A Pity, Life DENIED. (Armaiil Kryatir)

[Char]

“Stand! I said STAND, whelp!” Crack!

In the unchecked regions of Coruscant, a line of people ranging from small to large and various is species trudged along bound by their hands, feet, and necks to a long chain. A taskmaster dressed in fine clothes watched gleefully as his servants hustled the catch from the back of a transport. It had taken the man a pretty penny to drag the worthless souls from their own planets, smuggle them through Jedi and NRSF security, and prep them for potential buyers.

Taskmaster slid his eyes over the crop, rubbing his hands together gleefully. Two appointments were already scheduled to arrive soon, one promising a well deserved pay if the captives were to his liking, the other offered a large amount worth more than Taskmasters whole business, yet he schemed on how to sell to both..

[Anuberis]

The Taskmaster doesn't have much longer to scheme, as he soon finds himself at the end of a long, glowing blade. At the other end stands a silver haired man with dog ears, flat orange eyes, and two scars on his face.

"Cease your petty scheming," Anuberis says with his usual low tone. "Get them out for display. The Creator wishes to see them as soon as possible."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil steps up from behind, watching the procession without expression. This is easily the largest selection of potential specimens he has ever seen. They are of all the walks of life, of all races, all genders, all heights, weights, body types...

"Haste, Taskmaster. Speed your slaves' procession."

[Char]

A lump rose in Task's throat, flinching as the blade dug into his soft flesh. "Y-y-es S-ir!"

Edging away from the dog-eared swordsman, He frantically began to shout out long strings of syllables in a quick and choppy language. The Herders, noting thier bosses nervousness, began cracking whips at double speed.

Soon thirty-four bound beings stood in line across the three, all their heads were down with exeption of one blonde haired female with unique cat-like ears poking out from the bright, waist length mane. Some were weak from the trip, as evidence claimed by their slumping shoulders or thin figures. Herders paced back and forth behind the line with whips ready and ears alert for the bosses commands.

"They are all in g..ood shape, Sir," Obvious lie, but he hoped to get past with it, "If you.. ah.. select the choices you wish, I'll set my men to prepping them for... whatever you desire.."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil steps forward, disinterested in the Taskmaster's prattle. He's walking down the row, inspecting each slave in turn, lifting chins, looking into their eyes, testing muscles with a slight squeeze, checking the girls' stomachs. He stops in front of a blonde haired catgirl and folds his arms. She is the only one who wasn't slumped over.

"Your name," he commands.

[Char]

"Char."

She says it with a firm, melodic toned voice. One of the Herders makes a move to strike her from behind, but the Taskmaster catches him with a glare before he could rise the cat-o-nine-tails. Char's eyes, a ice-blue wonder, cast torward the ground in pounded respect and humility..

[Armaiil Kryatir]

She is extremely fit. Her body is slender, curving gently...another of those girls that he dare not spoil with his genetic tinkering. The last girl like this he let go...he's been regretting it ever since.

"This one."

He lifts her chin to look her in the eyes, seeing if she will make contact with his own...

[Char]

She does, Char is unafraid of the man before her.

Task jumps to the point, his hands clasping together tightly upon themselves as he speaks quick common. "Exellent choice! Do you wish for our services of preparing the merchandise for display, free of charge of course!"

He makes some dramatic guestures at the attire she wears now, a garmet which defiles even the most proper of swimsuit like cloths. "I can fit it with a nice flowing dress, or common slacks and shirt if you wish!"

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"She is covered, is she not? I will take her as she is."

She's defiant, this one. He will see what he can do to fix that soon enough. He casts his eyes back down the line. Few of them would make worthy specimens for study, and even fewer stand a chance of surviving the process of alteration.

"This one alone will do."

[Char]

"Very well," Task replies, "Can I see you over here to discuss price and payment method while my men prepare your merchandise for you?"

He motions torward the transport, a basic transaction desk sitting outside the main cargohold. Herders separate the catgirl from the chaingang and fit her with electronic restraints, holding a remote out to the Taskmaster. A wireless leash.

Char shudders involuntarily when the cold metal touched her skin, thoughts of a horrible fate waiting for her. A monster ready to gobble her up, perhaps.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil sneers.

"The price? She is free."

Anuberis stands behind him, defiant, sword at the ready. He is more than capable of killing the lot of them.

"Free, or she costs you your lives."

[Char]

Task's eyes narrow to slits. Instincively the Herders move closer to the trio, but Task isn't dumb enough to throw his life away. War tactics, mainly videos, taught him that the leader is usually taken out first, then his troops scattered.

"Free then," He speaks, stone edged voice rumbing out. "Take it and begone."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Electric collar remote flies to Armaiil's hand, directed there by Anuberis.

"Come. We have important business."

Armaiil leads them back to his speeder. He gets in to drive while Anuberis shoves Char in the passener's seat, taking the chair immediately behind. The car starts with no trouble and turns away, moving off in a meandering pattern to an abandoned sector of the city, where his underground lab is located.

[Char]

Char follows, having no other choice. The collar and cuffs deliver a pulse shock each time she strayed too far from the remote's transponder becon, and unpleasant surprise. Roughly shoved into the speeder, she stares down at her hands and lap as the world sped by.

Scared.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

They pull into an abandoned workshop where speeders were once repaired. Once inside he parks it, and a large elevator platform takes them deep within the planet to his hidden facility...

"Anuberis, when we arrive, you are to take your sister and do reconnisance on your parents. I will deal with our new specimen."

A nod from the back is Anuberis' acknowledgement as the elevator stops. The Jackel's son is gone in a flash, leaivng the Creator alone with Char.

[Char]

The Dog-earred man brushed against Char as he dissappeared into the darkness. She shiveres slightly, causing the bell on her collar to jingle slightly, sounds echo from everwhere and the air is stale.

On her partially exposed body, her modesty saved by the revealing leotard, she could feel a damp head and her own skin brushing against her stomach.

A nervous chill went down her back as she looked up, the man who purchased her was staring her over.. it made Char feel more afraid, added to the suspence so to speak.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil, having acquired a specimen that best suits his description of perfection, is now at a loss with what he should DO with her. She's more timid now...more afraid. Like the anemic girl he released...

"Get out. We are going."

He suits actions to words, opening the door and exiting the speeder. The cold penetrates his clothing, but he pays it no notice. Years of work in the laboratory have given him an immunity to it.

"Haste, girl!" he snaps.

[Char]

She jumps out of the speeder, landing quietly with exeption of the jingle of her bell. Ears low, she follows as slow as possible and speeds up when the collar begins to tingle.

Fear is on her mind, so is questions if she could escape. Attack the man then flee back up the elevator, but.. where would Char go then? There was only a couple billion miles of Coruscant around them.

Taking in a deep breath, she stops when he does in a large theatre like room.

"Its... cold.." Char speaks, wincing when it echos louder than she had hoped..

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Of course."

His voice isn't snappish this time, more matter-of-fact.

"This entire facility is a laboratory meant for experimentation on humanoid specimens."

[Char]

"Experimentation.." Char repeated, glancing back and forth cautiously. Something is outside, rather, not inside the theatre. She can hear scratching against metal, claws. Without knowing it, she inched closer to Armaiil while her attention was destracted by the noises.

Then she bumped into him. Hastily Char retreated back, expecting a harsh retort...

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"They are the Altered. My own horde of creatures, endless, stronger, faster, and more agile than any race this galaxy knows. They are mostly comprised of failures..."

He turns to look at her.

"I wonder if you would be any different?"

[Char]

"What do you mean... different?"

'Oh frell. He's going to experiment on me', She thinks, her eyes dancing for the truth.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Come."

He clasps his hands behind his back and crosses the amphitheater, walking deeper into his lair. Their path takes them past transparisteel cages of altered, nutrient frames with ysalamir lizards clinging to them. His pace is extraordinarily quick; as if in a hurry to get somewhere.

[Char]

Char has to nearly run to keep up with Armaiil, pausing only breifly to glance at one of the creatures in the cages before a steady electric pulse jarrs her back into following.

"Where are we going?"

[Armaiil Kryatir]

He turns a sharp corner and walks through two white double doors. In the center of the room is an operating table supported on a thick, supple pillar. Machines line the walls, meant to measure and calculate mixtures and the status of bodily fluids, such as blood. A tray of tools sits to the side, immaculate, untouched. On a hook near the tools hangs a bloodied labcoat.

"Strip down and get on the table face up. Put your arms above your head and spread your legs shoulder length."

He takes the coat from the wall and puts it on, then begins to prep his tools.

[Char]

"What?" Char blurts, catching herself just after she said it. She's speechless, exception holding for the latter question, but complies quickly inorder to keep from punishment.

It was drilled into each mind. Days of it.

Within a second, she stood nude in the lab. The cold air flowing across every curve of her body, slowly Char moved over to the supported lab and layed across it as instructed. She felt vunerable, weak, helpless...

Arms high above her head and leags spread about shoulder width apart, she closed her eyes and waited doom..

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil straps her down to the table and pulls a stool up next to it, dragging the rollling table of tools up next to him. He doesn't bother with gloves or a mask, and begins to look her over, deciding where to start.

"You began to protest," he notes after a few minutes. "Why did you falter?"

[Char]

"Because..." I was conditioned that way.. "... You are the master.." Char calmly spoke, keeping the melodic tone throughout, "I was... taught to listen... to obey.."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"And if you had disobeyed me...what do you suppose would have been the consequences of such actions?"

Still he can find no satisfactory starting point. He's considering having her turn over. The Creator takes a scalpel and traces the handle in a small circle around her navel, barely touching her enough for it to tingle, considering...thingking...choosing...

[Char]

"Death... A beating.. endless list of choices.." She shivered at the touching, trying to cringe away from the tool.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Death? No, no, that is too harsh a punishment. A beating...perhaps, but the one to administer that is gone at the moment, and I cannot trust an Altered to avoid taking your life by accident. Instead...I think I would punish you the way I did that other poor girl..."

The scalpel handle traces slowly down her body toward her legs before doubling back. He frowns, tapping the tool against his knee.

"Hm..."

[Char]

"Other.. poor... girl?" Char echoed, feeling as if she had jumped from the frying pan into the oven itself. Utterly hepless against the presumeably malevolent will of a mad doctor in a bloody coat.

"Mew.."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Yes, the other poor girl. In...oh..."

He turns and looks to the computer monitor which constantly feeds him updates of Lillian Snow's conditions. How healthy she is, every time she coughs, how many times and whether or not she coughed blood, when she showers, what she eats...most importantly, the countdown timer.

"In...eight months and twenty one days, she will bear my child...that was her punishment."

[Char]

Char could only take in a quick shot of air, it wasn't too bad of a punishment; in her culture it was a way of life. But with the mad Armaiil above her, it seemed blasphmous...

"Whats going to happen to me..?"

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"If I can decide where to frikkin cut you, I'll make some alterations."

He sighs and throws the scapel back onto the tray.

"To hell with it."

He jumps up onto the table, lying over her, supporting his head in his hands as he looks at her, forcing her to make eye contact.

"Tell me about your past."

[Char]

Char shakes her head, there was nothing to tell. "I dont have anything to tell, my past is like any other normal being. I had a mother, father, school work. The whole deal."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"That doesn't explain how you came to be here..." he says with a low menacing tone.

He reaches aside and takes a scalpel, fidgeting with it in his hands.

"Now tell me...your past. Who were your parents, what race were they...where did you attend school...the whole deal."

[Char]

"Reine and Falk, my mother and fathers name. Our race is..." She had to put the name into common terms, "Vah'Shir... I think... I went to school at home for the most part. Our planet was inslaved, we had no technology to defend ourselves with... nothing but stones, arrows, and swords... Survivors were sold off a slaves. Thats the whole deal." She couldn't help it, Char detested talking about anything doing with Rim and summarised it into a jumbled heap when she had to.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Detail!" Armaiil barks. "When you were enslaved, who was your first owner? What did they do to you?"

He wants to know. If she has suffered any past tortures, he will know of them. The slightest of details can make all the difference in an alteration.

[Char]

"I was enslaved seven years ago! One year during transport from Rim to some God-forsaken planet, six years in slave boot camp. Your the first frelling owner! I was beaten, patched, beaten, and patched! A NEVER-FRELLING-ENDING CYCLE!" Her firm tone had escalated to a roar, her head and shoulders pulling off the table as she strained against the buckles.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil strikes her hard across the face, roughly putting her head and shoulders to the table once more.

"A never ending cycle of torture and healing..." he repeats after a time. "Suddenly it's not worth the effort to alter you."

It's best to alter those with no tolerance for pain. People who have suffered little are always better fun.

[Char]

Char’s head rebounded against the metal slab with quite a thwack, blonde hair cascading down. Her face, where Armaiil struck her, inflamed and reddened. His form hid an uncanny strength, Char guessed fearfully, and other things locked in a chest.

Suppressing tears, you cried you died, Char let a little whimper escape her vocals. Suddenly she wished she were back on Rim, as Char did so many times before, on the family land. Her father, the sweet man he was, teaching her the fine points of archery and combat. The teachings did not root well, but Falk was proud of their only offspring nevertheless.

The fantasy past dwindled out; she couldn’t change anything now. The crazy creator standing above her nude, bound, body with a scalpel in one hand and a devious mind filled with malicious thoughts in the other.

"Not.. worth the effort?"

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"No doubt you've learned to cope with the pain. It's no fun if you don't scream."

He puts his feet up on the table, resting his elbows on his knees and resting his face in his hands.

"Pah. I'm losing my edge, it seems."

[Char]

"Uh?"

She shrank as far into the table as possible, loosing his edge? Char couldn't visualise anything worse than laying bare on the table with this guy standing over her, not to mention the cold, stale air.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

He turns over syringes, a bored sigh escaping his lips...that is, until he looks to the counter across from him. His lips curl into a toothy grin, bearing all the world's malice in its expression. He moves to his computer, fervently typing a command. Then, he unstraps Char and hauls her up by those sensitive cat ears, dragging her away down the hall, neglecting to bring the electric collar's remote with him.

[Char]

Char yelps as Armaiil roughly hauls her across the cold floor by her ears alone, the pain itself brings tears to her eyes, until they passed the range of the collar’s remote. Short, stunning shocks flip through her body causing her to fall, the strength zapped instantly from her veins. At the sudden loss of movement, a unimaginable amount of pain flashed through her whole body.

It felt like Armaiil was tearing her ears right from the scalp, tears flowed freely as she whined and tried her best to scramble forward despite the increasing electrical surge through her body.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

He hauls her bodily into the chamber, ignoring the tingle of the electric collar's secondary effects on him. There is a rope and pulley system in this room, with a large vat in the center. It is used to test the resistance of his creations to certain chemicals. He binds her wrists, hauling her up off the ground with the electric wench. He takes a scapel and scores her body deep, making parallel vertical cuts at evenly around her torso. Her legs bear several cuts, and he traces the curvature of her breasts with the scalpel before moving her over the pit. Blood leaks slowly from her cuts, oozing down her body, accentuating every curve with it's red tone.

"Do you know what this vat is filled with?" he roars from his place by the pulley's controls.

[Char]

She’s too dazed from the collar to notice the flaring pain all over her torso and appendages instantly. Her blood drips onto the liquid below with loud plops, and Char feels warmness spreading from the painful spots on down, but her befuddled mind ceased to function properly; she cant feel the danger.

"Do you know what this vat is filled with?"

She tried pulling her head up, the collar moving slightly and sending an amplified shock. Char roars from the involuntary jerk and flaming pain. The ropes around her arms kept the slave from jerking free, yet, and caused evermore pain.

Through the haze of red pain, Char couldn’t fathom what dwindled below..

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"It's quicksilver. Hardly fatal..."

He smiles, lowering her up to her neck in the vat.

"..but then, that's the point entirely."

When the quicksilver enters her bloodstream, it will be as if her body was set ablaze. He can't wait...

[Char]

Even before the first wound touched the liquid, Char let out a scream of pure, unchecked, raging, pain. Ice cold rushed through her veins through the wounds; the feeling was a burning, like fire, yet colder than liquid nitrogen could ever become.

No words could describe the pain which wrecked Char’s body, any man would’ve passed out if the quicksilver had entered even a small scratch but the massive vat kept enough that passing out was a joyous release that was never to come.

Char’s mouth gaped inhumanly wide, her eyes rolling back into her skull as she thrashed about madly and screamed with unholy vigor. Unable to quench the pain, but, fueled it even farther. Her blood mixed with tears and sweat and the quicksilver itself. With her mad thrashing, gobules of the liquid splashed out over the rim, coating the floor in the mirror sheen trademark

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Oh...how sweet. The mad doctor extracts her from the vat, taking a metal cup from the door and walking to the vat. He sits on the edge and dips the container into the liquid, filling it partway. He is careful to get none of it on himself.

"How was that?"

[Char]

Char cant reply, the quicksilver draining off her slowly and still holding within her internal workings. Being taken out of the vat lessened the pain greatly, to her releif.

Her whole body felt cold, hanging in the air with quicksilver draining from every crevice. Char let her head drop to her chest, breathing heavily and sobbing inwardly..

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Can you withstand some more?"

He flings the container's contents upon her, dousing the girl's breasts, letting the quicksilver flow down her body, watching it trace the cuts he has made. He refills, never taking his eyes off her.

[Char]

She flops about like a strung fish, screaming as loud as she could vocalize. This Doctor was a sadistic man, Char couldn't string together any other curses and comm calls to refer to him.

When her vocal cords seemed to unknot themselfs, letting through a harsh, unreconizable whisper, Char croaked. "Noo.. nooo... mor--reee.."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Her pleas fall on deaf ears, as Armaiil douses her several times more, casting the liquid carefully at her body, enjoying the way it's gleam shows off her curves, watching her struggle with a pleasure beyond simple sadism.

"You want to be freed of this pain, hm? I can heal you of this pain, make it so you never feel any kind of pain, ever again. Would you like that? Hm?"

He casts another cupfull of quicksilver onto her.

[Char]

The offer sounds like a sweet elixir, one Char gobbles without thought. "Ye-" She's cut off when some of the liquid sloshes into her open mouth, searing her tounge and throat, causing it lock back up in defence.

"yrggh.."

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"What was that?" he taunts, throwing lower. "I didn't quite hear you."

[Char]

Char dry-heaves once from the liquid inside her mouth combined with the pain it caused. After a few more doucings, she managed to yelp out a meek "Yea" as she slumped back down again, wondering how longer she could live until submitting to darkness.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

"Very well then. But in exchange for your pleasure, you must give me mine."

He smirks, shoulders vibrating with suppressed laughter. This girl, Char, will fulfill the purpose meant for Lillian, or she will continue to suffer here in the quicksilver pit.

"Do you agree?"

[Char]

Char's head bobs up and down slowly, anything to keep out of the gleaming silver.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil moves back to the control for the pulleys and presses a button. The ropes binding her uncoil, dropping her into the quicksilver one last time. He walks back and reaches out, taking her ears once more and dragging her from the silver torture chamber, holding her to the floor.

"From now onward, you will do as I say..." he growls, removing the electric collar. "Or the collar goes back on, with a worse shock put into it, and I will enclose your entire bleeding body in a tank of quicksilver. Do you understand me, girl?"

[Char]

Char nods weakly, twitching and convulsing as the quicksilver raced through her system. What else could she do? Nothing at all, nothing at all...

The collar's pulse dissapearing brought her relief, but greif at the same time. At one time, she would've obeyed the man without a whim, it was what she was trained to do. But now, she would obey him with fear.

She convulsed as another shot of quicksilver hit an untainted area, flaring the cold pain. Fate sealed.

[Armaiil Kryatir]

Armaiil stands, taking her hand and pulling her to a stand. She has agreed to his deal; now he must keep his word, and remove the quicksilver from her system. He carries her to yet another room, one lined with tanks. In these float Altered Beasts, slowly healing of injuries inflicted by his greatest specimens. He places her into one, hooking a breathing mask over her face, closing the capsule and filling it with a cool, soothing liquid.

"Know this. I am the devil himself. I am evil, I am immoral, I am sadistic. But I am a man of my word."