ooc: Okay, so there might me unfinished business in Weavon before this. Just put events prior to this but posted afterward in the right order with your mind. u.u
Two weeks. Two weeks was how long it had been since Dostaria had been captured by a homely array of aliens and taken to hell. Her captors were not outlaws, they were in fact the government. Dostaria, Caleb, and company had broken the only standing law on Weavon; never aid or constitute in the liberation or rebellion of slaves. Disobeying this unsaid but not unknown law was punishable by anything from death, experimentation, to plain torture.
The first few hours after arriving in this pit were all a terrifying blur. She remembered only being taken in, screaming, crying, and fighting. And fear, there was so much fear, anger too. She had been dragged away from the others; she didn't remember if there had even been a fight. But surely they wouldn't have just let her be taken away? She vividly remembered using her power, and then seeing an alien slump against the wall with blood dribbling out of it's mouth. She had felt no remorse, only a ball cold as ice in it's place. She wasn't sure what happened next, the only memory that survived was a terrible headache.
A short while later she woke up in a stark white medical gown and lying on an operating table. A stuffy gray light surrounded her, the only thing she could see was a cruel looking instrument approach her through the gloom. It was like a scalpel, only it had four blades. Each one had a peculiar pattern cut out on it. The device was strangely human, but with horrible alien modifications that made her heartbeat soar. They're going to cut me! Fear rose in her throat, threatening to suffocate her. She clutched at the sides of the table. She tried to move, to get away, but she couldn't. She'd been drugged. Tears slid down her face as the four blades pierced her skin. She felt it cutting down her side agonizingly slowly. She tried to scream, but a slimy hand was put over her mouth. Whatever she'd been stuck with to make her unable to move hadn't dulled any of her pain. Foolishly, she looked over the claws at her mouth and at the fresh wound. She passed out a second later.
***
This is how the first week went. Dostaria would be cut open, then finally pass out from pain or blood loss. Every time she was operated on, she'd wake up about ten minutes later completely stitched up. She could only wonder in horror and disgust what they were doing to her. She could feel herself becoming less and less human as the days passed. These aliens were stealing from her, they'd taken every humane thought she'd ever had and crushed it into dust.
***
Dostaria flicked her red optics around her quarters. It was a small room, with depressingly tangible concrete walls and floors. There was a window straight above her that let in light. The window (which was more like a hole in the ceiling) was big enough for her to fit through. Freedom was so agonizingly close, it would have driven her insane if she weren't so inebriated. Looking straight up through it, she could see the parched red Weavon sky. She stared at the sun off to one side of the porthole, but quickly looked away because of it's brightness. There were few other points if interest in her room; a bed and some sort of toilet. The Weavonites provided her with one disgusting meal a day. She had no idea what it was; but at least it was food. When she wasn't being operated on she either ate or slept, or tried to. She didn't think about much, grasping the thoughts that ran through her head was like trying to grab smoke. But somehow she couldn't clear her mind. She kept the hope that she would be freed from this place before they were allowed to do their worst; if it could get any worse. She knew that right now she was of use to them, humans were not only worth near millions on the slave market, they were also one of the most sought after specimens in the galaxy for research. By now it was no secret that most humans had some extraordinary power. If the secret to their mystical ability to run at the speed of sound or manipulate the very fabric of the dimension were discovered then ultimate power would be less than an inch away. They definitely wouldn't kill her for a good while, or at all. She'd probably be sold. To where and for what purpose, she had no idea. If no one came to her rescue, she would save herself. If she had to kill every alien here to be freed, she would. What would Caleb think of this? He'd probably hate it, but what did it matter? He was dead. All the more reason to end these monsters' miserable lives. Besides brooding on her often murderous thoughts, she kept her eyes open for any details that might aid in her escape, but there were none. The only thing that stuck out in her mind was a peculiar symbol, she recognized it from somewhere but she couldn't remember exactly what it was.
***
"Do you know what's happening here, human?" The Wormholemace's series of unintelligible clicks and whines were translated into plain English by Dostaria's auto-translating chip. Her torturer paced across the dark room in long, almost gorilla-like strides, waiting for an answer. He (she assumed it was male) was tall and skinny, but under his pasty white skin bulged powerful muscles.
"Yes," Dostaria's voice came out in a drawl. Apparently the drugs that ran through her veins impaired her speech as well. She sounded like a drunk, but the Wormholemace didn't seem to care. God, if only she could use her power. He'd be dead in less than a minute. Why was she even answering his questions? Perhaps it was to see if she still possessed even the same voice. She felt so different, part machine part human More machine. She clenched her arm against the strips of leather that restrained her. She didn't feel the same, not at all. She was tied to a steel chair with a long back that went a few feet above her head. Her arms and legs were bound to the chair, but it's not like she could move anyway.
"Good." He moved in closer until his smooth face was just inches away from her's. He was so vile. His razor sharp teeth were bared into a snarl, or maybe it was a smile. There was no difference. "I didn't want to have to explain." Without another word, he pulled out something familiar. A whip, or some alien interpretation of one. It seemed to be made of blue energy, hissing and pulsing evilly. He drew his long arm back and brought it forward again, causing the whip to graze Dostaria's bare thigh. She let out a yelp, almost like an animal. The torturer smiled as he'd done before. The wound sizzled, like she'd just been burned. Pain exploded in every nerve the whip touched. It was like she'd just been stung by a supercharged jellyfish. Why were they doing this? Was there something they needed to know? What could she possibly tell them; she and Caleb's mission had been a failure as far as she knew. He was dead, and Kenji had probably been executed.
This time, the torturer hit her like he meant it. His face was almost gleeful, like a child on Christmas day. She gasped in pain as it connected with her midriff. The energy wrapped around her waist like it had a will of it's own. Stop. Please, please stop. She closed her eyes as hard as she could until she began to see flares of light. Tears slid down her face unrestrained. what did it matter now to look tough? It didn't. Nothing mattered anymore except surviving, just surviving and escaping. She raised her eyes towards her tormentor. She must have been glaring, because he drew back and hit her again.
"Where did the other human go?" The question was simple, but it perplexed her. He was talking about Caleb, right? But he couldn't have 'gone' anywhere. The Wormholemace must have caught onto her confusion. Plainly exasperated, he explained. "The human got onto ship and flew off of Weavon. Where was it heading?" What ship?
As if he couldn't take her silence anymore, the Wormholemace let the whip fall to the ground and punched her, square in the jaw. Her head flew to the side and collided with the back of the chair she was tied to. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Her jaw hung slack and she wondered if it was broken for a moment, but she wouldn't be able to talk if it had been. She hadn't been lying, she really didn't know anything about it.
The Wormholemace swore, or she thought it did because whatever he'd said didn't register on her translator. His snarl turned into a mask of happiness once more. He walked into the darkness that permeated the room and came back a moment later with a small round device. It looked a bit like a spherical flashlight, with a large button on the side. It was a simple machine by the looks up of it. "You're going to love this." He flicked the switch, and a dark orange light flooded Dostaria's vision. Were they going to blind her with that thing? It didn't seem likely. In a way most unlike her, she snickered.
Suddenly she stopped. The light had thrown her into a world of darkness. She couldn't see or hear anything but the thoughts buzzing through her skull. She felt something hovering around her head, like a bug. The bug dived into her head and turned into a porcupine. The porcupine spun around and around, digging it's quills into every corner of Dostaria's mind. It was as if someone had taken needles, no, knives and stabbed the perimeter of her body. This was a thousand times worse than the whip. She screamed but no sound came. The saw memories flow through her mind, involuntarily she remembered things she didn't even know she could. The ship she and Caleb came to Weavon on, Katesan, Cody and Thomas, Caleb's final goodbye, everything about her trip to Weavon was suddenly laid out before her. Gradually the pained dulled until it was only a dull throb. She woke up then. Her eyelids felt like lead. She could hear the Wormholemace's voice, asking her question after question. And she was answering them.
***
Much to the torturer's displeasure, a voice from an invisible loudspeaker echoed across the dingy room. "Inmate #454 is needed in Laboratory #23 immediately." The Wormholemace's smile dissipated into a tiny frown. Sighing (or at least something close to it) he grabbed her by the arm and cut away her restraints. "So you really don't know." He laughed. "Caleb left you here." She was too tired to care about how he knew Caleb's name or how he supposedly left her.
***
She was carried to a bright white room, Laboratory #23. She was stripped and cleaned, her wounds nearly completely healed. She was even given a haircut and new clothes. What was going on? The monsters that had done their best to hurt her were treating her well. The Weavonites that attended to her did their best to make sure that she was comfortable. After eating another gelatinous gray meal, she was taken outside. The sky was still red and the heat was still present. The sun ignited her headache, she squinted. There, in the sky was a ship. The ship landed very near the facility she was being held in. Three squat alien men got out and hobbled towards her and her alien supervisors. Once they arrived, the newcomers and the Weavonites initiated a fast paced conversation that Dostaria's translating chip couldn't keep up with. After a few minutes of fast paced babbling, one of the squat aliens handed a Weavonite an object that she thought was money. She was being sold! So that's why the Weavonites made sure she looked sharp, so that these pudgy aliens wouldn't think that they were buying a defective human. She studied the fat aliens' features. They were like humanoid pigs. She sneered. All aliens were disgusting. She felt the weight being lifted off her feet as she was carried away by some sort of force field. She looked back on the group of beings she hated so much. Her stare was hollow as her soul, carrying no emotion. She was just sad that she hadn't been able to kill them before she left. Dostaria floated aboard the ship. She was taken straight to her new quarters, which were a definite step up from the pit of before. She collapsed onto the bed, all the memories that had been dredged up earlier swimming through her head. So Caleb wasn't dead. But... did he really leave her? She slept.
