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A Dark Tale

Posted on Tue Mar 6th, 2018 @ 8:47am by Rana Jennar

Mission: Shore Leave: Drama At Arcadia
Location: Klingon vessel
Timeline: Just prior to the Starbase attack

He awoke out of a dreamless sleep. He fought to stay asleep, to stay safe, but the struggle was futile. They must have given him something to induce consciousness. Sleep had been his one escape and now they were depriving him of even that. It was hard for him to remember when he had known anything but the darkness. Darkness, terror, pain. He had been interrogated over and over again, even though he knew nothing of value. He'd been beaten and starved for no other reason than his captor's enjoyment. That had broken him. But that paled compared to what one of them had done to him Things he wanted to erase from his memory but knew he never could. The only thing keeping him from giving up entirely was his anchor, his memories.

His eyes flickered open, he couldn't help himself, it was a reflexive action. He knew he was in the same small room he'd been in for days, perhaps weeks. No one was looking his direction at the moment, so he closed his eyes as quickly as they had opened. Being half Vulcan and half Betazoid Rana was a powerful, though undisciplined and untrained telepath. He didn't need his eyes or for that matter his ears especially with the thoughts that were surrounding him. They were chaotic, violent, loud He couldn't tell how many there were, only that there were more than three. None of them were saying anything at that moment, but that only brought him a temporary relief. he knew it was only a matter of time before they would start their routine again.

There was another thing he knew, the one that had hurt, doing things to him he couldn't imagine someone doing to him, or anyone wasn't there. There was a general sense of animosity in the group, but none of it was directed towards him specifically, at least at that moment.

A thought came to him, seemingly out of nowhere. He had, had to be cunning before to survive, to find food. He knew what a replicator was, but it was a fading memory, the replicator had been one of the first things to break. He'd had to get his food the way his ancestors had, by hunting for it. Ever since his capture, he had been the victim, the prey. If he was to survive he'd have to become the hunter, not the hunted.

So, very slowly, very deliberately, he opened his eyes a second time. There were four of those beings that called themselves Klingons. Even if he were full strength and took them by surprise he couldn't take on all of them, it just wasn't possible. And he wasn't even sure if he could stand, much less if he were at full strength. So, for that moment, he could only bide his time. Once more he closed his eyes. not wanting to give himself away. And he listened.

"How do we protect our contact?" he heard one ask.

"I have the perfect answer," replied another, "we eliminate two problems at one time. We frame the diplomat, the Akadian. It causes a rift between them and the Federation, pushing them into our camp, or at least rendering them neutral and cutting them off from the only support that has a chance of protecting them, and it takes the target off our man."

"And the brat?"

"Well DeNarg would like to make him his pet, but even a half-breed doesn't deserve that. He'll be what the Terrans call, collateral damage."

Rana knew, without being told, they were talking about him. He would have had to have been an idiot not to and he was many things but an idiot was not one of them.

"Let's go then we have plans to make," he heard another say. Then they moved out of range of his senses. He lay there in the darkness for several long moments, just glad that he was alone. But his reprieve did not last long. before he knew it, he heard movement. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized what was happening. DeNarg, his tormentor, was in the room and it was the two of them.

The Klingon put a rough hand on the teen's shoulder and eased it down his chest. Rana opened his eyes, which surprised the Klingon. What surprised him more was that he smiled. "I've been waiting," he cooed, "waiting just for you. I'm not going to fight you anymore."

DeNarg wasn's sure if he liked the idea of someone willing to submit to him like that or not. Resistance and overcoming that resistance was part of the game. When Rana reached up and stroked his chin he felt a little electric shock run through him. It was the last thing he'd ever feel. Rana had lifted a knife from the man's side, then plunged it into his gut and ripped up. Blood fountained outward, followed closely by Rana's own bile after he threw up.

Rana had killed before, but never another person. He knew he should feel bad, but after the initial shock of what he'd done, he only felt numb. He pushed the numbness away and the body off the top of him. He picked up himself off the mat he'd been laying on and slowly stood to his feet. He could walk as long as he took things slowly. He relived DeNarg of his uniform. It was bloody and would give him away if he were caught, but it was better than being naked.

He found his way to the doors and, thankfully they hissed open. He was on a vessel of some kind, he knew that now. He'd made his well out of his cell, but if he was to survive, he still had to escape.



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