Would you step into my parlour... [Rev Run]

[Sarge Potteiger]

The Alliance was facing its first growing pain, and it came directly at the hands of the man in the basement. Well, there were two, actually. One tended to be quiet, kept to himself. The other, apparently, had slept with a Marshall. In doing so, this prisoner had sown the seeds of dissent among the ranks; perhaps realizing he was doing it, perhaps not. Sarge leant towards the latter.

But what baffled him was this; why Coren was so quick to call the man in the cell the Wrath. They bore similarities, yes, and it was likely a clone, yes. The disconnect came from the fact that somehow Chevu was supposed to know this was a clone; or that she should just not sleep with people. In which case, he didn't understand the need to lock the guy up. In fact, about all Sarge knew right was two things.

One; that Gabriel was a tumor lodged in the heart of the Alliance, whether he wanted to be or not.

Two; Coren was also a tumor lodged in the heart of the Alliance, whether he wanted to be or not.

Radicalism would never defeat radicalism. And keeping this man prisoner without talking to him wasn't going to further the cause. He needed specifics. There'd been a trial where the Marshall had been asked to tell her story; but he'd not even heard one was coming. So far as he could tell no one had been given time to prepare. And what baffled him more was that Gabriel hadn't seemed to have been involved at all.

If anyone would have known what happened to Chevu outside of her, it would be him. So why was he excluded and confined to a cell? Because he might lie? Anyone in a trial could attempt to lie. The excuse fell flat. But Sarge still had his own questions as to why they kept saying she'd done this or that with the Wrath. Primarily, intel suggested the Wrath was still doing the rounds elsewhere.

Which said that if Chevu had met Gabe over Taris, it hadn't been the Wrath... while being the Wrath?

"Karking hell." He says, twisting his helmet off and tucking it under an arm. He pushed the door open to the interrogation room, which was just two chairs and a table. Sarge had called for that. Even a Sith would be dumb to try and take him one on one without a weapon in an enclosed space. Gabe would have already been moved up here, and knowing the prisoner he wouldn't have put up a fight at all, which only served to further lend uncertainty to the situation.

Easing his armored bulk into the seat, Gabriel would likely get the first real look at the man in the armor. Tired eyes the color of the void, glistening with moisture like a waterfront at midnight. Unkempt hair, shaggy and brown that fed into a tangled undergrowth for beard. A chewed right cheek spoke to shrapnel scarring and a saber burn over his throat spoke to what had likely been a hostage crisis - one in which he'd been the hostage held at metaphorical gunpoint.

But even though the mans lips curled into an easy smile, there was no mistaking the hunch to his shoulders. His voice, when he spoke, was the rising tide of a tsunami; his body the violence of the instant just after impact. "So, prisoner, let's have a chat, you and I." His helmet was shifted, set atop his knee, and the soldier leaned back in the chair, sizing up the man on the other side of the divide.

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

Being called a prisoner, dehumanized for the moment into just a thing. Gabriel blinked quietly at the dismissive title, rightfully placed. He had been called up for discussion and without contest, followed as asked. They had shackled him in transit, beskar or alchemized maybe, but had removed them upon entry into the room. It felt like an interrogation room, it smelled like an interrogation room, must have been. It had that sinking emptiness, the sort of void easily filled with the ambient silent and the sounds of words spoken from warden and prosecuted. Or in this case, currently unquestioned, cemented into limbo until the Alliance thought differently.

As the armored man sat down, Gabriel placed his hands on the table and held them together. He assumed officers and the like preferred to see the hands during this sort of procedure, especially given this special situation. After all, he had retained most of the abilities from his former body, assuming they were painted deep red in hate or imbued with the corruption of the dark side. He had been known to break tables just like this, though the last time he did it, the quality of the table was shoddy at best.

"Of course." He held out his hand. "I apologize for not introducing myself before. I, of course, know who you are, though I am absent knowledge of your name. We had glancing moments on Manaan and Alderaan, but your armor proceeds you." He wasn't sure the protocol on prisoner and warden but he didn't see any harm in being polite. "I couldn't help you on Alderaan but I was glad to discover that you were successful."

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge felt the narrowing of his eyes at the preferred hand, and an armored gauntlet extended to wrap gloved fingers around his hand for a single, perfunctory shake. "What do you call yourself?" It was an important question, because while everyone had a name, Sarge knew better than anyone that having a name and going by it were two distinct beasts. No acknowledgement was given with regards to the comments on his reputation.

Head tipping to one side, he settled back. "It was the most important mission of my life. Of course I succeeded." His tone spoke of the confidence - or perhaps arrogance - within. He spoke as though there were no other outcome but success. "I've never failed twice." And there it was; his reason for the confidence.

Cira had slipped from his grasp once, and with as much pride as he had, failure a second time was quite literally no longer an option. At least in his mind.

The man before him, though, was an enigma. Studying the man's eyes, face, Sarge blinks with deliberate slowness, scrutiny etched into the lines of his brow. "You can call me Sarge.

But I'm here for you. And more specifically, I'm here for your story. They asked Chevu to speak of her actions, giving her little chance for defense and presuming guilt the moment she sat for her questioning.

I'm curious though, as to your side of events. It was clear to me you weren't consulted - or, that if you were, it was immediately discarded. So tell me... tell me of Taris."

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Sarge, a pleasure. Gabe or Gabriel is fine." He said with a smile. And then Sarge got straight to the point, something Gabriel wasn't happy to hear. "No, I wasn't consulted. I was aware of the trial occurring. Small talk between transitioning prison guards." He exhaled, disappointed. "I've only told Chevu my side of the story and I can only assume that didn't help her in the trial. Though I wanted to thank you for searching for the truth. Because the truth implicates me and pardon's Chevu." He said plainly, more than happy to accept the blame for what happened.

"My story is one of imprisonment. But I'll get straight to this particular event." He pressed his hand against his mouth, moving to his beard, as he recalled the night. "Truthfully, the meeting of Reverance and Chevu was a chance meeting, if you can believe that. He was originally there to torment the local disposed population. He finds excitement in the presentation of hope and then it's destruction. And he has more than enough money and time, as its his hobby. Among other sadistic acts..." He rolled his jaw, looking down at the table. "He spotted Chevu and was instantly taken by her kindness and strength." He smiled, shaking his head. "Something to break. The more it resists, the better."

"So he found a dead child and convinced Chevu to help him find a proper place for burial. Afterwards, he invited Chevu to dinner." He scratched the phantom scar that once enclosed his right crimson eye. Now brown, free of corruption. "Somewhere between that child burial and flirting during dinner, I was transitioned in place of Reverance. It had been so long since I had known the control of my own body, partial as it may have been, and I celebrated my freedom by continuing to spend time with Chevu. Over just a small time frame, she endeared herself to me deeply. Beyond explanation. And we made love. As I'm sure was detailed during the trial."

He looked towards Sarge. "What you must understand is that even if I claim I was in control, I was merely a puppet dancing to Reverance's strings. When he met Chevu, he intended on simply killing her. But when he found my fondness for her, reminding me of my a wife long ago murdered, Reverance developed a different plan. After we had slept together, he intended on taking control and killing Chevu. For his amusement." He rolled his jaw, popping it. "Chevu is the victim. She was deceived and manipulated. She fought on a different battlefield and for her wounds, she is put on trial. She was as much at fault as the soldier who takes a blaster to the leg. The difference being that her strength and passion and kindness catalyzed my change, which in turn meant that Reverance could never again fully take control."

"I was perceived as a weakness so he threw me away. But not before I took most of the memory of that night, including the home base location of the Galactic Alliance."

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Ah, and there, see, is the disconnect." Sarge now immediately had the clarification he sought. "You call yourself Gabe, thus, not Reverence. Reverence must be the Wrath." There was a shifting of his head and a glimmer of understanding to those dark eyes as he set a palm down on the table. "See, here's the thing. Even if none of that is true, I now understand why she is being told she is in trouble.

She slept with Reverence, not you. She mentioned he wore a guise to disguise himself from recognition, but... they call both of you 'Wrath,' and so I was never sure who they were discussing." There was further nodding in understanding.

Then, he began breaking things down, Space Barney style. "So, let me get this straight. A Sith gets his kicks pulling others down with him. That's no surprise. He meets Chevu, starts the long con, you intercede, both help and hinder said long con, and then make your way here, to her. Now, we can't prove you took the information from him, so she did tell him. That I can get being mad about, kind of. No base stays hidden unless you keep the people in it hidden entirely, and we're too active for them not to find the place sooner or later.

But what I'm hearing is a Sith pulled an elaborate ruse, she fell for it - having no reason to suspect a Sith would walk right up to her and ask for help burying a kid - and thus, she treated the Sith as she would any other ally.... leading us to this mess." He snorted in amusement.

"If that sounds right then I understand our current conundrum, though it still doesn't explain why they didn't come speak with you. So how exactly did you separate, and where did you get the body?"

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"No, no one can trust me about the memories. Instead, they merely need look up at the sky - the empty horizon, no One Sith force to speak of." He frowned. "Do you believe that the Wrath would sit on his hands with knowledge of Sullust?" Just then, Gabriel scratched his chin. "I don't know why they didn't speak with me, I'm not in a position to know their minds. Perhaps they intended to discuss things after the fact, as it were."

He raised his eyebrows to the question about how he came to be. "Reverance, after the vong forming of Selvaris, tasked the creation of several clones in his image. Originally, they were meant for a spirit transfer in the case it was needed. Simply put, he longs for death on the battlefield. Even enough to long for it repeatedly." He laughed and shook his head at the idea. "He has no interest in immortality, not like the Sith Lords of old. He merely wants to prolong his enjoyment of things he finds enjoyable. In a way, I guess everyone can relate to that in such simplistic terms. As for how we separated..."

He facially shrugged, flaring his nostrils. "We started out separate. It was only with the murder of my wife and family that we began to slowly merge. Once our minds were fully separated, catalyzed by Chevu, it was simply a matter of me completing a transfer while he remained. Two minds, separated entirely. Of course, he had no holocrons that detailed the process but he had inspected holocrons in the past, taken notes on the off chance that he would need it. And...so it happened, he did. Of course, there were side effects."

He placed his hand on the table, side of palm down with back of hand facing towards Sarge. "We are two sides of the same coin. The transfer stripped my ability to use the darkside and stripped his ability to use the lightside. It also weakened him signficantly, which is what allowed me to escape. He originally had me strapped to a table, intent on killing me after the transfer." He smiled from the side of his mouth. "Reverance has always wanted to kill me but the binding of our bodies prevented it." He paused. "Of course, given that it was the first time we had ever done a transfer, there was the possibility that we would die. Both were willing to take that risk. Me, because it would mean freedom from my prison cell, either way. And for him, it would mean removal of perceived weakness." He smiled, sudden realization of the irony. "From one prison cell to another, albeit slightly larger and a bit more quiet."

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge furrowed his brow a little, all too familiar with essence transfer. There, briefly, in the flicker of those bottomless eyes, came pained understanding. An echo of the past had come to haunt him in the form of a friend's face, exploding violently in front of him as he put a bullet through his face over some petty grievance. Then, again, the same person, years later, a slit throat.

Sometimes he was merciful, though, overdose of sedative, or a quick shot to the back of the head. But not always. Not even the majority of the time. He was in a darker place, and there was a moment where his eyes locked on the table and his eyes faded into another plane of existence, nostrils flaring as he relived memories from less pleasant times. And these were pleasant times, comparatively.

Shaking himself suddenly, he eyed the prisoner again. "So you started out as separate people, then? Or are you a dissociative personality?"

[member="The Revenant"]

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"Parasitic twins." He lifted his right hand and tapped his left shoulder. "I was born Gabriel Adasca on Arkania. Reverance was an almost fulled absorbed parasitic twin, though his head and eyes rested on a partially formed head on my shoulder. Hence why I have DNA of myself and him." He lowered his hand. "My parents removed what remained of the breathing fetus but...well science can't explain the concept of soul or force presence. Maybe it was a disassociate personality or maybe it was the soul of my twin." He inhaled and shrugged shallowly. "Either way, it didn't begin presenting until I was three. Father assumed it was personality disorder but they couldn't find anything wrong. A full year and nothing. And I was blacking out and speaking of another voice in my head."

"So the old man started cutting on me, experimenting on me, trying to get at the root of the problem. I think between the abandonment of my mother and the inability to cure me, my father snapped. He was never a kind man but he teetered over the edge. He was a doctor so he could always fix any injuries. Fingernails grow back after being pulled out, skin heals with grafts or bacta. But I suspect that cruelty cultivated Reverance." He smiled, recalling telling Chevu about this. "He used to say that we all have demons, some just take more digging. I guess he was right." He cleared his throat and exhaled. "So a while after he passed away, I met my wife at 15. She treated me kindly, was a friend when I needed one. By the age of 25, we were married with two children. And then Reverance, in a conscious blackout, killed my family. And in a fleeting moment of lucidity, I pulled out one of my eyes. I tried to take both but he stopped me." He looked towards Sarge. "It was a downhill struggle from there, imprisoned in my own body. Similar to sleep paralysis, but infinite."

He exhaled again. "So to answer your question: I don't know. I just know that if it's dissociation or fracturing of the pysche, then it was fairly convincing."

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge gave a slow nod at that. "Got it. That makes more sense than I expected it to." He'd at least heard of it happening before. "So you're the part of him he didn't want, and Chevu was the thing you both wanted; each in your own way." That drew another slow nod. "Thank you for being so honest with me, Gabe." His opinion wouldn't count for much, but if you could trust a man with your prisoners, you could, hopefully, trust him not to be fooled easily.

It was a bit of a stretch, but he was a four hundred year old warrior from a planet in the Unknown Regions who'd awoken with little memory of his life, far from home on the planet of Dac. Stranger things had happened than multiple personality disorder becoming two people. Hell, he was dating the personification of split personality disorder.

 

[Gabriel Sionoma]

"I was a murderer and a deceiver. One quality I must live with, another changed as soon as I stepped into this body." He said with an almost warm expression, happy to be given the chance for this discourse. He didn't expect much from it but it was important to him, nonetheless. He leaned forward and placed his hands together. "What is to become of Chevu?" He said, seemingly hopeful. They couldn't imprison her for what she did, that seemed at odds with the scope of the Alliance. But there was far more than imprisonment that could be served as punishment. He simply wanted to ascertain the weight of his own crimes, that he might understand how others are punished for his acts and the potency of them.

"Will they call on me for testimony...or is it too late for that?"

[member="Sarge Potteiger"]

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Sarge pushed himself up as the guards came back in to get the man shackled, and he hefted his helmet in both hands. Head leaning forward, it was covered and obscured as his body was sealed to the outside in a protective suit of distance and anonymity. Bringing the orange polarized visor up to regard the man about to be escorted back to his cell, Sarge frowned faintly. "I don't know." He responds honestly, answering both questions at once.

This opened up more questions than it answered, but he finally understood what they'd been so ornery about in the first place. The Wrath had known, briefly. He had presumed she had told Gabriel, rather than the Sith, but at the time they'd been one and the same. Something had occurred, but they couldn't say what, because they couldn't prove that the Wrath didn't know, and if they operated on the assumption that he still knew, then she might well be screwed.

Holding up the guards for a minute, Sarge eyes Gabe from behind the helmet. "I've always believed in justice. But only briefly did I believe in it being blind. I know the errors that can be made - rest assured, I will do my best to make sure she gets a fair shake." And with that, he left the prisoner to be taken to his cell - and his thoughts.