M E A T B A G
Unknown Location // Unknown Date // Hyperspace?
“Rouse yourself,” The voice said, shattering the oppressive silence with her unfamiliar and menacing tone. “Rouse yourself, Ragged Knight. The time has come.” He didn’t know this woman, nor could he place her accent. With a nigh-eidetic memory and a vast reservoir of knowledge regarding the galaxy and its people, this woman spoke the new tongue. Such was the legacy of the plague, the man supposed. “The one before,” He rasped, every word forcibly pushed passed cracked lips. “She was nicer.” While nothing more than a witty quip, the woman before the man had taken offense to his words - or simply decided to act upon them as any sadist would. Her hands retreated behind her person, before withdrawing an object that he couldn’t see. Even with his natural sight stolen from him ages ago, he knew it was either some primitive club or something all the more sinister. Though he didn’t know the woman, it was likely she -
His thoughts were stolen from him in a blinding surge of agony. White fire rippled through his veins and blossomed behind his eyes, spreading towards his muscles and forcing them to contract around the point of impact. The man’s unkempt face curled into a painful grimace, as he fought his very figure to deny this woman the pleasure of hearing him scream. When the electrical torment had faded, and he felt the tension in his physique slowly fade, the man looked towards the sickly - candle-lit aura - of his captor and forced a smile. “Is that,” He managed to say between ragged breaths. “All you got?” The woman’s smile was audible, as she let a small trickle of laughter trail after her peeling lips. “No,” She said mirthfully. “Our Master wishes you to be…” She paused for a fleeting moment as if trying to find the right words to explain what their Master desired. “He wishes you to be conscious for your meeting.”
Meeting? The man thought. They kept him locked up in this cell for days uncounted, never once seeing the light of day, and forced to grovel under the hardened leather boots of those he once considered friends. The fact he was told that he was having a meeting seemed to do nothing more than amuse him. A fact in which he shared with the would-be captor, by laughing - hoarsely. It was evident she didn’t like that, as the woman’s metallic capped boot struck the laughing man in his wounded side, which in turn sent him rolling onto his back. He writhed as the trauma spiraled through his ribcage. The kick was calculated, despite how reactionary it seemed. The blow struck him exactly where the woman from before had broken one of his ribs during a ‘session.’
“I don’t want to have to ask you a second time, Ragged Knight. The Master is waiting, and you are testing his patience.”
There were almost a dozen things that the man had wished to say in return, which would have doubtlessly inspired the woman to take her iron-shod boot and crush whatever her twisted little heart desired. When he felt the pain subside, at least enough that he could stand without straining himself, the beaten figure roused from the cold steel surface of the cell. The sight must’ve been somewhat comical, as the woman with the shock-stick had done what she could, albeit less than the man would’ve liked, to stifle a fit of laughter. As his worn coverings had padded against the deck, and as his fingers slowly curled against the surface of the riveted bulkhead, he looked towards the sickly light standing before him.
“Lead on then.”