Acta Non Est Fabula (Reg)

[Karl the Unfettered]

"You're holding a very dangerous man in there," the old man with the false blue eye said bluntly. "I'm here to relieve you of him before he kills every mother's son and daughter of you."

The Twi'lek woman frowned down at the clipboard in front of her, wondering why the weirdos always came around on her shift. "Look, Mister, uh..."

"Grendelev."

"Grendelev. Look, Mister Grendelev, we don't have anyone in right n-"

"He tried to kill himself last night," the old man said sharply, banging his left fist on the counter; the action echoed more than it should, but there weren't any dents. Yet. "He's a dangerous man who knows far too much about things that don't need to be known and I've got to make sure he doesn't die before he can get to the right people!"

The woman was taken aback, but still held her ground. "Fine, but there's forms to fill out an-"

She was cut short by a badge shoved beneath her nose. A Republic Intelligence badge, that said fancy things about what was undoubtedly a very high-ranking man. "Listen to me very carefully, miss," the old man growled. "Let me pass, or I'll have you arrested for obstructing a high-level Republic investigation!" He fixed her with his sharp blue eyes, one of which was glowing ominously. "And the people in the penal system aren't nearly as nice as I am.

"Now you have a choice," he went on, his voice still low. "You can let me pass, I remove the prisoner, and you never see either of us again. Or you can sit there demanding paperwork and you'll be rotting on Kiffex for the rest of your life!"

With such choices before her, the woman really had no other option. "You may proceed, sir," she replied sweetly, trying desperately to conceal the fear this scary old man inspired in her. "I'll see to it that all the paperwork is processed and signed." She hit a button, and a gate swung open as she muttered something into a microphone.

The rest of the old man's trek through the prison asylum was uneventful; his first ploy had worked like a charm. He was nodded through checkpoints and security scanners without so much as a second glance, though the first glances were often ones of fear or awe; let them fear him, then. They had no idea who he was.

He had come this far, tracking Nazante Vos for the past few months across his systematic demolition of a major branch of Sith intelligence. He knew about Vos' record, which was why he was going through all this trouble in the first place; one didn't simply eradicate one's own existence and one's employers from top to bottom without having a damn good reason.

And that reason, it seemed, was on a priority shuttle straight to Bothawui.

Finally he was led into a padded cell, surrounded by armed guards with lethal weaponry; the subject, a muscular Kiffar male, was bound from head to toe in heavy chains, sedated and suspended in a specially designed Force Cage.

"Wake him up," the old man ordered, "deactivate the cage and give me the keys to his chains. Then leave us in privacy." He turned his head and glared at his escort. "Complete privacy." The guard nodded nervously and went outside; a few minutes later an orderly in a white coat came and injected something into the life-support system the Kiffar was hooked up to, then he handed the old man some keys and a couple of keycards and scurried out of the room.

The door closed behind him, and the old man heard the rustle of electronics powering down. He was alone with the Kiffar.

The old man took a seat and waited for the Kiffar to wake up completely; when he did, he gave the Kiffar a hard stare and said simply:

"You're not done yet, Captain Vos."

[Regnier]

The Kiffar was not the first man to be wrapped in those cold, hard chains, nor would he likely be the last. It was reasons like this that he wore gloves, even when sleeping; there were some things not even sedatives could suppress. In fact, they had been known to make the experience worse from time to time, turning simple flashes and images into full-blown realities, and the realities of the kind of people that had previously occupied those chains were hardly pleasant. Surreal and often disturbing as some may have been, there was no waking up from this circus-act of a dream as it flowed in and out from one place to another, the memories of the chains weaving themselves throughout the natural products of a broken and battered mind.

Of course, none of the staff knew Subject 336751 had been gifted with what was known as psychometry. It was likely most of them didn't even know what that was, though even had they known, it is also likely that they wouldn't have particularly cared at this point. The staff and Subject 336751 had been getting along marvelously so far. Hence the chains. And sedation. And armed guards. The last time he'd escaped and then checked himself back in at the front desk had really pissed somebody off, apparently. Too bad, too, he'd just got solid game of Dejarik going with the gate guard. Not...that he really minded at this point, though. He was more concerned with the Wookiee riding some kind of four-legged animal with hooves and a single horn walking past. Heavy sedation and all that.

"...what in the name of the Void?"

"Wyaaaaaa. Ruh ruh?"

"I'm...good. I think I'm unconscious, though. You?"

"Wyogg, ur oh. Gu waagaa ahawag?"

The Kiffar looked up at the purpley-grayish-blue-green sky that had what may or may not have been flying fish in it for awhile. He shrugged. "Nah. Not for a couple days now, at least."

Then it came, like a kick to the head. All the pretty colors faded and blurred away into blackness, the nice Wookiee and his odd mount shrank away, slowly being replaced with a numb haze. That, in turn, gave way to the cold that had seeped into his bones, a blur of sound, dull light, and dark colors as his eyelids fluttered slightly, slowly forcing themselves open a crack. Then came the migraine, the ache in his eyes as the light hit them, pin pricks up and down his skin from where the chains pinched flesh, and, finally, nausea.

"You're not done yet, Captain Vos."

"...mmm...pfeghnm...mmph..."

The Kiffar blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose.

"...biscuits..."

Eyes opening once more, slowly and only half-way, he shook his head slightly, then turned his head to face the only other occupant of the room, the chains rippling slightly from the movement underneath. His gaze finally focused, his eyes set, returning the man's stare equally. He waited a few seconds for his brain to catch up before saying anything else now that he was semi-coherent. It was a little slow right now, but it was getting there.

The man was obviously not an employee of the wonderful facility he know found himself temporarily contained within, no, but he could tell pretty near what the man was. He was a spook if he'd ever seen one, not broadcasting it plainly for all to see, but to the trained eye...well, it takes one to know one, as they say. More importantly, the man knew his name, and not a cover identity, either, but his honest name. He wasn't sith, else he'd already be strapped to an interrogation table staring at one of those creepy bastards in Intelligence that had trained him how to do it right. There were a few possibilities here and there, most of which were just as quickly passed by for something else, something that made more sense. Honestly, though, there was only one thing that really seemed likely in his mind.

"Republic." He stated more than asked, his voice low and a little hoarse and very, very blunt. He wasn't in the mood for a good runaround just yet, so it was straight to the point, no bull. "Nobody's called me Captain in a long time. I'll assume you want something, so let's hear it, I've got a flight to catch."

[Karl the Unfettered]

For a second, Konstantin was silent as Vos recovered himself, mumbling and babbling about this or that. Once he looked up though, the old spy couldn't help but chuckle. "Biscuits, Captain?" he asked dryly. "So much bloodshed and pointless death, and all you can say for yourself is biscuits?" He shook his head. "Those must have been some tasty biscuits; if you have any left, do share some, would you?"

The old spy took a deep breath, and was serious once again. "I never claimed not to be Republic," he went on levelly. "Kudos for recognizing so quickly." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys, jangling them in front of Vos' face. "You see these? These are my hold over you; I have total control of this situation. Play nice and I'll let you loose, give you a purpose for living once again; refuse to play along and I'll leave you to rot, and ensure you are never released from those chains again."

He glanced at the gloves the Kiffar wore. "Maybe I'll have them take those gloves off, too."

The keys went away, and the old man leaned back in his chair. "Your daughter, Entari. We have not let her out of our sight since we became aware of her existence, and she is safely en route to Coruscant," he went on. "So long as you play nice there is no reason you will not be prevented from seeing her again. I assure you she will not be harmed, unless you count being separated from her father as harm; I don't, but I've never had kids so I wouldn't know.

"But, you indicated a desire to be informed of what we want from you," and he leaned forward again. "We want you to live, Captain Vos. Men of your caliber are as rare as ice on Tatooine, and it would be a shame to see it being wasted in drinking and fleeing for the rest of your life. You have skills, you have knowledge; your organization was dismantled, but it wasn't the only intelligence bureau possessed by the Empire.

"We are at war, Captain, and you are a warrior," he concluded. "You were betrayed by the Sith; you will not be betrayed by the Republic. You will not be betrayed by me. Your daughter will survive, and you will be allowed to see her, perhaps even live with her if you choose to establish permanent residence."

He paused, then added as an afterthought, "And you need not worry about your flight. It has been held for us, for as long as it will take." He settled back once again, his body language clearly indicated he could wait as long as it took, and then some.