Hugo Montegue
Sep 15th, 2012, 03:09:54 AM
This was familiar.
Though darkness surrounded him, there were sensations that his other senses could percieve. Through the sedative haze he felt the cold durasteel of restraints, and the unflinching frame of the chair to which he was bound. Through the stale air he could make out the faintest hum of power coursing through conduits, and the baseline rumble of a hyperdrive hard at work. A few moments of concentration yielded enough moisture in his throat to unleash a weak grunt, which echoed feebly in the stuffy room: too much for a standard holding cell, but not enough for a more cavernous chamber.
A moment of straining confirmed that his restraints were far too well designed to be easily broken; the chair as well was too robust. He ceased his efforts; weighed his options; searched his mind for any memories that might indicate how he got here. He vaguely remembered a bar, a fight, someone calling his name -
He winced; grunted again. Damned drugs.
He slowed his breathing, eased down his heart rate, and relaxed his muscles as much as his uncomfortable posture would allow. The fact that he couldn't recall who had captured him was irrelevant; the fact that he didn't know why didn't seem to matter, either. Whoever was lurking beyond the doorway - whichever direction that doorway happened to be in - they were bad news, and he needed to conserve as much energy as he could for as long as possible. With luck, he'd need that energy to escape; without luck, he'd need it to endure whatever tortures they had in store.
The first torture was silence, it seemed. Silence and waiting. It wasn't a new tactic, but it wasn't outdated, either: more of a classic. With a little imagination you could mod it - throw on some custom upgrades to really throw your prisoner off - but at it's core it was a reliable fallback. The thing with silence - and darkness - was the way that the humanoid body reacted. Some of the more exotic species had separate glands or organs or ocular structures or whatever - redundant systems that allowed them to hear the faintest of sounds, or see in the faintest of lights. More normal species didn't have that. When you deprived their senses, their senses worked harder. Irises opened, gaping wide. Ears strained, the brain amplifying sounds to try and make out something. It wasn't a voluntary action, either; it just happened. After that - unless you were dealing with a Jedi, or some other damned creature with precognition - any sudden sound or burst of light caught those senses unawares. You could overwhelm them with agonising input, and throw their poor mind for a loop. If you were feeling particularly malicious, you could toss in a little physical stimulus as well - dump a bucket of water or ice over them while they were reeling, to really drive it home. Sure, almost no one was going to break down and tell you everything because of some bright lights, noises, and a cold shower; but it was a start, and was a damn good way to start chipping away at their resolve.
He didn't know these things because he was a torturer. Back when he'd been with Senate Security, the Republic's uptight rules and regulations were too stringent to allow such motivational tactics during interrogations. In his line of work, there wasn't much call for tying people to chairs and asking questions. Hugo Montegue was a hunter: when people hired him, it was because they wanted something put in the ground. And yet, Hugo Montegue knew these things, for two reasons. The first was simple: just like a torturer, a hunter looked for weaknesses they could exploit - when dealing with a target with a weakness to photosensitivity for example, a well-placed flash grenade could work wonders.
The second reason was more sinister. Hugo Montegue knew about torture, because he'd endured it all before (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=19187).
The brightness came like a wave. It was if they'd been watching him; waiting for the exact moment when his memories of that place would lower his guard ever so slightly. Though squeezed tightly closed, Hugo's eyelids glowed red, psychadelic outlines of the overhead lamps dancing around in front of that backdrop. Subconsciously he braced for the sound - the piercing shriek that would pummel his ears. It came, just as expected.
Hugo's stomach dropped. Just as he'd expected.
The ringing in his ears wasn't enough to drown out the next sound. As a hunter, you heard more than just sounds. Footfalls were more than footfalls: they were the signature of the quarry you were hunting. Hugo heard the footsteps; he heard the signature in the stride. In an instant he knew everything he needed to; the height of what approached, the approximate weight; how fast it was; how strong it was; but it wasn't his hunter skills that told him. Not this time.
The door's airtight seal hissed as motors whisked it aside. Hugo didn't need to look: he knew exactly what he'd see. Terror gripped at his chest, but the faintest glimmer of determination clung on. It was futile of course - the vicious creature before him could probably smell his fear a sector away - but he wrestled with it none the less; fought it back enough to let defiance shine through.
"Esalis." His voice didn't sound nearly as confident as he hoped it would. Damned drugs. He managed to level his gaze on her; one glimpse of her chilling gaze made him wish that he hadn't. "We really need to stop meeting like this."
Though darkness surrounded him, there were sensations that his other senses could percieve. Through the sedative haze he felt the cold durasteel of restraints, and the unflinching frame of the chair to which he was bound. Through the stale air he could make out the faintest hum of power coursing through conduits, and the baseline rumble of a hyperdrive hard at work. A few moments of concentration yielded enough moisture in his throat to unleash a weak grunt, which echoed feebly in the stuffy room: too much for a standard holding cell, but not enough for a more cavernous chamber.
A moment of straining confirmed that his restraints were far too well designed to be easily broken; the chair as well was too robust. He ceased his efforts; weighed his options; searched his mind for any memories that might indicate how he got here. He vaguely remembered a bar, a fight, someone calling his name -
He winced; grunted again. Damned drugs.
He slowed his breathing, eased down his heart rate, and relaxed his muscles as much as his uncomfortable posture would allow. The fact that he couldn't recall who had captured him was irrelevant; the fact that he didn't know why didn't seem to matter, either. Whoever was lurking beyond the doorway - whichever direction that doorway happened to be in - they were bad news, and he needed to conserve as much energy as he could for as long as possible. With luck, he'd need that energy to escape; without luck, he'd need it to endure whatever tortures they had in store.
The first torture was silence, it seemed. Silence and waiting. It wasn't a new tactic, but it wasn't outdated, either: more of a classic. With a little imagination you could mod it - throw on some custom upgrades to really throw your prisoner off - but at it's core it was a reliable fallback. The thing with silence - and darkness - was the way that the humanoid body reacted. Some of the more exotic species had separate glands or organs or ocular structures or whatever - redundant systems that allowed them to hear the faintest of sounds, or see in the faintest of lights. More normal species didn't have that. When you deprived their senses, their senses worked harder. Irises opened, gaping wide. Ears strained, the brain amplifying sounds to try and make out something. It wasn't a voluntary action, either; it just happened. After that - unless you were dealing with a Jedi, or some other damned creature with precognition - any sudden sound or burst of light caught those senses unawares. You could overwhelm them with agonising input, and throw their poor mind for a loop. If you were feeling particularly malicious, you could toss in a little physical stimulus as well - dump a bucket of water or ice over them while they were reeling, to really drive it home. Sure, almost no one was going to break down and tell you everything because of some bright lights, noises, and a cold shower; but it was a start, and was a damn good way to start chipping away at their resolve.
He didn't know these things because he was a torturer. Back when he'd been with Senate Security, the Republic's uptight rules and regulations were too stringent to allow such motivational tactics during interrogations. In his line of work, there wasn't much call for tying people to chairs and asking questions. Hugo Montegue was a hunter: when people hired him, it was because they wanted something put in the ground. And yet, Hugo Montegue knew these things, for two reasons. The first was simple: just like a torturer, a hunter looked for weaknesses they could exploit - when dealing with a target with a weakness to photosensitivity for example, a well-placed flash grenade could work wonders.
The second reason was more sinister. Hugo Montegue knew about torture, because he'd endured it all before (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=19187).
The brightness came like a wave. It was if they'd been watching him; waiting for the exact moment when his memories of that place would lower his guard ever so slightly. Though squeezed tightly closed, Hugo's eyelids glowed red, psychadelic outlines of the overhead lamps dancing around in front of that backdrop. Subconsciously he braced for the sound - the piercing shriek that would pummel his ears. It came, just as expected.
Hugo's stomach dropped. Just as he'd expected.
The ringing in his ears wasn't enough to drown out the next sound. As a hunter, you heard more than just sounds. Footfalls were more than footfalls: they were the signature of the quarry you were hunting. Hugo heard the footsteps; he heard the signature in the stride. In an instant he knew everything he needed to; the height of what approached, the approximate weight; how fast it was; how strong it was; but it wasn't his hunter skills that told him. Not this time.
The door's airtight seal hissed as motors whisked it aside. Hugo didn't need to look: he knew exactly what he'd see. Terror gripped at his chest, but the faintest glimmer of determination clung on. It was futile of course - the vicious creature before him could probably smell his fear a sector away - but he wrestled with it none the less; fought it back enough to let defiance shine through.
"Esalis." His voice didn't sound nearly as confident as he hoped it would. Damned drugs. He managed to level his gaze on her; one glimpse of her chilling gaze made him wish that he hadn't. "We really need to stop meeting like this."