So a Shard and a Shapeshifter Beat a Guy with a Bar

[Rusty]

It was clear that the smith had once been a large, powerfully built man.

Rusty knew that Mando metalsmiths tended to be built like brick lavatories. In an age of machinery and droids, Mandalorians still preferred the good old hammer and anvil approach. They might use a power hammer on occasion, but mostly it was the old ways, and that required main strength.

This fellow had seen better days.

He sat on the floor with his back against the wall, eyes staring blankly at the entrance to the cell. His hair was long and matted with filth, as was his beard. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, clear signs of starvation. His face was bruised in spots, and though there wasn't much swelling, it was clear he had been beaten recently. Even through the beard it was clear that his jaw had been broken and poorly set; the left side was crooked and sunken in.

His jumpsuit was stripped to the waist, arms tied around his hips to hold it up on his emaciated frame. Even at a glance, Rusty could tell the loose skin hanging off his arms, chest, and stomach had once covered far more muscle than fat. His weight loss must have been too rapid for his body to properly adjust. Nearly every inch of his skin was covered in ugly purple and greenish splotches, sure signs of bruises that had only just started to fade. If that wasn't enough, there were several gashes across his upper chest and biceps that looked to be ritualistic in nature. The man's chest was devoid of any hair, and in addition to the cuts, there were several burns as well, could have been electrical or cigarette. The Shard noted with some amusement that the Mando's nipples had been burned clean off.

There was no telling what horrors had been visited below the waste, but if Rusty had to hazard a guess from the urine stains on the wall, this guy should probably be called Stumpy.

"Damn," he said as he turned to [member="Laguz Vald"]. "You guys don't [bleep] around."

Still, despite the obvious torment, there was a fire burning behind those eyes, a defiant will that had yet to be broken.

"I think this guy is gonna be fun. You want first crack, or shall I?"

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz rubbed his chin, looking down on the rangy mandalorian with a slight tilt to his head. There was a number of ideas he was bouncing about his head, but it was tough to tell which approach would work best. Torture had to be tailored to the man, and though he had a datapad containing every conceivable piece of medical data on the mando, the merc had no idea how his head worked, and that was often the toughest nut to crack.

Not that they'd be cracking his head literally, mind you. At least not right away.

"No, we don't," he confirmed with a distinct lack of mirth in his voice, averting his gaze from the hollow stare of the captive to shoot a sideways glance at his metal partner. The 'we' was perhaps a slight stretch, seeing as Laguz usually wasn't the one to get his hands dirty himself. There was a multitude of excited volunteers around this parts, broken men and women who more than looked forward to enthusiastically rending flesh from bone in the most wickedly ingenious ways.

The shifter was often the designated sane supervision, or that one guy that gives directions in the corner of the cell while trying to avoid spurts of blood. That was not to say, however, that Laguz hadn't done his share of enhanced interrogation, whether at the demand of a client or for his own ends. He was simply… oh, what's the expression? Oh, right. [member="Rusty"].

"Be my guest," he finally nodded, taking a step aside to allow the metal-man easier access. "I don't mind sloppy seconds."

 

[Rusty]

Rusty nodded, turning the problem over in his mind.

Well, it wasn't like the guy hadn't been worked over. Amateurishly, in the Shard's considered opinion, but that hardly mattered at this point. He'd felt pain.

Had he been given a way out, though?

"I've got an idea. We'll start by giving him an out. Let him know that he can stop this at any time."

Without waiting for [member="Laguz Vald"] to respond, Rusty dropped the containment field.

The Mando startled a bit, but otherwise regained his composure. His eyes narrowed, and there was a the faintest hint of a sneer on his lips.

"Howdy," the Shard said in a friendly sort of way. "You look like crap."

The Mando glared at him, but otherwise stayed silent.

"I mean, I've seen some real hatchet jobs, but this just about takes the cake." Rusty let a distinct note of disdain creep into his voice. "Honestly, this amateur crap pisses me off. I mean, I come here to work you over, and someone's already done a piss poor job of it. Now you've got your hackles up, and you'll be that much more determined to make me work for it."

The Shard sighed, running his hands through his hair. He was playing a part here, trying to establish himself as someone to be truly feared. He had disparaged the previous work, and rightfully so, and there was no hint of the righteous fury or sadistic glee that characterized most torturers. This was a job for him, no more, no less. He thought he could detect a slight hint of panic in the Mando's eyes. He got it, at any rate.

"I'll tell you what," Rusty continued. "You're sick of this mess, and I don't get paid hourly, so let's cut to the chase. You're not getting out of this place alive. That's just not gonna happen. But that doesn't mean I don't have a way out for you."

The Mando looked up at the Shard again.

"Oh yeah? And what's that."

His voice was soft, raspy. He'd probably been trying to avoid drinking water for as long as he could in order to kill himself. Rusty doubted the droids would let that happen.

"Simply. I'm here to learn how to forge beskar properly. You're a smith. You can teach me how. In return, I will make you a knife, and once it meets the standard, you will be allowed to take your own life. That is the only escape you'll find."

The Mando thought it over for a few minutes, clearly enticed. But, the longer he went on, the more his body language suggested defiance.

"Kark you," he said, though there was no hint of venom or fire in his voice.

"Very well," Rusty replied, pulling out gloves and a scalpel from a pouch on his belt. "You can end this at any time simply by saying yes. In the mean time, most of your cuts are in pretty rough shape. I'm going to cut away the dead tissue before it has a chance to spread. Who said a little torture couldn't be good for you?"

 

[Laguz Vald]

Back in his youth, Laguz had been… well, not much different than now, in all honestly, except younger. The shifter was still mostly reckless, selfish, and disinterested in almost everything but himself. The years had brought him many a success, many a failure, and very few real lessons in between.

What he had picked up, however, was that shutting up and observing another expert in their process was a very, very good way to advance one's own proficiency in the field. Laguz was by no means a master torturer, nor did he have any aspirations for the title. It was, however, part of the widers scope of his chosen profession, and as such he'd be neglecting his own development as a professional if he didn't at least brush up on the skillset from time to time.

[member="Rusty"], on the other hand, seemed much more at home with the task before them. His approach was bold and blunt, but fair, painting an illusion of choice for the prisoner. Whether or not the mando truly bought it remained to be seen, and the merc had to admit that the man possessed an impressive amount of willpower after all he'd gone through. Some descriptions on the datapad in his grasp were a bit vague, others still far too wrapped up in torturers' jargon to make much sense to the sniper.

But either way, the beskarsmith had been dragged to Netherworld and back. Laguz didn't need to know the obnoxious medical details to see that.

Once his partner finished outlining the situation to the chained mando, the shifter pushed away from the wall and circled around to get a better view of the scene that was about to unfold.

In all honesty, there wasn't much tissue left to cut off. The mando had been starved and beaten, reduced to little more than a sagging bag of flesh and bone. As Rusty approached him from one side, Laguz pulled him to his feet with a sharp gesture, never uttering a single word, never even meeting his hollow stare. There would be opportunity enough to lock eyes with this broken man, but the shifter would do it on his own terms, and with a different set of eyes altogether.

For now, he was content to hold his emaciated frame up as the metal-man brandished his scalpel and sank it into the first patch of rotting muscle on his arm, tearing a bark-like cry from the mando's chest. He thrashed against his restraints, against the firm hold of the merc, but he could not escape.

 

[Rusty]

Excising the dead tissue wasn't strictly speaking necessary. Bacta could have handled the job quite well, thank you very much.

However, that would completely defeat the purpose of this little venture.

The main tried to twitch and flail, but he might as well have been standing stock still for all Rusty cared. His hand was steady, his aim true. From his kit he had grabbed a tray, some gauze, and some disinfectant. He cut away the dead flesh until the wounds bled freely, then packed them with the disinfectant laden gauze. This would serve to both hurt like mad and keep the Mando from going septic and dying. Even with the surgical fields in the cells, it was possible for a rapidly spreading infection to take hold in between the brief activation periods.

Eventually, the gruesome task was complete. The Mandalorian was pale from blood loss. Rusty instructed [member="Laguz Vald"] to set him down again, while he set a saline lock in the man's arm. A couple of units of saline and some plasma would help prevent hypovolemic shock, though he'd likely need some whole blood before they really got into it.

"In case you were thinking on holding out until we inevitably killed you, keep this in mind: I've spent as much time patching bodies up as I have ripping them apart. I know exactly how far to go to drag you to the very edge of death, and I can pull you back just as easy. Keep that in mind."

He put the scalpel in a sharps disposal container, dumped the scraps into a portable biowaste incinerator, and motioned for the shifter to exit with him. Once the field was back up, and they could speak freely, he cracked a grin.

"Guy's tough. We can torture him all day and he'll just grin. Best thing we can do is let him stew in his own thoughts for a few hours. He'll come up with far worse horrors in his own head than we'd ever cook up on our own, and when we get started in earnest, he'll always be left wondering when we're gonna get to the really bad stuff. All we have to do is imply that worse is on the way and try to suss out what really scares him."

The droid led them back the the lounge, where Rusty deposited the pack on a chair.

"Now we just have to kill a few hours until he's had time to think it over."

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz watched the whole procedure with a mixture of curiosity, disgust, and professional interest. They were doing an awful, heinous thing today, but what was one man's nightmare was another's daily bread. The merc and the droid both fell into the second category, and so instead of averting his gaze, the shifter paid rapt attention, making mental notes whenever [member="Rusty"]'s choice of action differed from what he would have done himself.

Everything could be a learning experience once you'd sold enough of your soul, and Laguz certainly qualified.

He set the beskarsmith back down with great care, holding true to the ominous promise that the metal man made to the shivering mando before they left him alone to his thoughts in the cell. It was one of the first rules in this sort of thing, Laguz had learned; making sure that your prisoner doesn't die before you extract every useful bit of information from them. He knew that, Rusty knew that, and the mando knew that, and it was this knowledge that would make him truly terrified of the hours and days to come.

One pained man, alone in a sterile, empty cell, with only his toughts to keep him company. Few people could cope with loneliness well, and compounded by the occasional torture session, the situation would not be made any easier for the man.

"Manipulation," the merc nodded in agreement and followed the gunsmith to the lounge.

"Want a drink?" he asked as he strode over to the bar on the far end of the room, switching from business to leisure as easily as some people went between weather and politics. A professional deformation, perhaps, though Laguz felt this particular deformation was older than his career choices.

Some people were simply born like this. Just a bit worse than others. Just a little darker.
Push them in the right direction, and all sorts of things could happen. Assassination. Robbery. Torture sessions in an underground maze of detention facilities with a HRD you karked last night.

The Galaxy was as wonderful as it was terrible, and sometimes it was hard to decide on which side they belonged.

"You don't happen to play pazaak, do you?"

 

[Rusty]

"I'd love a drink," Rusty said with a wry grin.

They obviously couldn't afford to get too drunk, but in his experience, the more relaxed they were, the more nervous the subject would be. Rage and disgust were understandable. Most subjects could grasp why an interrogator might hate them, and that, paradoxically, made it easier to resist. Hatred was often seen as a sign of weakness. It told the subject that the interrogator was emotionally unstable, and that, in turn, meant a greater chance they would be killed before they had a chance to break. Sometimes, it also gave them something to hold onto. By focusing on the hate and fostering their own, they reduced the interrogator into an object worthy of only their own hate, and thus robbed them of a great deal of their power.

Those who appeared to enjoy their job were similarly encumbered. Subjects tended to view them as amateurs, or as mentally unstable. Coupled with the fact that knowing their captors would enjoy watching them writhe in agony, they tended to resist even harder to deny them the pleasure. Torture was, at the end of the day, a conversation, and the subjects would latch onto anything that might give them the upper hand.

The quiet professional, however, was something to be feared. They were not nervous. They didn't particularly enjoy their job, though they often derived a sense of satisfaction from knowing it was well done. They were nearly impossible to bargain with. They didn't lose their tempers, or show weaknesses that could be exploited. They were there to get the information they needed, and would do whatever it took, so they could go home and enjoy the rest of their day. Rusty had known many an organic who would have a drink or two to foster the serenity it took to pull off the persona. Since his emotions were much stronger than they normally were, here in his HRD form, he thought it prudent to give it a try and see if it worked for him as well.

"I'm a terrible card player. All math, no instinct. We can play if you'd like, but I'm not eager to put any credits on it. If you've got another wager, I'm all ears."

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz nodded and crouched behind the counter to pick out a few promising bottles out of the well-stocked minibar, running the gamut of various recipes he knew. The combinations he could mix with the liquors on hand were plentiful, but given their escapades last night, the merc opted for something a bit more easy-going. The pound if his headache was mostly gone, and he had no wish to bring it back full force with a poor choice of drink.

Soon enough, the shifter returned to [member="Rusty"]'s side with two brimming glasses of a bright red drink, grinning like the devil as he offered it to the HRD.

"You tried clean stuff last night. Worked out well enough, I figure, but there ain't nothing like a well-mixed drink," with a wink, he handed him the glass and plopped back down into the seat opposite him.

"Fair, fair. Well, we've got time to kill. Might as well teach you a few tricks before we go back to cutting up that poor sod," the shifter mused out loud as he interacted with the table, scrolling down the extensive menu of games until he found his familiar vice.

"Then you're in luck. Pazaak is mostly counting cards, with some bluffing thrown in."

He leaned back and sipped from his glass, tapping his fingers on the table a few times as he scoured his thoughts for a more fitting bet. "Best four out of seven, and whoever wins gets to use the beskar knife first?"

 

[Rusty]

The drink looked like bad ideas and tasted like decadence and shame.

Not a bad way to relax, in other words.

"Sounds like a plan, I guess, so long as you give me a couple of hands to get the hang of it before we start playing for realsies."

As it turned out, even when the game was mostly math-based, Rusty was still pretty terrible at it. He won his two practice hands, lost the next three, won one, and then lost again. It wasn't that he didn't grasp the rules or anything; the game was simple enough. No, the thing that really threw him for a loop was the fact that there was no mathematically assigned value for a bluff. He could understand that, if one had an unfavorable hand, it might be a good idea to mislead their opponent. That sort of deception was pretty standard for pretty much anything. But rather than having a defined set of values in which one might bluff or play straight, [member="Laguz Vald"] more or less went with whatever his mood was at the time.

Honestly, the Shard didn't see the appeal in gambling. The rules were nonsensical, luck played far too great a role, and it was a sure way to lose money in the long run. A small, brutally honest part of him, was forced to concede that his dislike for it had more to do with his inability to win than anything, but he paid that annoying little subroutine no mind.

Oh well. If everything had gone according to plan, the Mando would be finished recovering to the point that he could stand a bit more stress now.

"Looks like it's about that time," he said as he checked his chrono. "You want a crack at him this time, or should I keep going?"

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz did, in fact, give the droid-man a couple of hands to get the hang of it. He wasn't completely unfair, and maybe after applying some of those mathy algorithms to the game, [member="Rusty"] would actually come to enjoy it.

This projection, however, turned out to be false. To be honest, the merc probably wasn't the best opponent for a beginner player, seeing as he had more than half a century of experience in the game under his belt, but he'd been going easy on the metal-man. Scout's honest.

"Oh, well. Better luck next time?"

Somehow, that grin didn't instill much hope in whoever might see it.

Laguz tapped his chin with a ponderous finger, then gave his partner a curt nod. "Sure. I'll have a go."
Then he became a she – the redhead the droid was far more familiar with – and stalked off towards the cell in question. The merc stepped in, quiet, composed, and waited for Rusty to close the door.

There were a few moments of silence until finally, the Mando raised his gaze, burning with hatred and fury so bright that it nearly made the shifter recoil.

"Where's the other guy?" he spat, narrowing his eyes in mounting suspicion.

Laguz said nothing, setting down a small etui of tools instead. Slowly she unrolled them, tracing a finger along each instrument as if she were deciding on which was best for the job. In truth, the merc had made her choice before she'd even opened the door, but the Mando didn't have to know that.

Finally, she stood up, a knife-like device in her grasp as she approached the chained man.

"He had to go fetch something we don't have down here," she offered blandly, then yanked his hair back to pull the skin on his face nice and taut. "Now stay nice and still for me, please."

With that, she would sink her blade into the flesh, drawing a slow, patient circle around his scalp.

 

[Rusty]

If the Mando thought he'd have an easier time resisting a female, he was dead wrong. He tried to wriggle away from the knife as it pierced through his scalp, but as far as Rusty could tell, he might as well have been a kitten trying to wriggle away from its mother.

The Shard watched patiently as she did her work with precision a droid would envy. She didn't rush. She didn't sandbag either. As she worked, he heated up a knife blade with a blowtorch. It wouldn't do to have the Mando bleed out on them.

As soon as she stepped away, Rusty rushed in and pressed the white-hot blade against the spots that were bleeding the worst. The skin sizzled and cracked as the myriad veins that crisscrossed the scalp were burned closed. The Mando didn't even try to resist at this point. He knew better.

"You know," Rusty said as he quenched the still-glowing tip of the blade in the Mando's left pectoral muscle, "this would go a lot easier for you if you just give us what we want."

The weaponsmith shook his head, his jaw clenched. Clearly he didn't trust himself to speak.

In response, the Shard pulled a cauterizing garrote off his belt, heated it, then expertly looped a coil of wire around the human's nose and lopped it off in one smooth motion. The discarded mass of skin and cartilage plopped onto his lap. Tears streamed from his face, and the scent of burning flesh, already strong, became overpowering. The Shard smiled, then picked the mangled nose up. The garrote had performed excellently, and was already cool to the touch. With his left hand, he spooled it back up and put it back in its pouch. With his right, he jabbed the Mando in the stump where his nose had been.

The Mando gasped in pain, his mouth opening for the briefest of moments. That was all Rusty needed to shove the discarded flesh in it.

"Your rations for the day," he said, gripping the man's jaw and forcing it up and down, essentially making him chew his own flesh. Once he judged that it wouldn't choke the subject, he clamped a hand over his mouth, sealing it shut, and another over the hole where his nose had been.

"Swallow."

The Mandalorian had no choice but to comply.

"You can end this any time you want."

And with that, the Shard stood up and walked over the [member="Laguz Vald"].

"Your turn."

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz stepped back to allow [member="Rusty"] access, observing his quick, precise movements with a professional appreciation for skill. People who kept a cool head were so rare in their business that the shifter had nearly forgotten how it felt to work with one. She suspected it was easer to do when you were all circuits and algorithms, of course, but the situation changed none.

A scowl swept over her face as she watched the Mando chew on his own nose with an expression reserved only for the most vile tastes in the whole Galaxy. Laguz clicked her tongue, once, twice, then directed her scowl at the metal-man.

"Now I'm karking hungry," she groaned with absolutely no shame to her voice, eyes darting back to the scorched flesh of the Mando's head. Bacon strips, anyone?

"You won't like me when I'm hungry," she continued, turning to the prisoner still chained to the floor. A stride, and she was back in his personal space, shoving the bleeding, glistening mess of skin and hair into his face. "I get… impatient, you see. I might start cutting off things that you will miss more."

She promptly released the flesh in her grasp, letting it plop into his lap with a wet sound before sliding to the pristine white of the floor. "Let's take it up a notch, shall we?"

With that, she took another instrument from the set, revealing it to be a pair of tongs as she approached the Mando once more. "Hold him still for me," was the last thing she said before starting to pull out the first tooth. Nice and slow, to really make it hurt.

 

[Rusty]

Ooh, the teeth.

That had to smart.

It was a pretty standard torture technique for a reason: it worked. The forcible removal of one's teeth was extremely painful, and debilitating as well. Without teeth, chewing was difficult, especially with the gums all messed up, and talking clearly was nigh impossible. That last part could be a problem, but Rusty had a solution.

Once the floor was littered with the Mandos teeth (with roots intact, no less, a sure sign of someone with experience in hostile dentistry), the Shard released the poor fellow's head. He had been forced to sit behind the smith and put him in a bastardized hold that was somewhere between a rear naked choke and a full nelson. It had done the job, but it effectively meant that the Shard spent the entire time watching [member="Laguz Vald"]'s face as she worked.

She seemed to be enjoying her work, but noticeably absent was the gleam of madness that often lurked behind the eyes of those that enjoyed tormenting other sentient beings. Interesting. The Shard was no great expert on reading expressions unless they were under considerable duress, but if he had to take a wild guess, he'd say she derived her pleasure from a sense of professional pride.

When the work was done, Rusty released the subject, who immediately keeled over and started vomiting. Probably swallowed too much blood. A low keening noise escaped his throat, equal parts animal terror and despair.

"You can end this whenever you want," the Shard said softly. He knelt next to the wretched being and wiped the blood, mucus, and puke from his mouth with a clean cloth. The Mando shook his head violently. Rusty sighed and punched him in what was left of his nose. His mouth opened in shock, and that was all the opening the Shard needed.

See, he knew at some point the teeth were coming out. And since they'd need the poor fellow to be able to talk, they needed to replace his teeth. And that was what the hellish contraption that was forced in between the subject's jaws was for.

They looked like a standard set of dentures, with a couple of exceptions. They were hinged at the back of the toothline on either side. The hinge had a built in limiter that would keep the Mando from biting down hard enough to hurt anyone. He'd still be able to chew, but only slowly. The cups that held the gum were treated with bacta, and would prevent infection.

And the whole thing was anchored by titanium screws that bored into his jaw and held them in place. The pain must have been excruciating, even after everything he had experienced already. The poor fellow's eyes rolled back and he went limp.

"I think he's had enough for now. Let's chain him back up and let him rest for a little while."

Suiting actions to words, the Shard got the prisoner back in his restraints and packed his bag. Once they were ready, they summoned a cleaning droid to handle the mess and headed back to the lounge.

"Well, that was fun," Rusty said as he settled down into one of the sinfully comfortable chairs. "Am I the only one that really, really wants bacon right about now?"

 

[Laguz Vald]

She winced in sympathy when her metal companion pushed the contraption into the Mando's mouth, but never averted her gaze from the sight nonetheless. Professional curiosity bid her to keep watching as the screws fixed the dentures in place, drilling straight through gums and bone.

A sharp whistle escaped her lips as she followed in [member="Rusty"]'s steps, slipping out of the cell like a thief in the night. She suspected that the man's face and jaw would ache for days to come – provided he lived that long – and it certainly wouldn't feel much better when he woke from his brief spell of unconsciousness.

Nope, Laguz most definitely didn't envy the guy. In all of her prolific career and many brushes with death, the merc hadn't ever been on the receiving end of a torture session, which probably helped with the altogether casual outlook she had about the thing the moment she stepped out of the room.

"Are you kidding? I'd kill for some bacon right now," and with an assassin, you knew they weren't joking. Not one bit.

"I think we have a kitchenette in the back, actually. Figure we can whip something up while he gets some shut eye." Not out of sheer kindness of their cold hearts, mind you. There probably wasn't enough of that between the two of them to give a credit to a begging orphan. It was purely because apparently, both of them were karking starving, and the dude just happened to have passed out. Call it convenience if you want, but it sure as hell wasn't a nice gesture on their part.

Sure enough, there was a sliding door at the end of the spacious lounge, and behind it, a small kitchen perfectly suited to their needs. The shifter rummaged about the fridge until she uncovered a thin, vacuum-pressed package, emerging from behind the door with a devious grin.

"Well, what do you know. I guess us folks get a hankering for bacon every now and then… grab a pan, would you?"

 

[Rusty]

The smell of frying meat soon filled the tiny kitchen.

Despite never having the chance to partake of the stuff himself, Rusty was well acquainted with bacon and the cooking thereof. He also managed to find some eggs, which were quickly whipped up into omelets, some tomatoes which were diced and served over the omelets, grits and plenty of cheese to go on them, liver pudding which was cut into thick slices and fried, and fresh fruit. Into the over went a tray full of biscuits, and once the frying pan was empty, the Shard whipped up some gravy from the grease left over from the bacon and liver pudding.

Like everything else he did, the Shard cooked with deft mechanical precision. It might have seemed odd that a being such as himself might be skilled in the culinary arts, but the Captain had a drinking habit that could shame a Devaronian fraternity. Not that he had any intention of letting [member="Laguz Vald"] know that.

Once they had their plates piled high, they found a table, sat down, and tucked in.

Rusty took a bite. And then another.

"You know, I should have tried this years ago," he said. "I'm pretty sure I can die happy now."

 

[Laguz Vald]

Laguz indeed noted the aplomb with which [member="Rusty"] moved about the kitchen, but bit back any comments in favor of frying to bacon to a perfect crispiness instead. Barbs were all fine and well, but certain things took precedence above all else.

A good dinner after a long torture session was very high on that list. Add bacon to the mix, and you had a top priority situation that no merc or assassin would scoff at.

Between the two of them, the two killers and apparently cooks had the meal whipped up in no time, and Laguz found herself nearly salivating by the time they finally sat down. Not a single thought was spared to shame or dignity as she dug in, scarfing down the steaming pile of meat and eggs with the appetite of a crash survivor in a desert.

"Can you even die?" she spoke between bites, peering at the man over the rim of her glass when she stopped to wash it all down with what was probably beer. The label had mostly worn off the bottle, and Laguz knew she had a stomach strong enough to hold most of the alternatives. Well, hold… survive would perhaps be more apt, but details.

The food was simply too good to pay any mind to such insignificant minutia.

 

[Rusty]

"Sure," he said around a mouthful of meat. "Anything can be killed if you try hard enough. Some just take more killing than others."

It didn't take long for the food to be demolished. Rusty's operating system was screaming at him. He had just consumed enough calories to supply some species for a week, and the less said about the cholesterol the better. But for his body, fuel was fuel. Anything that could be burned was a fuel source, and while he didn't technically need to eat, it food was yummier than a recharging station.

"I imagine you'd take a fair bit of killing yourself. I've never known a shapeshifter that went down easy. Fortunately, I don't plan to try. Too much like work. Besides," he said, mopping up the last remnants of gravy. "I've taken a liking to you, if I'm honest. Not everyday you get to work with professionals who do more than scowl at walls and masturbate to back issues of Blasters and Ammo."

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

The merc nodded sagely to that particular wisdom, wiping a trail of gravy from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Etiquette? Manners? All of that had went out the door the second they'd descended into the sewers. These were the dregs of sentient existence, and the odds of encountering some sort of basic human decency were about as slim as the Prime Minister flashing the senate during session.

"Probably," she grinned, shrugging with one shoulder as she got to her feet, half-cleaned plate in hand. She wasn't quite as fast as [member="Rusty"], and was none too perturbed by it; in fact, the shifter was planning on wrapping up her meal once they made their way back to the Mando's cell. Who said torture could only be physical?

Well, some fool, probably, but certainly not she.

"You aren't half bad yourself, metal boy. I could swear I had you pegged for one of those Blasters and Ammo boys, though… at least before you showed off your parts." She pursed her lips in a devilish smirk, blinking at the HRD before brushing past him and towards the hall.

"I figure we've let him rest long enough. Want to have another go at him?"

 

[Rusty]

Rusty grinned.

"I thought you'd never ask."

The walk back to the cell was a pleasant one. They took their time, making jokes about some of the other prisoners as they passed. Some of the poor sods looked far worse than the Mando they had been working over. A couple of them barely looked like people anymore. This was not a place for the faint of heart. Or for the present of heart, really. Let's face it, being heartless was more or less a necessity for even walking down the cell block without puking in a shoe.

They arrived to find the Mando sitting in the corner, his eyes wild. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

Once they were inside, the Shard pulled a cigarette out of his pack, lit it, and passed it over. The Mando looked a it suspiciously.

"Relax buddy. It'll help with the shakes."

"How do I know it's not poisoned or something?" the smith asked, his voice weak.

"It's tobacco. Of course it's bloody poison. But it'll help, and it's not like you're gonna be around long enough to get cancer."

The Mando shrugged, then took a long drag. He coughed a little, and winced as some of the smoke bit into his devastated nasal passages, but sure enough, the shaking stopped.

Rusty dropped into a crouch and looked the wretched fellow in the eye.

"This is your last chance. Help us out and you get a clean death. Say no and we keep going until we're good and tired, and I promise you, that ain't gonna happen any time soon. Hell, my friend here brought lunch."

He gestured towards the shapeshifter and her plate of food.

"You're gonna tell us what we want to know one way or another. It's all up to you how bad it's gonna hurt."

The war going on behind the Mando's eyes was obvious. He knew he was in rough shape. If he continued to resist, it would be a contest to see which happened first: would he die, or would crack. For a minute he looked like he would give in, but something, some last dying spark of pride, caught hold.

"Go to hell."

Rusty nodded, then shrugged off his pack and pulled out an odd looking device with numerous spools of wire attached to the sides.

"Direct nerve induction. And I do mean direct."

He motioned for Laguz to hold the fellow still, and then began inserting the wires under the skin with deft little jabs.

"This might smart a bit."

Once they were all in place, they both stepped back, and the Shard hit a button. The Mando's whole body started convulsing as electricity poured directly into his already tortured nerves.

[member="Laguz Vald"]

 

[Laguz Vald]

She caught his long step easily enough – call it cheating, if you want; Laguz prefers natural advantages, however – and the odd pair made their way down the main corridor again. The pile of half-eaten food on her plate looked terribly out of place in the sterile environment of the detention facilities, but the merc didn't pay it much mind, busy as she was commenting on the various prisoners as they passed them by.

Some of them paled at the sight of her as their gazes connected, recognition dawning on their battered faces, eyes glazed over in mortal fear. Oh, she'd been here before, and while many of her… projects never survived the process, some were kept around for their nostalgic or entertainment value to the customers. Not that their abused, wretched state registered with either of the mercs as they reduced them to little more than punchlines, laughing at jokes that no-one in their right mind would ever even think about, let alone speak out loud.

Oh, well. This wasn't a place frequented by those in their right minds.

And sometimes, the line between torturer and inmate became so blurry that it practically wasn't there anymore. In the blink of an eye, you could find yourself on the wrong side of the cell doors; a consideration that had passed Laguz's mind more than once during the time she spent here, but one she always ultimately dismissed as irrelevant. She was probably one of the few people in the Universe who stood a chance of breaking out of this place – not in the least because she knew its layout – and that was enough to put those concerns to rest.

Plus, she had bacon. Worries were the last thing on her mind.

The redhead leaned back onto the wall of the cell, green eyes monitoring the Mando closely as she lifted another forkful of food to her mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, Laguz watched the wordless exchange between [member="Rusty"] and the captive, a clash of two iron wills as the smith mulled over the offer. No, not an offer; a last chance.

She gave a careless shrug as his face contorted into a mask of hate, setting down her plate in anticipation of the next method. Sure enough, the shifter was holding the Mando down in the next breath, licking her teeth for stuck pieces of bacon while the tortured man bucked in her unyielding grasp. To all the world, the woman looked so disinterested and unaffected by his suffering that she might as well have been attending a lecture on Project Management and Accountability.

Can you imagine an assassin sitting a lecture like that? Neither can Laguz.

"Come on, you can do it," she cooed softly once he stopped convulsing, all heavy breathing and fetal position, his eyes screwed shut from the pain. The merc nudged him with the tip of her boot to get his attention, looming over him until his whole face was cast in her shadow. "You know you can end it anytime. The power is in your hands."

Leaning closer, Laguz nearly whispered to the shaking Mando, voice all smooth alto.

"Just say the words, and it all stops. No more pain."

She hovered for a few long moments, but the man merely curled up tighter and shook his head violently, jaw muscles still too cramped to speak. "Oh, well. Let me know when you change your mind," she withdrew airily and gave a curt nod to her partner.

They could go all day. He couldn't.