Winterwald

[The Major]

Interrogation. Dreaded partner and fond friend. Sybil almost got the impression that her mechanically inclined mentor was seeing her as some sort of doe-eyed novice. Did he have any experience on what the security bureau did to ensure the safety of its citizens and pure loyalty of its personnel? Perhaps such details concerned an old being like him very little. Regardless, it was polite of him to ask if she wanted to sully her hands in the noble work of retribution. The Major had yet to develop a keen sense of enjoyment out of forced interrogations -seeing as a mixture of white current illusions and careful questioning was enough to coax information out of most targets. Still, she was willing to dabble and learn.

Truly, however, was there a true choice? Who was she to not get sucked up in the sweeping and grand plans of pure emotion -much like how the dead mob did earlier today when they slaughtered the poor townsfolk. Their only issue was a matter of perspective. Sybil incidentally stood on the side of might, thanks to her robotic friend. These schmucks didn't have such a luxury.

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Her eyes only briefly flicked over to the ailing jedi before catching the shard dead pan.​

"How can I help you?" ​

It was important to note here that Sybil was fully aware that the knight of iron was more than capable of handling this entire situation on his own. In fact, she figured this was more or less a normal Tuesday night for the likes of him. What was symbolic here was her complicity, and thus her culpability for whatever was about to transpire in the next few hours.

She was ripe to slaughter. ​

​

[member="Eralam"]​

 

[Eralam]

"Keep him alert and conscious," Eralam ordered.

The next few minutes could have only been described as unpleasant. The Shard's movements were swift and precise, his tools, be they blade, clamp, needle, or other, more esoteric fare, did exactly what was required and nothing more. The Jedi's life was never in any danger, oh no. In practical terms, this was as safe and effective as any medical procedure. Only, instead of lancing a boil or removing a tumor, they were lancing his pride and excising his ability to tell a lie.

There are as many ways to inflict pain and humiliation as there are stars in the sky. Eralam knew a great many of them, and used them judiciously. A pile of detritus, cast off bits that the Jedi would no longer need, began to pile up next to his prone form.

And, just like that, it was over. There was no need to continue any further; the Chiss by now must surely long for death. None of the injuries inflicted would bring it about quickly enough to be considered a relief. Even left here in the dirt, unable to move, it would take days for the sweet embrace of nothingness to take hold. Or, worse yet, someone might find him and treat his wounds, thus prolonging his agony. That was his fate, whatever happened. Not even the most advanced medical treatment could save him from a life of shameful dependence.

"Tell us what we want to know, and we'll end it for you," Eralam said.

The Chiss stared at him through lidless eyes, tears mingling with blood and flowing freely down his blue skin.

"Why did you attack these people?"

"They worship Sith," the Jedi said, his voice little more than a raspy whisper. "They're evil, and must be purged for the sake of the galaxy."

[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

Dogma never stopped. Across the galaxy it was easy to witness. Folks killed folks because it was exactly what was taught. These Force based groups had it all wrong. Formulating an entire way of life into a regimented set of rules grated against the very natural grain of things. Nothing truly separated the tenants of blind faith or the marching orders of a white-heeled Stormtrooper. Both were making the same compromises for the sake of stability. Such was not sufficient for an old soul like [member="Eralam"], or an old soul like Sybil...

Juggling the delicate dance of pumping the Chiss full of various substances to keep him alive and conscious provided a distinct sense of duality that the Spider Agent appreciated. The methods of interrogation within the First Order weren’t so dramatic as the Shard’s so there was a ghastly silver lining to these proceedings: the joy of learning. There was something both so disgusting and fascinating to watching fleshy bits being surgically removed like a taking apart a children’s toy set down to the duraplast nuts and lugs.

Perhaps now the rising officer of the regime was learning a bit more on the full extent of cruelty. Most of all, a sort of futility of faith was being reinforced by this churlish show.

 

[Eralam]

Eralam frowned for a moment. Or at least, he gave the impression he was frowning.

"Okay. How many of you are out here, hunting?"

"Just my crew," the Jedi rasped. "We had planned to recruit as we went along, kill the ones who wouldn't denounce the Sith and conscript the ones who would."

Despite the gruesome nature of their work, there was surprisingly little blood to be found. The secondary goal of Eralam's ministrations (the primary having been to inflict pain,) was to prevent exsanguination, and to that end, it had been a rousing success. But there were limits to what one could do with torture.

On the one hand, he was quite certain that the subject was incapable of telling all that complicated a lie right now. That, however, was a double edged blade, because extracting detailed information was also going to be tricky. Normally he tried to bring along someone with some skill in mind probing for sessions like this, but he normally had some forewarning. [member="The Major"] almost certainly had some skill in probing one's memories, but the Shard wasn't going to ask.

It wasn't that he thought her incapable of performing the task, or of coping with the aftermath.Within the limited scope of their association, she had proven herself to be quite reliable. If he asked her to go into the Chiss's mind, he was quite sure she would. It would speed his own investigation up by an order of magnitude.

Even in this relatively remote corner of space, there were literally dozens of self-styled Jedi temples, of varying degrees of authenticity. Even before Palpatine's Purge, the strict and repressive nature of the Republic's Jedi had caused untold numbers of renegade Orders to spring up in the backwaters of space. They generally kept a low profile for fear of being branded heretics. After Order 66, most of them went underground entirely. Palpatine's hunters caught some of them, but there were far too many to stamp out completely. In the intervening eight and a half centuries, these isolated orders had flourished. Very few had managed to gain traction on a galactic scale; some operated within a single country, or even a single city.

Trying to track down which order was responsible for this particular oxygen thief was a task that could take months, even years, but every fiber of Eralam's being screamed that this was his task, and his alone.

In the end, he was always alone. His students inevitably went off to do their own thing, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing spectacularly, their time spent with the odd Shard nothing more than a memory. He never relied on them for anything important; trust was given only when earned, and only sparingly at that.

If he asked Sybil to do this, even if she was ultimately incapable of doing so, he would be placing his trust, his very life, in the hands of an organic. One who he barely knew, despite the lingering sense of familiarity. She could quite easily lead him into a trap, or worse, demand to tag along when the time for reckoning came.

He took a metaphorical deep breath. What the hell, he'd played it safe for the last millennium. It was time to take a risk.

"Do you think you can probe his mind?" he asked of Sybil. "I need to know where his temple is, and I don't think he's capable of giving directions right this second."