captor began to laugh. Oh Force, he saw through him like he was part jellyfish. Desperation had an unfortunate tendency to be oh-so-translucent, and by gum, punching a Sith Lord in the face in the hopes of dying sooner reeked of the stuff.

But if his fate wasn't his untimely (or perhaps timely) demise, then what was it?

Dismay crept upon Dorn's face as the realisation began to settle in that his misfortune had only truly just begun. Kark. Was it too late to renege on his commitment to defiance? As the legionnaires flooded the room the spice addict's emerald stare grew out of focus and distant. A flurry of fear-driven thoughts dominating his mind, and ruining any enjoyment he might have taken out of his captor's absolutely prissy fragility.

“W-wait, I...”

Torture? That was usually right up their street. Feth, he'd be crying within five minutes, all sight of his spine would be retracted and in its place would be delicious cowardice to be lapped up with Sith smugness. Even now his thoughts betrayed his single shred of pride. But you can renege. Apologise. Beg. Grovel. They won't kill you, but maybe you can survive this.

Kiber Dorn, fickle coward by nature.

Still restrained, his thoughts continued to move at a million miles a minute, conflicting and arguing over a backdrop of dread and anxiety. His face didn't hide it either. No point in hiding it now.

“...my bad, I didn't mean to, sir. I got scared, got upset. Y-y'know how it is...yeah?”

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

The man practically oozed fear, and for good reason - Adrian took no pleasure from it, never had, but his Zeltron companion... he could have sworn she moaned slightly, the look in her eyes making it plenty clear that she would flay the man in more than one sense of the word until he had nothing left to give or feel, if only Adrian would let her off her leash.

Not happening, he'd already given her plenty of playthings, and they never came back in a usable state.

Sighing softly, he shook his head, looking at Dorn with something resembling pity. "I'm afraid that won't save you. I don't consider myself a petty nor vindictive man, but the facts are thus: You are an enemy of the Sith Empire, you have displayed little in the way of credibility, you are useless to me as is, and yet you have a strong connection to the Force... and I don't like you."

Gesturing for the opaque-helmed legionnaires to start moving the prisoner, he shrugged. "In short, I am going to have to improve you. Cooperate, and I will do my best to make it a bearable form. Resist, and I will salvage what I can from your remnants. Your body, your choice."

Chortling slightly at his little joke, he led the way to Force-knows-where through pristine corridors occasionally interspersed by Sith glyphs, sleek doors, terminals, and the occasional researcher in lab coats similar to Vandiir - many of which raised an eyebrow at the nude junkie.

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

Even still, in the direst of circumstance, through the dense smog of terror that had descended upon his mind, through the sadistic glint in that Zeltron's eyes and through the assurances that he would not be saved, there was still the smallest glimmer of hope that he'd make it through this.

He always did, right?

Even when it got messy he always made it out. A little worse for wear and never with his pride in tow, but hey, you do what you can to survive. Hadn't been murdered yet, dodged loan sharks and crime lords alike, hell, even escaped the Primeval and talked a murderous, giant sword-wielding Gen'Dai Jedi into defeat (although one did have to wonder why the Jedi accepted said murderous, giant sword-wielding Gen'Dai into their ranks in the first place.)

This time felt different, taking the shine off that faintest of glimmers.

“I'm s-sorry, man. You don't...don't have to like me, I just...just...”

More came to be revealed as Dorn was practically dragged along by his new heavily-armed escort. It wasn't a prison, nor some faux-gothic house of pain as the man half expected it to be, but seemingly a house of science. Sith science.

He hadn't yet considered how he would be improved. Well, now he did.

“Aww...no, no, no. Look I don't....you don't have to do this though,” spluttered the sudden pleas out of his untrustworthy mouth, each word just as desperate as the last but ultimately hollow in intent, you'd say anything to get out of this, “w-we can start over, I'll improve, yeah? Y-yeah. Stop wastin' my potential, like you said.”

He'd run the first moment he got.

“Y-you don't have to....what are you gonna....nah, no no. Feth. Feth! Don't change me, man. W-we can work this out, I'll do what you want and w-w-we'll be gravy, y'know?”

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

Ignoring Kiber's hollow pleas, Adrian led the way through corridor after corridor, the near-labyrinthian layout serving as yet another security measure. Eventually, they would pass by the first real clue of their location - a large viewport starting outwards into the cold void between stars, one of a billion billion insignificant little spots along some hyperlane or another.

Empty. Unseen. Unheard.

Source: Vadim Sadowski​

The sight was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by yet another series of corridors and then a large door, its turadium frame reinforced with strange sigils of warding and technological countermeasures alike. Placing his hand on a biometric scanner, Adrian waited for a few moments for it to slide open, then proceeded into a small observation chamber, more sigils of warding inscribed upon the beams between the glasteel panes.

"Oh stop that incessant mewling, it will do you no good." Nodding to an elderly Devaronian woman in a lab coat, the lead researcher of this little project, he walked over to the one-way glass facing a large testing chamber, a strange cage of sorts in its centre.

... and in the centre of the cage hovered a Starweird, its gaunt body screaming silently, claws driving into the polarized frame of the cage time and time again, to no avail. "Tell me, Mr. Dorn, do you know what that is?"

Kiber Dorn​

 

[Kiber Dorn]

The journey through the facility was simultaneously endless and yet not long enough. It seemed longer the more he pleaded, coming up with stammering excuse after excuse, his reasoning for mercy growing ever frayed with each word that left his cracked lips. Yet as long as they hadn't reached their destination he was still safe, he was still him and not what this man desired him to be. Hopefully, they'd never get there.

The viewport offered nothing to his imagination, beyond polishing the glimmer of hope somewhat that the Sith was planning to eject him out of an airlock.

His fruitless babbling continued until they had seemed to reach their destination and he was promptly told to cease. It was a small mercy for every soul present in the lab that he did (if only for the time being). His fear-widened eyes looked to the Devaronian, the whites of his eyes pleading to be saved from whatever awaited him.

Which in turn was some horrific creature trapped inside of a cage.

The thing, whatever it was, made Kiber Dorn look rather healthy in comparison. It was akin to a stretched corpse, its withered, gangly limbs thrashing out at its prison in feral madness. What the kark was that? Worse still, what did that abomination have to do with him?

“...I...n-no, no....I no,” the junkie spluttered, entirely unsure if he was answering the question or beginning his protests anew, “...w-wu-what is this? I don't...don't understand...I don't want...it, man”

AMCO

 

[AMCO]

Briefly meeting Dorn's pleading gaze with a slight frown, the Devaronian turned Adrian, nodding respectfully.

"Your Eminence, I was not expecting you. Have you come to oversee our tests?"

"Not quite, but you may proceed as normal, for now. I may require a functional sample."

Turning back to Dorn, the Sith Lord smiled coldly, gesturing towards a prisoner - a rough-looking man with ties to the Selectivists caught along with Dorn and his smuggler friends - being brought towards the cage, or rather an airlock in its side. "A Starweird, I'm sure you have heard the legends. You wouldn't believe how hard it was to capture, let alone contain. We've tried splicing it with regular mortals, if you will, but to no avail. They, ah, don't last long. I theorise that a strong connection to the Force might change things."

Despite the man's struggles, he was pushed into the airlock by a pair of electrostaff-wielding legionnaires and the door sealed behind him. "We're not doing this to be cruel, just so you know. He's wired up with every kind of testing equipment imaginable - he should provide us with valuable data... while he lasts. Droids don't provoke the same reaction, you see. We want it to show us everything it's got."

With a single word from Doctor D'vueg, the inner airlock slid open, the Starweird immediately doing something, causing the prisoner to tense up, his scraping at the outer airlock turning more and more ineffectual - and ceasing entirely once the thing tore him to shreds, bodily parts and what looked like sensory cybernetics flying everywhere, even as the scientists present eagerly observed their screens.

Voice casual, Adrian turned to Dorn once more, as if trying to educate him. "Two airlocks, you see, one on each side. It can stay in there, if it wants, but we can lure it back to the centre by closing it in, sending in someone, ah, expendable, and reopening its door."

Kiber Dorn​