The games we play (Krogen)

[Karl Valten]

People look down on Imperial center and see a pristine city of shining steel and brilliant white marble. Magestic towers dot the landscape and artificial parks bask in the sunlight of the weather controlled atmosphere. As close to an urban paradise as one could get.

Yet underneath lay only the darkness and despair of the undercity, stretching for hundreds of meters. Here where tens, possibly hundreds of billions scraped out a painful living. The flawless crust hiding the ugliness threatening to consume the planet.

Strange to think that the one place on Imperial Center where deception and terror were embraced was just the opposite. The seven black monolithic spires of the Inquisitorial Citadel, cast a haunting shadow on nearby buildings. Each tower covered in archaic gargoyles and carved inscriptions in the ancient High Galactic tongue.

But in the prison warrens, deep beneath the dark complex drowned in blinding light. Hundreds of interconnecting hallways on barren steel, sprawled for what seemed like kilometers. A plain Labyrinth would take weeks to navigate if one had no idea of where to go.

And this was where the Agent was currently walking through, slick black hair, sculpted face, a confident gait, wide smile. Everything about the man boasted handsome, despite the matte black uniform. Behind the Agent marched a quartet of Inquisitorial soldiers.

Twists and turns lead the group to the room where the prisoner was kept between interrogation sessions. This particular Agent hadn’t him yet, but was interested in meeting the young man.

“Mr. Krogen?” The agents voice was cheerful, fluid and melodic, he rapped his knuckles against the door as if he were knocking on a neighbors door. But it wasn’t as if he could hear a response.

The Agent placed his palm on the locking mechanism and the door slid open to a spartan cell. “I am Agent Crestmere, pleased to meet you.” He extended a hand to the prisoner.

[Kyle Krogen]

How long had he been down here? He only assumed it was down because that was the usual location of dungeons. Hard to make such a vast construct above ground without the neighbors noticing, and this place was extensive. He'd seen it when he was brought down here. Sure, he was in a half-drugged state with all the crap they were dumping into his system, but he'd walked all those twists and turns, seen all the side paths and forks. The maze had to be huge. Probably guarded by an oversized cow with an axe too.

The interrogations had been a long affair that happened every day it seemed. He found it all laughable, really. They were asking questions that he really had no answers for. No, he didn't know the location of the Jedi Order, there was none as far as he was concerned. They asked about the locations of other Jedi, he had no answer for them either. Those he had left on Tatooine were clearly not Jedi, only adepts in the need of training, which he never got around to. By now those adepts were scattered around the galaxy, as he had instructed them to do so in the case of his eventual capture, which was marked by him not reporting back to them or coming home on time.

His soundless cell was suddenly punctuated by words. His blue eyes lifted to look through the matted hair that hung in front of face and up into the cheerful face of the Inquisition. Crestmere, eh? Sounded like a posh family name that belonged in an estate on Chandrilla. Family crest, crowns, and all.

"Likewise," He returned, unwilling to act sourly despite his situation. He remained on the floor of the cell, his back against the wall. His fingers spawned and twitched at his sides. All the interrogation drugs had their lingering effects on his nervous system. It would take weeks to clear all the stuff out of his system, and they just kept pumping it right back in. "I don't believe I need to introduce myself, so can we please jump to the part where you stick the needles under my fingernails? I do so enjoy that part. Reminds me of all the druggies back home. You know, those ones that sit on the street corner and tweak out. Twas always a good time to sneak up behind one of 'em and poke 'em with as stick. Like dumping a cat into cold water. Hehe."

The nervous grin on his face was accompanied by a slight tick at the edge of his eye. Perhaps this torture wasn't entirely physical, but his mind never felt better. He felt smart, bright, alert, and smart. Double smart. God, he needed to get out and see the sun. Man was not meant to be locked up. It does things to your head.

[Karl Valten]

Gods, Kyle was a wreck, but he was holding up well considering the circumstances. A frown flickered for moment on Crestmere’s face at the adept’s twitching limbs, he’d have to the interrogators about jumping the prisoners around, the wrong combination of drugs tended to frack their minds faster than wanted.

The Agent leaned against the door frame and crossed his legs and let his arms hang lazily. “I always preferred the tear ducts myself, stuff hits you system faster and harder.” It was nearly impossible to tell if the man was telling the truth or lying with the ever cheerful smile and sunny disposition.

“No needles today, not if I can help it. I saw they stuck you with Agent Skwinneth last time, he usually doesn’t do interrogations, but I guess you’re really throwing them the loop.”

Crestmere shifted his shoulders, trying the get the crick out of his back, and gave a small yawn. “Never was a big fan of those sessions, but you’re under my charge for the brief foreseeable future.”

Giving up, the Agent stood up, stretching his hands behind his head as he did so. “I guess I am your liason or something and your current best friend. I’m sure you don’t want anymore of fun meetings with our staff, but murder of Inquisitorial servants puts you in a bind.”

He kneeled in front of Kyle and lowered his voice as if letting him in on a secret. “But you know what? If you level with me, I’ll level with you and keep the muscle heads (Crestmere jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the black armored guards) off of you…..”

His eyes locked with the adept’s, his face visibly saddened at the nervous tick at the corner of Kyle’s.

“Therefore, Mr. Krogan, I'd like to say we can start this out as friends, will you be my friend, Kyle, may I call you that?"

[Kyle Krogen]

The million credit question was not where we came from, God or evolution, or even if the woman that raised you is in fact your mother and not a prostitute that kidnapped you from your crib, but the question was what in name of all that is bright and beautiful was this man getting at? He walked in here with a pleasant demeanor, a smile on his face, and a skip in his step. He was half expecting the man to begin dancing and singing at any moment. Hopefully he would be wrong on that account. Singing and dancing was not something that should be done together at the same time by the same person.

"Friends would be nice. God knows I could use some down in this hell hole," he replied, his blue eyes locked on the inquisitor's. He was waiting for some sign in the man's eyes, in his movements, something to reveal the intentions behind all the posh and spice. It was like trying to read a Sand Panther's eyes. Your too busy watching the claws to look deep enough into the eyes.

[Karl Valten]

“Excellent.” In some sick way Crestmere’s face managed to brighten even more. The agent sprung to his feet and energetically hauled Krogan up to his feet. “Let’s get going shall we, one more person to pick up before we head topside.”

After making sure the jedi was steady on his feet, Crestmere spun on his heels and pushed past the guards. And for some odd reason the man started humming, not just any song, but one of those annoyingly popular new tunes kids listened to to aggravate their parents.

A few strides down the hall Crestmere glanced back at Krogan and the guards, who where as confused as the poor adept. The agent had shown up out of nowhere, no announcement, no identification, no official rank or class….just…..Agent. It was only whispered that such individuals existed, simply referred to as Agents, even far above the Agent Class IVs and ghosted among the rank structures beneath the Inquisitor levels. They acted upon special assignments directed by Inquisitors personally and were wraith like in existence. And none of the soldiers would dare ask about anything. People died or worse, disappeared, all too often at these levels.

“Chop chop, people, we’re on a schedule here.”

[Kyle Krogen]

He was unable to reply before being hauled to his feet quite suddenly, and painfully. He was expecting to be pushed to the ground again. It had happened enough already. This Imperials are all the same. They get their hands on someone like a force user and they act on instinct and inflict as much pain as they can on that person. He just put them off as jealous, jealous of his powers which they could never hope to attain. Of course, they wouldn't be so cocky if he used his powers on them. Right now he could create a bubble inside their brains and kill them instantly. He could make a grant last stand in here, but actually escaping from an Imperial facility would be much harder, especially if they had air support. He couldn't pull a star destroyer out of orbit after all. It was ludicrous to even try.

The "Agent" was already moving off. Kyle hesitated a moment, and then followed. The guards were right behind him and quickly caught up with his long strides to stand beside him on either side. They were not so quick to let him off so easily.

[Karl Valten]

The group twisted and turned through the painfully bright and perfectly identical halls. It seemed that the Agent might as well have no idea where he was going, though all he did was whistle his annoyingly cheerful tune.

But beneath the happy exterior, Crestmere’s mind kept every facet of attention on Krogan. He would have really preferred playing with this one over the Xanatos boy, even the incessant voices at the back of his mind agreed. Well, the psychotic ones anyway, they were drowning out the others. But Valten had made it clear he didn’t want Victor tormenting Kyle into insanity, but it would be interesting to see how far he could get in the few moments he’d have with the adept.

Crestmere paused his whistling, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
“Sorry about the hike. You know how it is, management never does things efficiently.”

In midstride the Agent about-faced with such fluid grace that it seemed he were gliding over the floor. Despite walking in reverse, he easily made the turn into another corridor.

“Tell me a bit about yourself, I’m kinda curious about the guy who took down a gunship.”

[Kyle Krogen]

This man wasn't charismatic, as Kyle had first interpreted him as and thought it a waste, as charisma does nothing for a man within an organization centered around the acquisition and torture of often innocent people. This guy was crazy rather. Kyle had seen his fair share of crazy people in his time, usually in the form of some darkside cultist who thought he was the big cheese and started a rampage on some backwater planet, only to have Kyle show up to square off against him, to come crashing down on his head like the fist of God.

God always wins, especially when his fists are involved.

"I'm sure your people have a fat book with my name on it. You should, I worked for the bastard Empire before. I'm sure anything I might say would parallel whatever you already have in writing." He said, not really feeling like being too cooperative anymore. It was one thing to get dragged around by an Imperial, it was another thing entirely for that Imperial to poke at his past.

Some things are best left buried.

The thought caused him to look down at his left arm, to the crisscrossing white scars that began at his fingertips and ran all the way up to his arm. They looked like lightning bolts, forever frozen in his skin. Normally he wore a long sleeve to cover it, but they had taken his coat away, leaving him in only his soft black cotton shirt and black pants. The scars were clearly visible, although hard to see due to the pallor of his skin from days away from the sun.

Some sins are unforgivable.

[Karl Valten]

“…bastard Empire…” At that comment the escorting troopers tightened their, one even raising his weapon the club the blasphemer over the head. Nobody insulted the Imperium within earshot of an Inquisitorial servant.

“Hold.” The trooper instantly halted and grudgingly lowered the stock. Crestmere grinned and kept walking. He didn’t need the force to know he had stuck a vein and struck it hard. Unfortunate though, Krogan would be on the defensive…but it wouldn’t matter in the long run.

“The books are bland and lifeless, Mr. Krogan. There is endless information, but no personality. I can’t help you with information alone.”

Victor spun on his heels and leaned against the steel access frame of one of the countless unmarked cells; a look of questioning and concern on his face.

“Translate the information into a story and books say you are a traitor, a terrorist, a murderer, and a threat-level adept. There has to be more to it than that, there has to be a personality and a past behind it.”

Kyle said nothing and Victor didn’t have to be an adept to know that his resentment was groing.

“He thinks you're insane, Agent” The voice drew the gaze of both Victor and Kyle, it was one of the armored people behind the jedi that had spoken. Victor paused a moment, letting Krogan wonder before continuing.

“And he is quite right, Lieutenant. We all have scars of the past.” The Agent gestured to the bright lines on the boy’s arms. “Yours happen to be physical and mine happen to be in my head.”

[Kyle Krogen]

“Translate the information into a story and books say you are a traitor, a terrorist, a murderer, and a threat-level adept.

He lowered his head and glared at Karl, his eyes peeking out from under his eyebrows. "Only a traitor and terrorist by your standards, as if you can ever say the Empire has any. Morals went out the door when the Empire took over, likely because it was chasing after justice, which was also so easily discarded. But I am a murderer. The Imperial youth I kill never deserved to die. They only die because they trust in the Empire, which returns their trust by leading them unjustly," He hissed, through almost clenched teeth. He wanted to crush the man's head with his hands or with the force, it didn't matter. But his soul was already so stained. He did not want it turned black. Not for something as meager as this.

"Is that in your records?" He asked, his body loosening and his face returning back to normal, "I hate the Empire. I hate what it's done, what it does. I hate what it stands for, and more so I hate that I was ever in it's service. Beyond that there is not much left to know about me. I've devoted my life to bringing the Empire down, or as close as I can get to it. That hardly matters now. Locked up here I hardly have anything worth living for... except for a fool's dream."

[Karl Valten]

Victor sadly shook his head and sighed. There had been a glimmer of hope for this one, but that had been extinguished rather quickly.

“It’s a shame really. You're friend Xanatos is being much more cooperative and has already been released. He put in a good word for you and I thought he might be right.”

Victor stepped away from the wall and drew close the Kyle, still the same face and expression, but all their air of friendship vanished. “But you’re too consumed by your jedi code, just another fanatic spouting idealistic rhetoric. You realize you’re just as insane as I am don’t you? The difference is that I accept that. Unfortunately it doesn’t look like you can work your mind around that so I honestly can’t help you anymore.”

A commotion down the hallway drew both their attentions to a woman being escorted down the hall by another pair of guards. Escorted being lightly used in this case, the woman was downright making it difficult for the guards.

“Get your hands OFF OF ME!”

Victor gave Krogen a pat on the shoulder, “Ah good, our second guest. Miss Ross, that is really unnecessary.”

The one was brought to a halt in front of Victor and promptly spat in his face. “Like hell it is you murdering bastards!” She glanced over at the jedi and the guards surrounding him. “They lock you up in this freakshow too?”

Agent Crestmere pulled a tissue from his breast pocket to wipe the saliva away. “Mr. Krogen, allow me to introduce Captain Alexia Ross of the Rebel Alliance.”

Ross turned to yell at Victor, “So what’s it this time? I’m sick and tired of dealing you cronies and the frelling games.”

Victor just smiled and slammed a fist onto the door panel behind him. The doors hissed open to reveal not another cell, but a large turbolift. “Of course, of course. The Grand Inquisitor himself requested both of you in the Cathedral. Up we go, then?”

[Kyle Krogen]

Good for Xanatos. But at what price had he purchased his freedom? He hoped nothing too expensive. As for cooperation, Kyle had been nothing but cooperative this whole time, physically at least. Verbally, perhaps not, but the Inquisitor had been the one that asked him to talk. His fault. Don't give a cannibal rights to eat whatever he wanted, and likewise don't give a rebel the ability to say what he wished. The Inquisitor was either unable to see, or unwilling to accept the fact that he brought that upon himself. The Imperials are all alike.

He watched dismally as the New Republic captain was brought, kicking and screaming. He did not know her, never seen her before, which made the grounds of this encounter less uncomfortable. She was not a bargaining chip to be used against him. She was of no real value to him, save for what a human life was worth, which was increasingly less and less these days.

"After you, Sir Crestmere. Trust me when I say I'll be right behind you." He replied, a smile threatening the corners of his mouth as he enjoyed his own little joke.

[Karl Valten]

“I’m sure.” Agent Crestmere smiled and deliberately turned his back and stepped into the lift. The Jedi wouldn’t make a move and the rebel wouldn’t make move fast enough to do anything. He was enjoying this little game.
<o></o>
The others were herded in behind him. Victor leaned against the back wall and stroked his goatee as if deep in thought. “You two are a confusing bunch.” He waved his finger between the pair like the pendulum of an antique clock.
<o></o>
“Rebel.” Crestmere’s finger rested in Alexia’s direction and ticked the digit back over to Kyle. “Jedi.” Captain Ross's eyes widened as she heard the word and gaped at Kyle. Most people had no idea that the Jedi still existed, even the alliance. Such information would come as a shock.
<o></o>
“The Empire has no personal vendetta against either of you. You are free to do what you wish…and yet you still fight order and stability in the name of what? Freedom? Citizens are free to do as they please for the most part. What is it about chaos that you find so appealing?”

[Kyle Krogen]

Spoken like a true to god brainwashed minion. Crestmere was obviously tipping into the propaganda machine, just like every other Imperial. The Empire had a sense of stability in the sense that it was a constant being. Constantly ruthless and relentless, that is.

"Morals." Kyle replied. "The Empire lacks Morals. You yourself are a member of the Inquisition, a group of soldiers who operate outside and above the law. In essence, you make up the law as you go. Your kind goes out and takes people, tortures them for information, and then either locks them up or kills them. This is not justice. This is brutality. The Empire has turned men into monsters. It has no sense of morals, no sense of proper justice or truth. It hides behind it's propaganda machines and uses strength and fear to keep it's citizens in check. Communism. Dictatorship. Tyranny. Whatever happened to democracy? When people were given a voice and their lives were not just a play thing for those in power."

[Karl Valten]

The <st1:city w:st="on"><st1>Alliance</st1></st1:city> soldier seemed to take heart from the Jedi’s ramblings, relishing the chance for a verbal assault on the Agent.
<o></o>
“The government is the voice of the people, the Republic gave everyone a chance to express the needs of their people and the Senate made sure that everyone would have fair treatment. The Empire took that all away when they dissolved the senate. You don’t lead people; you dominate them and turn them into mindless drones. And if someone just happens to disagree you just into the dust. That isn’t leadership, it’s evil.”
<o></o>
The soldiers shuffled in agitation, the prisoners were spewing blasphemies that should have gotten them shot on the spot. They were a radical minority, only set on disrupting the Imperium and endangering all of her citizens. And the Agent just let them speak!!!
<o></o>
Of course then Victor said something no one in the lift expected.
<o></o>
“You are perfectly right, you know.” Crestmere smiled at the visibly shocked expressions turned in his direction. “To an extent.”
<o></o>
“I am evil. I’ve been responsible for the deaths of millions, soldiers and innocents, men and women, adults and children, loyal Imperials and fanatical terrorists. I helped condemn an entire planet to destruction. You think I don’t realize that I’m a monster? There is no forgiveness for what I’ve done, all I have waiting for me when I die is torment.”
<o></o>
“But I gladly suffer that punishment knowing the others don’t have to suffer with the knowledge that the galaxy isn’t as serene as they think it is. We here at the Inquisitoriate choose to damn ourselves so that others can keep their innocence.
<o></o>
“We accept our role as monsters and demons and we accept that there is nothing that can redeem us.” Crestmere jabbed a finger at the two, an edge creeping into his soothing voice. “But you, you blind yourselves to everything but your convictions. You talk to us about brainwashing? You can’t even accept that you’re as evil as me”<o></o>

[Kyle Krogen]

Kyle had his eyes drop, moving lower until he was looking at the floor. What he said was so true, in a sense, but from the wrong perspective. He was looking at the rebellion through black tinted glasses, the lenses of which were scrawled with Imperial lies and propaganda.

"...You can’t even accept that you’re as evil as me”

That one hit home, and Kyle found his vision drifting to his arm, and the scars that sprawled up it's length. He was brought back to that moment, looking down on the smoking corpses. It had been either him or them, and he had voted for his own survival. He could remember the smell of the smoke and the burning flesh. He could remember the intense pain as part of the spell backfired into his own hand. He remembered the bleeding lacerations all up his arm, and the blackened holes in his fingertips. It was almost as if all the pain he had just enacted on those men was mirrored back into himself, forcing him to share in the torment. They died, he lived, but now he was a cursed man. A jedi by belief, and yet he disagreed with the old mandates of the Jedi Order. He was fueled by anger and a thirst for vengeance that was only kept in check by his vows. He killed that pilot without a second thought. A monster, perhaps, but one that was trying to make amends. Trying to get into heaven.

"What you say is true... to an extent," He replied, throwing the man's words back at him. "So you see yourself as the Shepard who sacrifices himself for the sheep? A savior two takes on the sins of the world so the rest can go free? While noble and just the end might be, the means are wrong. There are better ways to deal. The Inquisition just takes the easy way, not the right way. It is easier to kill a thousand rather then track down the single man you are after. Easier to destroy entire planets then calm it's populace. My actions may cause small ripples in the galactic ocean, but the body count is significantly less." His voice was as calm as ever.

He really wanted to say that he is a Jedi and what he does is what jedi do, helping people, not playing the part of the butcher who cuts off the bad meat. But he could not bring himself to utter the word 'jedi'. He had a hard time considering himself that in this moment.

[Karl Valten]

The Inquisition just takes the easy way, not the right way. It is easier to kill a thousand rather then track down the single man you are after. Easier to destroy entire planets then calm it's populace. My actions may cause small ripples in the galactic ocean, but the body count is significantly less."

Crestmere should have been smirking, it was what was expected by everyone in the lift. But the agent simply wore a look of sympathy, though the beginnings of victory were echoing in his head…or perhaps it was just the clashing of the voices that haunted his mind. The more he pushed the jedi and the rebel, the more difficult it was becoming to shove them aside.
“Do you read any religious texts Mr. Krogan? Did you ever notice how in holy books that whenever gods needed to punish someone, or make an example, or whenever they needed a killing, they sent an angel? Did you ever wonder what a creature like that must be like? A whole existence praising the gods, but one wing always dipped in blood.

Do you understand what it means to be an angel? I have read your jedi archives and the things that the Jedi masters hid from the rest. Angels and demons are of the same stock.”
<o></o>
Alexia glanced back and forth between the jedi and the Imperial, concern washing increasingly over her face. Kyle’s was losing the edge in his voice, he was still stalwart as ever on the outside, but she recognized that look in his eyes. Memories of fighting in the trenches flooded through her head and the hollow eyes of friends that had begun to give up. The jedi was giving in to the frelling bastard’s lies, acknowledging the psychopath’s intent, and it scared her. She truly feared this man, he was different than the other Inquisitoriate lackeys Was he one of Them….an actual Inquisitor.

“That’s a load of dren, don’t listen to him. They’re all the same, twisting you around with words to make you doubt yourself. The jedi protected us, they fought for the people, they kept the peace. Each and every one of them were heroes and it was people like you who betrayed them. YOU DESTROYED UP THE BEST CHANCE THIS GALAXY HAD TO GET ALONG PEACEFULLY!!!”

[Kyle Krogen]

Angels... Why did he have to use Angels?

Kyle had always had such a fondness for Angels, creatures of light and beauty that were believed to be the messengers of Gods, or helpers of the little people. He had always thought of Jedi as Angels, a kind of guiding light in this world of Darkness, who help people and spread the light. God had never factored into his version of Angels. He had never believed in Gods himself. In his opinion they were just selfless deities created in the minds of men as spiritual objects of the force for the everydayman. The force is what he believed in, and he had enjoyed taking the God out of Angels and inserting the Force.

"Do you understand what it means to be an angel?"

He hung his head. "Yes. I do." He said, his voice laced with defeat. Had he known? Not really. But now he did. The Inquisitor had put the God back into Angel and turned the table around. He knew it, but such slander against Angels just sapped Kyle of his will. He didn't want to fight anymore. He wanted to back to his little cell and return to the torture and the tormented sleep.

Because the very thing he shaped himself after had been revealed to be nothing more than glorified murderous agents of Gods.

[Karl Valten]

Noo, don’t give up....
….pathetic whelp, it’s a wonder how the survived so long….
….FIGHT BACK don’t let him win!!!....
….why bother, they always give in…
…look at him….
…worthless…
…please, no….
….give him a chance gods frack it…
...listen to us...
…kill him….
SHUT UP


If Kyle had the concentration to pry into Crestmere’s head he probably would’ve been pushed over the edge at the voice screaming in the Agent’s mind. His punishment for sins committed; forced to live with every being he had ever disguised himself as, every mind that he’d torn apart and taken as his own.

But Agent Victor Crestmere shoved them aside, forcing them back into their cage. He make his own penance later and take victory in the fact that he’d broken another and forced the blind to see his own evils. The jedi at least. His eyes focused on the one called Alexia.

“Peace relies on the idea that many people are innocent and strive to achieve unity through equality.”

The turbolift slid to a halt and opened to reveal a world radically different from the pristine white of the cells below. Arched passage ways of black rock wound and twisted away from the lift only to be lit by the occasional glow panel or data outlet spaced in the archaic warrens. Echoing voices and the hollow clang of machinery reverberated in the darkness.

“There is no such thing as innocence, only degree of guilt.” Victor smiled wide, speaking in his sick honey-sweet voice. “Welcome to the Cathedral.” The troupe followed Crestmere off into the winding catacombs.

[Kyle Krogen]

"What... what is this place?" He asked as his blue eyes searched the dark, blackened corridors. His eyes widened as he was prodded forward by the guards behind him. Stepping off the turbolift, he suddenly felt quite claustrophobic, like the whole building was closing in around him despite that this structure was much larger then the cell he had occupied for what felt like days. The place just felt so unnatural, so synthetic and fake, so dead. All he could feel was man-made objects; machinery and lifeless black stone. There was just nothing living here, save for the people that walked it, and even they felt like they were a far way off.

It made him afraid, it made him edgy, it made him angry. He wanted to get out of this place, now. He wanted wide open spaces and fields of grass to run in. His hands balled into fists and his face hardened. Rather then confront it and riot, he instead turned his thoughts elsewhere. He thought of those kinds of places he'd rather be in instead of concentrating on where he was.

[Karl Valten]

“The Cathedral.” Victor repeated as if that was all the explanation that was needed to describe the archaic looking structure. But for the benefit of the Jedi, Crestmere continued, his voice changing pitch to match that of a well-mannered tour guide.

“Most of the structures on Imperial Centre are several millennia old, some even tens of thousands of years. This style dates back to the gothic age when the Old Republic was just forming. Buildings of this sort have mostly been destroyed and rebuilt or have had their interiors stripped and renovated. When the Inquisitoriate first received its charter the Grand Inquisitor at the time chose to preserve the architecture of this building and what remained of the surrounding towers.”

Alexia glanced around peering down each corridor and examining each alcove. This was the jackpot of intelligence, no Alliance member had ever gotten away with information on the Inquisitoriate organization from the inside. Hell the rebels where in the same boat as everyone…..almost no one ever saw or interacted with an Inquisitor.

Her eyes caught an out of place object as Crestmere wove them through headache of a labyrinth. “I see data and power grid access points.”

Victor laughed at the comment from the rebel. “Observant as always. Of course, the scenery may be gothic, but we are not quite so primitive. Ah here we are.”

The narrow walls suddenly ended and gave way to an enormous chamber with vaulted ceilings disappearing into the shadows barely held at bay by the glow of artificial torches. At the head of the room lay a massive set of doors leading to the suite of chambers used by the Grand Inquisitor.

Alexia’s look of reserved excitement paled slightly at the sight of what was standing guard to the inner sanctum of the Cathedral. Armored figures clad head to toe in heavy armored plating painted a sickening blood-red; each carrying a highly illegal disruptor rifle and an assortment of vicious close combat weapons.

[Kyle Krogen]

Having a name to tack to the visual was not comforting in the slightest. It only gave greater form to the nightmare. The Inquisitor babbled on, but Kyle could not concentrate. He just felt so choked here. He wrapped the force around himself, creating a bubble of peace to separate him from the chaos, and within the bubble he allowed himself to fall into a trance, a meditation of sorts. He was alert, but his mind was put to ease. To anyone else he would just appear to suddenly become more calm and controlled. More emotionless. For Kyle it meant he was not so crazed by the settings.

However, his mind was not dulled completely. He was aware enough to see the crimson, heavily armed guards standing ahead of the group. They did not look the sort to be messed with lightly, and their weapons did look rather threatening. Disruption weaponry was illegal. Everyone knew that. Kyle also knew how useless a lightsabre was against such weaponry. It was just another example of how little morals the Empire possessed.

Monsters.

[Victor Crestmere]

This was always Victor's favorite part. He would bring them in through the dark, gothic corridors, into the main chambers of the Cathedral, and then have them stand in front of the massive doors, which were guarded by two extremely intimidating armored guards wielding probably one of the most illegal weapons in the core worlds, disruptor rifles. In most cases, eighty percent of the prisoners who even made it this far with out having a mental breakdown would now have started screaming out in terror, but the twenty percent, the ones who could compose themselves, like Kyle, it all showed in their faces. The subtle twitch of an eye, the most minute twinge of the lips, or the cheeks drawing back as the condemned tightened their teeth together. Their expressions always told him everything.

"Kyle, did you know that there are 52 muscles in the human face?" Victor asked randomly. Adopting the voice of a teacher lecturing his students. "Yes, 52 and did you also know that it takes 35 of those muscles to frown and only 17 of them to smile?"

Victor could tell by the look on both, Kyle and Alexia's face that they were confused. Sighing as an impatient teacher would, Victor elaborated. "What I mean by all this is, Kyle, take a look at Alexia. What do you see? A beautiful young woman? A glorified Rebel? A terrorist perhaps? Now just concentrate of her face? What does it tell you?" Victor waited a moment for Kyle to say something but before he could, the impatience of his new role as teacher kicked in and he went on with his lecture.

"Everything! That's what it tells you! The way she moves her eyes tells me she is taking in everything she sees right now, the way her nose crinkles up when she looks at me says that I'm nothing more to her then disgusting piece of trash, the way she looks at you, with reverence but also with a lovers gaze...I think she might like you, and finally, the way she breaths. Her increased breath rate tells me her heart rate has increased thus demanding more oxygen to process all the things she's feeling and seeing for that matter. On a darker side, it tells me she’s scared. She’s afraid. Afraid that her comrades will never know just how close they are to this place, afraid she’ll never have the chance to see the sun again, and that she is afraid that when she steps through those doors, Death himself will be there waiting to take her away and that the light of the tunnel will be off and all that will be left is the ever lasting darkness.”

Victor didn’t realize just how much he had got caught up in the moment.

…way to go…
…That was way too cool….
…Did you have to do that…
…They’re scared enough as it is…

For once, the voices were true. Looking over at Alexia, Victor could see he had stuck a nerve. She was pale and sweating. Good. It was about time they made some progress with her.

“I say all this because looking at her and then looking at you, I don’t see that same fear. I want to know what’s going on in that spiky head of yours? Is it the Force that hides your fears? Hides your pain away so that we’ll never know just how scared you are or are you just that numb? That detached from society?”

The ruse was gone. This was Victor. This was the man who brought destruction to the planet Alderaan. This was the man who had killed and adopted hundreds of identities and made them his own. This was his game and he enjoyed every second of it.

[Kyle Krogen]

This place, it was like being back on the street. Just like then he was terrified out of his mind, but he still did not let it show, did not let it effect him. He had learned long ago that bravery did not mean existing without fear, it meant doing what needed to be done regardless of the intense fear you may be feeling. This hardly compared to the gang fights and sleepless nights of his childhood. Back then he had not had the force to aid him. Back then he had only his stubbornness and blind courage to see him through the day. The force made him stronger, gave him purpose, and drove him to survive.

His captor continued to speak, an everlasting monologue with no clear purpose in sight beyond dragging out the hopelessness of the moment. Kyle wanted nothing more to punch the man in the face, just to shut him up. He wanted to do something, so hard, but he was weak from his captivity and he knew there was nothing he could do against the odds at hand. Instead he maintained his reverence, his empty expression. Like a monk he stood his ground, unwavering.

"I was taught that fear can only lead to darkness." He said, speaking up at last. "I have nothing to fear. If you strike me down I shall return to the force. From the force we came and to the force we shall return." he spoke as if reciting old teachings, and he was doing just that. His master had Kyle spend hours reciting the Jedi Code and other passages to imprint them in his mind. Never had he been a stickler for the code, until now. Faced with this situation he could think of nothing else but the words that had been branded into his skull by his master. So many years ago.