Xavier stared at his subject through the slits in his mask with little interest. He did not respond. Why even waste time with such trivial questions? Suddenly, he lunged forward grabbing Weebee by the neck and hoisted him a foot off of the ground.
"You will speak when spoken to."
Without even a sound, Fierceshot slammed Weebee hard into the chamber's left wall. He then let the old Molly slide to the floor, crying out in pain. As Weebee struggled to rise to his feet, Xavier snatched out at his beard and forcefully brought him to stand an inch from the end of his mask's eyes.
"I have some questions for you, and I expect you to answer them, understood? If not, you'll be a corpse in tomorrow's scrap metal heap for the furnaces. Now tell me, what did you hear old man?"
Weebee breathing heavily tried to pull away for comfort; the effort was met with a vicious headbutt. The Molly accepted the blow with a loud crack and felt his jawbone dislocate.
"......Wha- wha whadda ye mean whaddid I 'ear? I 'ave no idea what ye're talkin' bout! Don' hit me again! WHAT DO YE MEAN!"
Fierceshot raised his fist and struck the Molly to the floor again, this time leaving him lying on the floor.
"You know very well what I'm talking about old man. You would have heard something that was not meant for your ears not too long ago.... in your store, sitting from behind your counter. From what I understand, you passed a firearm to someone to eliminate one of 'our' men. I don't like that very much.
He lashed out with his foot, kicking Weebee in the ribs.
"DAMNIT! YE DAMN SCOUNDREL! WHO DA HELL AR' YOU! I DIDN'T BEEN DOIN' NUTTIN BUT MINDIN' MY OWN DAMN BUSINES-"
Weebee was cut off by a barrage of kicks delivered to his ribs. Fierceshot then stood him up on his feet, and delivered a blood chilling punch to Weebee's head, knocking him into the wall.
"Wrong answer. Don't tell me things I don't want to hear. Our identity is none of your concern. Your location is none of your concern. From now on the only thing in your life, is me, and where I'm about to drag your ass."
At that moment, Fierceshot slipped a blindfold around Weebee's eyes. He wasted no time binding his arms and gagging him. Gripping Weebee's shoulder tightly, Fierceshot unlocked the interrogation chamber and shoved him out into the corridor. Their destination, the hangar, was where Fierceshot knew he could get Weebee to talk. Marching along steadily, Fierceshot had to periodically backhand Weebee to keep him from struggling.
When at last they reached the hangar, many Raiders gasped in horror as they observed what was both intriguing to them and menacing. The tall stride of the mysterious Fierceshot with a victim in captivity. As the cargo bay to Fierceshot's Sabre lowered, the Raiders knew immediately what was to come, and collectively returned to their labor with chills in their spines.
Weebee could no longer hear the mechanics of the large ship, and knew that he had entered a smaller vessel. However, to his horror, he could now hear shrill cries and terrible sounds of suffering and pain. Suddenly, he could not get over a foreboding feeling that he was going to die here and now, aboard this particular vessel. He felt the blindfold unwrap, and with a glancing gaze at his surroundings, attempted to let out a horrific cry. He was restrained by the mouth gag. He was staring at a terrible prison like area aboard a modified border worlds Sabre. Directly in front of him was a man clutching a severed leg and hugging it close to his body, as if it could somehow restore itself and heal. He caught a glimpse of the crow mask out of his peripheral vision before a giant fist rocketed him into one of the prison cells.
"Welcome to your new home.... that is unless you tell me everything you know. What's that? You can't talk with the gag around your mouth? Keep your tongue close to your bottom jaw, trash...."
Weebee quite confused with what he heard stared dumbfounded as the crow man drew that fearsome knife out of his cloak. He soon realized as the knife was plunging towards his mouth what the crow man meant, and rapidly lowered his tongue. The knife cut through the gag, into the slight opening in his mouth and lightly grazed his tongue. A firey sensation of pain cut through his mouth and he could taste blood.
"Ye're a bloody mad man.... a mad man.... MAD MAD MAD! Don' Hurt me! Where da hell am I?! NO NO NO NO NO! Don' answer dat! I mean.... No orderin' you around at all... o course.... Damn words.... I know nothin'! Please please please understand I know nothin'!"
Fierceshot began approaching the Molly getting ready for another strike but watched amused as one of his Corsair inmates grappled Weebee and pulled him into the cell wall. To his discontent, the starving cannibal bit hard into Weebee's arm tearing a chunk of flesh. Fierceshot quickly severed the arm grasping Weebee, and it fell to the floor pulsating blood. A rancid smell of blood filled the air, choking Weebee, and the sight of the severed arm was the catalyst for him to experience a series of convulsions. Fierceshot disgusted, kicked Weebee hard in the stomach, knocking him rolling in the pool of vomit and blood. The dying Corsair still shrieking, was only a reminder that Fierceshot has control.
Weebee collapsed on the floor, unconscious after enduring the hardships.
Fierceshot unsheathed his dagger and nearly plunged it into the neck of the old man. He stopped himself mid-swing, realizing that the chances are in favor of the man actually knowing nothing. No one had ever resisted his interrogation process, his resilience was an indicator of his innocence. Intrigued, Fierceshot carried the unconscious Weebee back to the interrogation chamber and locked the door. The first man to ever survive his interrogation.... an interesting accomplishment. Fierceshot, stepped out into the hallway, and began heading back towards his ship to open communication with Alcor...
Scene One stood blocking the doorway of the interrogation room. He spoke with his usual distorted voice.
"Did you kill him, Fierceshot?"
"It was unnecessary, he survived my interrogation process. Dump him back on Barrier Gate, he's of no worth to anyone."
Xavier Fierceshot was one of the only people able to stand up to the Scenes of Alcor Wing. Fierceshot, unphased by Scene One's immense stature and height, stood with his arms crossed and beak glistening.
"Anything else?"
"That's all."
Scene One stepped aside to allow Fierceshot to stride past. It was an interesting relationship between the two parties - they both respected the other. Alcor respected Fierceshot's brute force and barbarism to instill fear in his enemies. Fierceshot respected Alcor's professionalism and brute efficiency. They spoke when necessary. Fierceshot returned to his Sabre, Scene One went to the conference room.
------
The two Alcor Scenes entered Ange's room. The tinted-orange air surged into the room behind them. Ange was present, wearing her filtration mask as ordered. Both men approached her to grab her arms to lead her out of the room. That's when Ange struck. As Scene Four reached out his hand to grab her, Ange stabbed with her makeshift dagger at his face. Before the pencil could make contact, Scene Four delivered an earth-shattering uppercut to Ange's chin. Luckily for Ange, she was trained and rolled with the punch. She ended up sprawled on her back, dazed. The two men picked her up between the two of them, and carried her out of the room towards the conference room of the Metropolis.
The two men placed Ange in a seat at the opposite side of a large, circular table surrounded by other seats. Directly in front of her sat a well-built, well-kept, long-haired, bearded man. He sat next to Scene One of Alcor. He showed no signs of hesitation at the sight of Alcor - another rare sight. He spoke with a soft, but firm voice.
"Good day Miss Ange. I'm John Petrucci, leader of the Vagrant Raiders. You are currently on our flagship, the Metropolis. I apologize for the roughness of your journey, but one cannot be too careful when involved in our trade. Here, we can talk in complete secrecy about the Princess and our relationship, away from the prying eyes of... Well, everyone."
Petrucci cleared his throat slightly to allow Ange the chance to reply. Scene One sat with his arms crossed, completely motionless.
"I don't think you understand what you just did. My capture just made you an enemy of Gallia and you will have to pay the consequences. There will not be any mercy for you. This matter is sealed."
She crossed her arms, looking at Petrucci. Whatever they would want to do with her, just entered a whole new level of difficulty.
Petrucci's face changed to one of his very well-known cold stares. He spoke with an icy, direct tone.
Spare me your worthless threats, Miss Ange. You are in absolutely no position to make threats. No one knows where you are. No one knows you are missing. You are on board one of the most secure vessels in the sector, equipped with a scanning array powerful enough to detect any incoming ship within light years, especially one using an unusual fuel source. Any rescue attempt would be futile.
You should consider yourself extremely lucky to be alive. Adder could have easily killed you. We could easily cause you to have an "accident" now. Since this has not occurred, you obviously have value to us.
Do not make me change my mind.
Petrucci sat back, arms crossed, and allowed a moment for his words to sink in.
Petrucci could hear her laugh, the sound muffled by the rebreather.
"But the threat is here, Monsieur Petrucci. You really thought we didn't take any measures ? You are infecteds, we take the appropriate measures when dealing with infecteds. When I volunteered for this mission, I knew the risks, and I knew I could become an infected. We know way too well how you malignants proceed. I am ready for your "accident", Monsieur Petrucci, bring it. "
"Killing you is not in my interest. You are awfully defiant, Miss Ange. You expect death, when there are alternatives..."
At these words, the door opened and the four other Scenes entered the room. Petrucci sat with his arms crossed, while Scene One stood up.
Ange sensed the danger. She sprung to her feet with a punch aimed at one of the men's neck. If it weren't for the decades of training and cardamine-enhanced reflexes, she would have shattered his windpipe. He barely managed to raise his arm to block the punch, but the force of the blow still put him off-balance. Scene Four, the man with the robotic hand, seized Ange's left arm in a iron grip. Ange flung another punch with her right hand, but Scene Five grabbed her arm mid-air. In a practiced manouever, Scenes Four and Five raised Ange's arms above her head from behind, forcing her to her knees in pain. Still struggling, Scene Four placed his heavy boot on her back. Scene Three grabbed her hair and forced her chin upwards, tearing off the filtration mask at the same time. Ange managed to suck in a breath before the mask was removed, she defiantly held fresh air in her lungs. Scene One walked over and reaching into the folds of his cloak, revealed a small black device. Ange shook her head as he attemped to insert the two prongs of the device into her nostrils. He gripped her head to keep it still and forced the prongs in, and activated the device. Small tubes extended from the prongs, and from the sides of the device, locking it in place.
"A moderate dose. Dependent but not enslaved."
Scene One pressed a button on the device. An ominous-sounding hiss resounded through the air. Alcor released its grip on Ange.