Retirement's a Bitch

[Naomi Lang]

Whom
<o>



</o> Whom
<o>



</o> Whom
<o>



</o> Whom
<o>



</o> Engines cycling….again. Different this time. They’d moved her to a new vessel after the Inquisitoriate had tracked down the last one. Tracked it down to kill the Director of Intelligence, Grace Van-Derveld, arch-criminal to the Galactic Empire

And to kill her, Naomi Lang, fired by her boss who decided the best use of resources to try and off her. Tracked to the rebel prison barge through a virus that she herself had uploaded to the ship’s navigation and communication systems. Well, through her suit that Alliance techs decided to fiddle with, anyway.

By this time on the old ship, Naomi had already figured out what kind of ship she was on, pilfered several items off of the guards when they brought her food and water, repeatedly hacked the security cameras just to annoy the technicians, and turned her bunk into a workout bench.

But now she just lay back on the cot. Bacta patches were plastered on various parts of her body from burns received during the Inquisitoriate raid. Shoulder was completely bandaged up and her left arm in a sling as well.

Gauss round to the shoulder, luckily is was a clipping shot, a direct hit would have taken a much large chunk of her body with it. Can’t believe they sent that bitch, Reyok, to do the job. Probably still alive even after being shot out an airlock, that freak was too stubborn to die.

Lang let loose a sigh.

Worst pension plan ever.

[Maren Dirge]

With nothing else to do but stare at the ceiling of her cell or pick at the stabs formed over her wounds, Naomi Lang had – at last – given way to sleep. The guards waited until she had been dozing for forty-five minutes before the threw the cell door open and pulled the former Nightmare from her bed. A pair of binders were thrown onto her wrists and a bag was pulled down over her head. It felt as if at least four pairs of hands were on her, pushing and shoving her down the length of a corridor and into another room.

They shoved her down into a chair and locked more binders to her, this time fastening her ankles to the legs of the chair. Then, still not having spoken a word, four sets of footsteps moved away from Naomi Lang and shut a door behind them. The light of a fluorescent lamp illuminated the tiny spaces between the fabric weave of the bag over her head.

“Hello, Ms. Lang,” a female voice said, and moments later the bag was lifted away.

A woman wearing a down-turned smile stood over her. There was another chair identical to the first, both of them without arms, and she sat down in it, placing the bag beneath the chair. Around them, the walls were bare. No windows, no two-way mirrors to permit outside observation. No audio or visual recording equipment. No interrogation or torture equipment. No table to lay open evidence files upon, or pound fists against. Just the two of them, Naomi Lang and Maren Dirge.

Although she had studied the files on her extensively, this was the first time Maren had met the Imperial-in-exile.

“How are you today?”

[Naomi Lang]

“Ughhhhh.” Naomi groaned as she shook her head a bit. That sucked. Been a while since she’d been trussed around like some piece of baggage. The former Nightmare rolled her injured shoulder where she’d been man-handled less than gently. A slight soreness had turned into a pulsing throb.

A cursory glance around the room told her enough about her new predicament. Blank walls, no furnishings, no recording equipment, nothing along the ceiling save a single garish light. Best yet was the clean smell. Not the recycled air of the ship’s scrubbers, but a surgical-sterile smell of nothing.

Lang yawned blinked her eyes, still a bit out of it from the interrupted nap.

“Not bad. Something feels like it’s chaffing my wrists, though. Wonder what that could be?”

The Imperial leaned over to glance at the floor. No drain. Inquisitoriate interrogation rooms always had drains. Well, at least the rebels were finally trying. Not like she had anything to hide this time around.

“I think I like you better than Gracie and Sam. What would be your name, sweetie?”

An annoyingly playful spark glowed in Naomi’s eyes despite her ragged outward appearance. Oh, how she enjoyed being a pain in the ass.

[Maren Dirge]

She watched as Naomi's vision adjusted to the light, and took in what little there was to see in the interrogation room. When Lang sat back in her chair, the twinkle of mischief that others had repeatedly observed in her was there in her eyes. Where others found that defiant glint vexing, Dirge simply folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head, ever so slightly.

“My name is Maren. I'm going to ask you a few questions. You can ask me a few in return, if you like. How does that sound?”

[Naomi Lang]

Maren….Maren….that name didn’t ring a bell at all. First time the alliance didn’t give her anything to work with in terms of leverage. Calm too. In most cases Naomi would have considered that a challenge and made damn well sure she did her best drive Maren up the wall in frustration.

But in the last week she didn’t find she had the energy for that kind of crap. The former Nightmare really didn’t want to put any work into it now that effort would be required….maybe she didn’t even have the energy for it in the first place. Being snarky was a hard habit to break.

In any case, Lang deflated a little bit and rolled her shoulder to ease up the tension.

“You know what? I don’t care, be my guest.”

[Maren Dirge]

Her head cocked to the other side and Maren frowned, not expecting that petulant outburst. She made a mental note, and wondered if captivity had finally ground down the former Nightmare's tenacious wit.

“Excellent. I haven't had a chance to look at your profile yet... so perhaps you could tell me a little about yourself.”

[Naomi Lang]

“Heh, you won’t find anything in profile. According to it, I died seven years ago.”

Naomi was able to manage a small smile at that. The one thing the Inquisition had done right was make sure that she could disappear and not have to worry about her picture showing up on a wanted poster or missing persons report. Everything, medical documentation, funeral service, letter of condolence to her family from the Imperial Army, was thought of.

“Name: Naomi Elizabeth Lang. Home Planet: Chandrila. Family: Mother, father and sister, current location unknown. Attended the Tarkin Institute of Technology majoring in chemistry and chemical engineering...”

Lang spat out the facts rapid-fire from her profile. She’d made sure to memorize every detail of it…or forced to anyway.

“…multiple charges of petty arson and destruction of property. Sentenced to military service after found guilty of assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder. Later charge was overturned. Killed along with twenty-three other trainees by pirates while on a training exercise.”

The former nightmare stopped talking. It wasn’t the information that Maren was looking for. Naomi owed nothing to the Inquisitoriate, but she also sure as hell didn’t owe these alliance terrorists all that much either. Not unless they had something to offer.

[Maren Dirge]

“You look remarkably well, for a corpse.”

It was so quintessentially Imperial to hear that Lang had been supposedly punished for her crimes through enforced military service. Evidently, the Empire had no desire to waste raw, destructive talent by throwing it into a prison when they could channel said talent towards their enemies.

“So they wrote your obituary, drew a line under your old life and thrust you into a new one. That must have been... challenging.”

[Naomi Lang]

Naomi knew that look on Maren’s face. Judgement, plain as day. The woman was probably imagining some vicious and brutal younger Naomi getting the attention of the Inquisitoriate and joining in the slaughter.

“Frak you! Bullshit charges in bullshit a court with a bullshit jury. I watched as other kids in my unit got killed around me without any mercy.”

It’d been a while since she thought back to scant few army months. The whole experience had been hell.

“Why? For paying their way through college? Wanting to get off of a backwater speck of land? Because mommy and daddy would be proud?

Lang took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.

“The Inquisitoriate made me an offer to get away from that crap, start over, and do something about it. I took it.”

[Maren Dirge]

If she'd been carrying a clipboard, Maren would have made a note at that point: anger. For all the reports and recordings she'd studied on Naomi Lang, this was an entirely new pattern of behaviour.

“Ah. It wasn't a matter of.. ideology, then?”

[Naomi Lang]

“You mean ‘rah rah Gloria Imperium’, right?”

Naomi shook her head….and winced at the shock of pain that went through her shoulder. Damn rebels could’ve given he some painkillers at least.

“No. Taking care of corrupt politicians, offing dangerous freaks and crazys, shutting down terrorist cells? Yes.”

The ex-Imperial gave Maren a hard look. Lang wasn’t nearly as good as reading people as, say, Victor, but she still had the training.

“Methodology? We did what had to to get the job done. Plus…I got to study what I wanted and the pay was pretty good.”

[Maren Dirge]

“And that's what matters, after all: the credits.”

Maren's lips tightened into a bitter smile. Strangely enough, she was surprised. Imperial propaganda over-sold the depth of the brainwashing it's citizens had undergone. The brass wanted to believe that everyone – especially people like Lang, who were touted as the elite of the elite – did what they did because they believed in it.

“So, that's the trade you made. Your integrity in exchange for a pay-check and the freedom to indulge your own intellectual curiousity, maybe read a couple of books that were on the Coalition for Progress's blacklist.”

[Naomi Lang]

Naomi smiled sweetly at the woman across from here, though her eyes darkened considerably.

“You mean like bombing a military graduation ceremony with unarmed kids and their families, hijacking supply convoys heading to rim colonies, and supporting black market circles that sell to pirates and terrorist?"

She just shook her head and snorted.

“Man……this freedom and peace thing is definitely the definition of integrity.”

Lang would have definitely made some rude gestures had she the capability to move her wrists that much. Stupid binders were digging into the skin.

“I know I’m going to hell. We’re both monters with no redemption. The difference between you and me is that I acknowledge and accept that instead of telling myself sweet, comforting lies.”

The ex-Nightmare leaned forward.

“So who’s the one lacking integrity, hmmm?”

[Maren Dirge]

“I have always found lying to myself to be.. something of an exercise in futility.”

Maren smiled, though there was nothing sweet about it. She sat back and inhaled, pausing to collect her thoughts.

“What am I supposed to do with you, Naomi?”

[Naomi Lang]

"Heh" If Naomi could have stretched out and kick her legs up onto a table, she would have. "Honestly? The smart thing would be to throw me in the darkest hole you can find.....better idea would be to kill me."

Naomi threw the ideas around so nonchalantly it almost surprised even her....almost. It was true though. If she'd been in the Alliance's sport, she'd have already put a bullet through her skull. Better to end a threat quickly than allow it the possibility of escape and causing more damage

"You couldn't possibly break me...and don't take that as an insult challenge...none of you have the stomach or the creativity of the Inquisitoriate."

A thought came to Naomi's mind and she leaned forward and locked eyes with Maren.

"But.....hmmmm....."

Ideas and plans whirred through Naomi's mind at lightspeed. That was another bonus of the Nightmare augmentation process....she thought at a much, much more faster and focused pace than any normal human possibly could.

Lang simply sat there face to face with Maren. Not speaking. Not blinking. Not saying anything. Not moving.

For minutes on end.

[Jane Starborn]

The door opened, and a dark haired woman stepped inside the interrogation room. She looked at Dirge, and the other woman picked up and walked out, leaving her with the former Inquisitor.

Lang was in the middle of refusing to speak, and Dirge's attempt to beat her at her own game was getting them nowhere. "Naomi Lang. I am Agent Starborn."

Jane sat down, tucking her hair behind her ear and resting her hands on the table. "You wish to die?"

[Naomi Lang]

“Uhhhh, excuse me, but we were having a conversation here.”

New interrogator. In out with the old in with the new.

Good Cop.

Recyclying.

Bad Cop.

Recycling.

Naomi cocked her head, annoyed at the interruption.

“Though to be honest, I do prefer having a pulse.”

[Jane Starborn]

Jane hmmed, and went over what she knew about Agent Lang. It took a few minutes.

"Your tenacity is nearly unmatched, Naomi. There are quite a few notes on your record regarding your antics while in captivity. I see them as a sign of boredom. Not a sign of a death wish. Are you bored, Agent Lang?"

[Naomi Lang]

"Bored?"

Naomi raised an eyebrow and leaned forward...well...leaned forward in the awkward I-have-both-of-my-arms-and-legs-handcuffed-to-a-chair' kind of way.

"You know the large-chested raven-haird girl mentioned something about a profile...what was her name again?"

The former Nightmare mockingly pursed her lips in thought. Hell she would have scratch her chin...but...well...handcuffs.

"Oh! Maren!"

She was being an ass. She really shouldn't be with the people that held the keys to her restraints and governed her life, but she the Alliance was changing things up and that was worth pressing a few buttons.

"Death wish sounds more correct in all honesty. I'll tell you what Sammie had a fun little game she and I played. I ask a question, you answer. Then I do the same for you."

Naomi cocked her head, her tone much more seriously.

"What does your psychological profile of my...'tenure'...in your care conclude?"