Fortress of the Mind

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Citadel classroom GH-31 lay on one of the lowest levels of the structure once known as the Jedi Temple that the Empire had seen fit to renovate for their uses. There were no windows in the spartan learning environment. The array of seats formed a small amphitheatre capable of hosting thirty pupils. Before them all stood a podium atop a raised dais. Beside that podium stood a device almost no one would recognize. It appeared to be a pivoting rack with cuffs, paired to a computer terminal. The device was an Arakyd GXR-19 Compliance Regulator. It was designed for one grisly purpose - to apply massive amounts of precisely-delivered pain to a subject and to do so without so much as leaving a mark on them. The device was frequently put to use by the feared Imperial Security Bureau, but was also used in multiple officer training programs in order to train the Empire's brightest how to resist - or delay - succumbing to the inevitable.

Situated between the podium and the torture board, Knight Vissica sat upon her haunches, waiting for her designated students to file in.

[Jeryd Redsun]

Jeryd and Nebbil were the first of many to enter the room. When word spread of who was going to be their instructor, every cadet seemed to make preparations to arrive for class at least five minutes early. They entered in single file, filling out the rows in a quiet, orderly fashion, each braving at least one glance at the statuesque Selonian as they walked by. They found their seats in silence, they took out their datapads in silence, and they waited in silence. Deep in the dark bowels of the Citadel, the silence became a presence in its own right, not to be disturbed. And, this silence, coupled with the shrinking sterile nature of their surroundings, hung like an oppressive weight over the room.

Even on all fours, Lady Vissica was an imposing sight, like a monstrous canine beast. Her appearance was at unnatural odds with her eerie placid composure, but Jeryd knew better. He and his fellow cadets had each caught glimpses of the brutality that lay beneath the surface. In particular, Nebbil, for whom he imagined just the sight of her was enough to rekindle all the phantom pains of their first memorable encounter. The military machine never pretended to be patient or gentle; recruits were shaped into the same mould, and if they were unable to change, they were crushed. This, he explained to his unlikely friend, on numerous occasions. Many dismissed Neb as something soft, or pitiful, or, even worse, cowardly. But Jeryd knew better, and, one day, he'd show them all. No. Nebbil would.

[Onika Zepparah]

At Tarkin Memorial, there was a history teacher named Mr. Salazar. He had been tall once, before a war injury left him with a stooped spine and a prosthetic leg that was so unhandy he was forced to walk with a cane. No one knew if it was the same injury that had made him so twisted and spiteful, or if perhaps he'd simply always been that way. He terrorized his students, as if they were personally responsible for ending a glorious military career, all of them lazy, stupid, undisciplined reprobates who wouldn't last a day in basic. As he prowled through the classroom hunched like a vulture, every student knew the dread of feeling a claw-like hand clamping their shoulder, or the sudden gunshot CLANG of that horrible cane across their desk. He never reported discipline problems to the provosts. He preferred to handle them himself, as if he alone were capable of saving the New Order from descent into barbarism.

The first time Onika had entered his classroom, he had made her stand up front, and had expounded at length on Ryloth's long history of occupation and slavery, indicative of its native species' weakness of will and character, further evidenced by their proclivities for carnal pursuits and their parasitic existence within the welfare state, the worst abuse of which was the seduction of high-ranking Imperial citizens in a brazen attempt to elevate themselves beyond their station, a scandalous and mercenary endeavor which should be discouraged in every possible way.

She had been quivering with rage, but managed to ask to return to her seat. That had earned her a stinging swat of Mr. Salazar's cane to the back of the legs that sent her to her knees. She made her way back and, some of them for the first time, saw pity in the eyes of her classmates.

So when Onika slipped into her seat next to Jeryd and Nebbil, she did so with her head held high and her eyes unflinching on the Selonian waiting at the front of the room.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Cadet Par'Vizal could probably count on one hand the number of hours it had taken between his official arrival at the Citadel and the time it took to hear his first rumor about the dreaded Lady Vissica. There were some that claimed she was a wild beast barely controlled by The Empire, others that said she was the single most ruthless Knight within the entirety of the Order, and yet others had more lavish and outlandish things to say that if even a micron of what he heard was true, probably wouldn't exactly be appreciated by the Lady in question.

So when his course schedule came with a class with the infamous Knight's name attached as the instructor, Jensen was suitably wary. The Interrogation part of the lesson plan sounded interesting enough; it'd be nice to see and learn how it was done properly rather than certain dullards that sprung to mind. The Resistance part, however, well... He tried to not make assumptions about what exactly that would entail or if the cadets would be experiencing first hand just how pitiless Knight Vissica truly was.

His desire to keep from leaping to conclusions or giving weight to the gossip was challenged as he entered the classroom and took everything in. The sight of the Selonian waiting on the cadets to assemble, the strange and ominous looking device before her, but what truly stood out was the silence in the room. There were no hushed whispers or banter from his fellow pupils and that alone spoke volumes.

[Khoovi Wan]

"You will do fine."

A hand brushed through the fur on his head, and he spared her an unbelieving look. The seventeen year old Chiss girl refrained from cooing, but she did smile very slightly at the preteen Shistavanen.

"This class, and Vissica more than any other, is about gaining the experience and knowledge necessary to complete an objective. You'll be fine. Things will remain difficult until your body grows more."

She placed his cap on his head and he nodded, his face set in a serious mood.

"Thanks," he said. She nodded in return, and went back to reading her book as he marched out of the garden room.

"So cute," she breathed, swiping a hand across the screen.

Five minutes later and more than fifty floors down, Khoovi entered the amphitheatre and moved to one of the first empty seats he could find that was mostly isolated from the other students. He sat in front of Onika and Jeryd and Nebbil, closer to the girl.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica continued to survey the room. A few stragglers were finding their seats. She wouldn't bother being draconian with the management of their time. If they were late to class and missed important information, they did so at their own peril. The Selonian rose from her haunches to her full vertical height at over seven feet.

"My name is Matatek Sel Vissica." the alien's voice carried the room, clear but with a baritone gravel to it. She laconically circumnavigated the podium until she stood behind it.

"I am your instructor today for Interrogation Application and Resistance. By now you have learned many things in your progression as Knight Cadets. How to use the force. How to wield a lightsaber. The tactics necessary to excel in starfighter combat. The strategies required to lead others in battle."

Vissica paused, wetting her muzzle with a pass of her tongue.

"These are all foundations a Knight candidate must possess, but I will burden you further with one that is no less vital. The title of this course contains a duality. Interrogation, and the resistance of it."

Her whiskers rose.

"I could have simply called this course Truth, because that is the objective. Attack to obtain. Defend to withold. Each of you have likely been learning the basic tactics your entire lives as a means of survival."

Scanning the crowd, Vissica settled her doll eyes on one student, pointing him out with a clawed digit.

"Cadet Par'Vizal, stand and address the class. What is your most painful secret?"

[Xi Vanadís]

Vanadís hadn't known what to expect from this class.

Well, that wasn't true. She knew exactly what to expect. You couldn't go five minutes in the Citadel without someone mentioning the great and fearsome Vissica, complete with hushed whispers and brutal horror stories. She was ten feet tall, her eyes burned like fire, her mouth dripped with blood, the heads of her enemies were worn across her chest like a bandoleer. She'd sounded at least mildly interesting - more so than any of the other Knights that Vanadís had thus far encountered, at least.

The reality was somewhat less than the stories. She was just an angry Selonian. Sure, a Force powered, lightsaber-wielding angry Selonian, but really? This was the subject of all those horror stories? Frankly, Vanadís was disappointed. It was as if these Imperial asshats had never set foot in the Corellian system, where Selonians just as big and intimidating were a cred for a dozen. It was as if they'd never been outside the Core, and hadn't experienced shark aliens, or giant snake aliens, or shapeshifting tiger aliens, or all of the other weirdness that non-human biology had to offer. Back home, she'd bullseyed bigger and scarier things from a crappy old Incom Skyhopper, and that was considered a suitable after school activity for kids. Getting so intimidated over a creature that on a lot of worlds would just have been considered overgrown vermin? Lame.

Vanadís had been resigned to monotony and boredom; but that slowly changed when she saw it. There was no mistaking the GH-31, though for a minute she thought she must have. No way they'd lend a piece of tech like that to the Citadel as a training tool, right? Or did the Citadel already have one? Were there torture rooms here? Vanadís had perked up a little in her seat, mostly phasing out the intro ramble that Knight Vissica had provided. But that name, that targeted inquiry towards one of the few Cadets Vanadís had bothered to learn the name of? Oh, now that definitely grabbed her attention, and presented the challenge of trying to hide a smile.

Arms folded across her chest, a frown anchored onto her face to keep any other expressions at bay, she shifted in her chair just enough to peer down from the back row of the classroom towards where Jensen had chosen to sit, and waited to hear what juicy details he was about to be compelled into spilling.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

It felt like autopilot as he rose from his seat as instructed, his mind far too occupied with running over the second half of what Lady Vissica had demanded of him. His first instinct was to respond simply and the way he believed, I have no secrets. But that was a lie, and one that his mind was quite keen on reminding him of at that moment.

Images of memories flashed by at an alarming rate and he felt himself turning slightly nauseous as it continued, taking him down avenues within himself that Jensen had tried to board up and lock away. Voices and visuals as clear and crisp as they day they happened played behind his eyes and for one moment he attempted to shut them off completely by staring straight ahead, taking in the details of the classroom, the instructor waiting on his answer, and the silence that he was expected to break. It was a technique he'd learned to use before, flood his head with new information so it couldn't keep dredging up the old.

"I..." He began but faltered and while the room remained quiet, he was certain there were more than enough sardonic smiles going around.

Jensen cleared his throat and tried to stand just a little straighter as he went for try number two.

"If I were to just divulge that information freely it wouldn't be much of a secret." His even tone took some of the disrespect from his words, but Cadet Par'Vizal knew he was treading upon thin ice with his response. "There is nothing to be gained by speaking it so casually, even when ordered to, ma'am. I'm sorry, but I must decline answering your question."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

A rising sound of murmuring issued after Jensen's reply. Vissica killed it with the raising of her paw.

"Very good, Cadet."

Clearly there were faces in the audience that expected some amount of bloodletting in response - be it figurative or literal. The Selonian hadn't asked the question idly, and she was prepared to deal with the unspoken questions in the crowd.

"Obviously this secret has value with Cadet Par'Vizal, and he has refused my request. A basic and logical step in the battle between those who possess the truth, and those who wish to take it. Anyone who surrendered such a sensitive secret uncontested, I would question their fortitude. Why would the Empire choose to safeguard its secrets with someone who surrendered their own so easily?"

Vissica's eyes met Jensen's and she gave a single nod.

"Be seated."

There were more than a few questioning glances still in the group.

"Obviously I, as an interrogator, could have done more to secure Cadet Par'Vizal's hidden knowledge. Cadet Zepparah, stand up."

Vissica awaited the mongrel girl to comply. She beckoned the girl with a paw.

"Stand next to me. I want you to look at Cadet Par'Vizal as I am now. Imagine that you are his interrogator. How would you secure his secret?"

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika heard her blood rushing through her auricle domes as she rose from her seat. Jensen had the golden touch, it seemed - first he'd appeased Knight Cain, and now the dreaded Darth Otter. Already she'd started lining up her own secrets in her head, slotting them into categories. The ones she didn't really care about. The ones that would hurt a little, but sounded like they hurt more. The ones they'd be protecting, which she'd never ever tell unless it was that or death.

She tried very hard not even to think of the one beyond that.

She kept herself as steady as possible as she moved to the front of the room and turned to stand beside that great, furry bulk of an instructor. She hadn't counted on being able to smell Vissica - not an unpleasant scent, something like oiled leather, with an undercurrent of musk like the perfume her mother only wore on special occasions, and then something else as well - a chalky, crackery sort of scent, the kind meant to cover up something worse.

Onika realized suddenly that her senses were opening up the way they always did whenever she was in danger. Which meant she was. That horrible-looking rack with the manacles attached suddenly loomed large in her imagination. She took a deep breath through her nose, the way Palara had taught her, and focused her heightened senses on Jensen Par'Vizal. Her crimson eyes narrowed as she tried to puzzle him out.

"I'd find out what he wants," she said, instinctively. "Whatever's most important to him. Try to make that more important than the secret he's keeping."

She kept her hands still at her sides, since Vissica could see those, but she chewed on her lower lip. For the moment, she wasn't sure if she and Jensen were adversaries or allies.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

"Incentive and disincentive." Vissica clarified, studying the half-breed's inflection and posture as much as she did the girl's words.

"Those are powerful tools, and they give you flexibility on how you wish to negotiate. They rely on two important things."

The Selonian raised a single stout digit in the air.

"You must be completely thorough in understanding your interrogation subject. What do they like? What do they believe? Do they have a faith, creed, or moral underpinning? Do they have a a dependency, vice, or addiction? Who are their associates, friends, and family?"

Vissica placed a paw at Onika's back, between her shoulder blades. She gestured to the students.

"You have had enough time to familiarize yourself with your fellow Knight Cadets. Which one do you know the best?"

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika's spine went rigid at the otter's touch, quite involuntarily. Know? Did she know any of her classmates, beyond names and a grab-bag of trivia? She wasn't exactly social outside of class, and the only other cadet who'd really made much effort in her direction was--

"Cadet Redsun."

Her eyes landed on the human cadet, and she tried very hard to make them say, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Selonian's eyes tracked to Redsun the moment his name cleared Onika's lips. She made a beckoning gesture with her free paw.

"Cadet Redsun, stand."

Vissica waited for the human to comply, turning back to Onika.

"We will attempt to demonstrate your tactics. I will supply Redsun with secret information. You will have twenty minutes to extract it from him. If you succeed, you will merit a twenty point bonus in this course. Your success will cause Cadet Redsun to lose five points, and everyone else to lose two points."

The Selonian squeezed Onika's shoulder with her paw.

"If you fail, you will lose ten points."

[Jeryd Redsun]

Jeryd rose without hesitation, not because he looked forward to being scrutinised in front of the class - quite the contrary - but worse than that was the thought of appearing a coward before them. He straightened his uniform and wove a swift route to the dais at the front of the room, giving his fellow cadet a curt nod as he passed by. Despite the grim connotations, being chosen by Onika was also a point of pride: above all others, and by her own admission, he was the one she knew best. And now the whole class knew it, too.

"Ma'am."

Following Lady Vissica's instruction, he fell into rank, by her side. And, with their backs to Onika, and the rest of the class, the secret was shared. A few words carried on a whisper of fetid breath. Behind him, the silence crystallised. Thereafter, every sound was amplified, and at the same time swallowed by the dark recesses of the claustrophobic amphitheatre; he was even denied the company of his own echoing footsteps. It was an unsettling sensation, designed to make him feel isolated and vulnerable, and it was working. Still, he had a reputation to maintain, and Onika looked anxious enough for the both of them. With a sharp click of his boot, he arrived at attention before his would-be inquisitor.

"Cadet Redsun, reporting for interrogation detail, ma'am."

[Onika Zepparah]

Vissica was a devil. It wasn't enough to set Onika against Jeryd - now the whole class had skin in the game, and Onika stood alone. Her eyes didn't leave Jeryd's as he marched his way to the firing line. She hunted his face for clues as their Selonian taskmaster bent down to whisper in his ear, as if there would be some kind of tell she could use to her advantage. But he was all pride and bravado, just as she knew he'd be. There was no way he'd be the first to crack. He was, of the whole class, probably the worst opponent she could have chosen.

Her eyes were downcast as she slowly stepped toward him, close enough to smell him. Her eyes traveled up the smooth planes of his uniform jacket, over the swell of his chest and the deep creases around his shoulders, up to his broad, honest-looking face. This was closer than she'd ever looked at him before. And she stepped closer, close enough she could have reached to embrace him.

"Look," she whispered, "you know how this is going to go. We're each going to get our turn up here. And it's going to get worse, every time. How long do you think it'll be before one of us is strapped to that..."

Her throat tightened up, and she swallowed, unwilling even to look at the terrible device behind her. She set her hands on his arms.

"We're in this together. We have to help each other. Anything I do to you... you're going to have to do, only worse. To me. To Nebbil. Think about that."

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Anything I do to you... you're going to have to do, only worse. To me."

In that moment, Jeryd's mind was not where it ought to be. Onika was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his neck whenever she spoke. His heart was pounding, and it was not to the erratic rhythm of fear. In the stark light, her eyes gleamed like Balmorran cherry opals; she looked at him in a way that made their surroundings start to fade, like watercolours in the rain. And the words whispered, strange though they were, became secondary to the experience. His thoughts attempted to drift free, to latch onto the implications of what she was saying, only to find themselves anchored to the spot by her sudden electric touch. It was delicate, and complex, and over too soon.

"Nebbil?" he repeated, in confusion. He most certainly did not want to think about that, as Onika had suggested. Of course, his thoughts caught up in the end, and he gave a nod, "You're talking about damage control. If all of us concede defeat, we will each gain and lose the same number of points. No-one will be better or worse off than before, and no-one will have to suffer."

His gaze drifted where Onika's did not dare. The rack was all harsh angles and cold metal. Even at his most curious, he found himself not wanting to know how it worked. Not with Onika this close. When he sought out her soft features again, his face was hard and resolute for all of a second, before dropping in uncertainty.

"I don't know, Onika. It doesn't feel right."

[Onika Zepparah]

She was hoping he could catch on without spelling it out, but at least he'd grasped the prisoner's dilemma their instructor had put them in. The question was how well Vissica understood it herself. The Selonian's outlook was so black and white Onika was sure she had to be actually colorblind. Her eyebrows lowered, stormy and serious.

"And what feels right about a lesson in torturing your friends?" she replied. "Next period we'll be running combat drills together, how's that going to work if we break trust here? Think about who the enemy really is."

She rocked back and forth on her heels, then surged forward onto the balls of her feet so she could put her mouth next to his ear.

"If you want to make it a show, I can give you one. The moment she takes control, we all lose."

[Jeryd Redsun]

It had been a minute, maybe more.

"You're right. I don't want to hurt my friends," Jeryd whispered back, beckoning his eyebrows down from the rafters. This was bordering on blatant exhibitionism, and in front of Lady Vissica, no less. There was a smile that wanted to surface, but he kept it firmly in check, behind a perfectly conflicted grimace, "There cannot be any doubt. Make it believable."

Before Onika could retreat to a safe distance, he turned his head a fraction, just to catch her gaze. Their lips were almost touching.

"I can take it."

One minute, thirty seconds.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika fell away again, just short of making the connection, with the hint of a grateful smile dancing on her lips. It was gone when she turned back toward Vissica, her face schooled into stony resolve.

"I need stun cuffs, ma'am. Or similar restraints."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica spent the past minute and a half glancing at the chrono on her podium. Periodically, she would reach an oversized paw for a stylus, scribbling a cryptic note on a datapad. Onika's request elicited only a raised head and eye contact.

"You have restraints available."

If the girl needed clarity, the Selonian then glanced further to her left at the GXR-19 Compliance Regulator. Among it's myriad of technological control surfaces and interfaces, the board maintained sturdy restraints at the wrists, ankles, neck, and waist.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika followed the Selonian's eyes, and her hands clenched at her sides. "Fine, then," she said, and she stooped to unlace her boots. She kicked them off and gathered up the nylon laces, then moved to the front row and seized Cadet Pharidae's desk, sliding across the floor with a teeth-rattling shriek of metal until it stood at the foot of the podium.

She glared at Jeryd and nodded toward the desk. "Get on."

She sat Jeryd on the short edge of the desk and yanked his shoulders down so he was lying across it. Then she pulled his arms down along the sides and with eyebrow-raising alacrity lashed each of his hands to one of the desk's metal legs using her bootlaces. He couldn't help but grip the durasteel frame, and trying to pull away would only saw the nylon laces into his skin. They were overengineered like everything the Empire made. They wouldn't break easily.

Finally she slipped underneath the desk and tied Jeryd's bootlaces together, around one of the frame's crossbeams so he couldn't escape. He was bound to the desk like a bird in a snare.

Onika looked up at the chrono. Her preparations, while efficient, had taken another four minutes and thirty seconds.

She moved to stand at Jeryd's head, outside his field of view, and lay her hands on his stretched shoulders. Her fingers curled inward, and she began to massage them until they relaxed. She worked her way down his arms, teasing the tension away from his muscles and leaving them tingling. Cadet Catanna muttered something crude to Cadet Jolee. Onika ignored him.

"Have you heard of phantom limb syndrome?" Onika said as she continued her work. "You lose an arm or a leg, but your brain doesn't catch on. It sends you signals from the missing part. Heat. Cold. Pain."

She began drumming her fingers on Jeryd's left arm, up, down, and around every joint. Her other hand tapped the same rhythm on the desk, sending vibrations through the whole frame. Speeding up, slowing down, waxing, waning. She watched the chrono tick by for another valuable minute as she continued her work.

"Funny thing is, you don't need to lose a body part to experience it. I can make your brain believe this desk is part of your body."

The hand on Jeryd's arm stopped. The hand on the desk kept going. Every vibration rattled through the frame, into Jeryd's hand, and up through the bones of his arm.

"Which means that anything I do to the desk..."

Her hand became a fist and pounded down onto the desk's surface with a bang.

"I'm doing to you."

She crouched low and kept on tapping to keep the connection alive. Her lips almost brushed Jeryd's ear. "I can do anything I want, and it won't leave a mark. So what did she tell you?"

[Jeryd Redsun]

Jeryd winced. He saw the punch happen, but from his limited perspective, he had been unable to see where Onika's fist made contact. It certainly felt like a hit. Every muscle in his arm tensed from the impact, and his fingers grasped at the metal. Shortly to follow was the dull ache of a dead arm.

"Hells, Onika! Are you some kind of witch?" he muttered.

It was a fitting description. In a matter of minutes, Jeryd had gone from being under the influence of one kind of spell to something completely different. There had been jokes to be had, at Onika's expense, as she lashed him to the table, but he held his tongue. That was not his role to play. He had hoped to drag out the conversation longer, but his interrogator was industrious, and she was not to be delayed. Still, 8 minutes had gone by, and all he had to show for it was a dead arm. There was something to be said for her ingenuity, and her disturbing knowledge of the mind, but, in the end, all it proved was the lengths she was prepared to go to in order to avoid doing what needed to be done. So he would continue to feed her what she wanted: a pretext to avoid the truth. It was an easy 5 points in the bank.

"I tell you what," he said, the table creaked under him as he attempted to shift his weight to look at her, "If you give me another massage, I might be tempted to tell you everything."

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica hovered over Onika's shoulder, inspecting her handiwork. It had been a very unorthodox technique. The possibility remained that the half-breed simply wasn't prepared to use ruthless means against her fellow student, but even in deprivation of an efficient torture device, Onika's work was thoughtful and inventive.

Jeryd kept his feelings guarded, but even then, Vissica could discern a shift in them.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika was ever conscious of the looming presence behind her. Even without her open senses, one look at Vissica was enough to give you sympathy with your evolutionary forebears trying to lie very still under a clump of ferns while something stalked by with drooling fangs and rancid breath. Was she buying it? This was essentially a parlor trick, something to you used on your friends to blow their minds, or - as the older girl who had taught her had put it - a thrilling bit of bedroom sorcery that went well with blindfolds and silk binders. Could it be used as torture? Onika wasn't really sure. Maybe if the victim was adequately suggestible. Which Jeryd wasn't. As far as she was concerned, he had all the imagination of a cinder block. Which meant she really needed his help to sell this, and -

And he was cracking jokes like a pulp Holonet spy. Onika's face went blank, and she lifted her knee into the underside of the desk, directly underneath his head.

That drew out a satisfying grunt, but it was probably more because of the headache than his arm. She needed something else. A hacksaw. A drill. Something to make him feel like she was cutting through bone. A chain to drag across the desk legs. A knife's edge to scrape along it like nails on a slate.

Ten minutes gone. Her time was halfway up, and she hadn't made any real, meaningful progress. She'd tried to be kind. She'd tried to give him an out. And he was mocking her. She could swallow failure. But she wouldn't swallow her pride.

Onika pulled away from the desk with one final kick that probably hurt her unshod foot more than him. And she turned back to face the class. "I need an assistant," she said. "Cadet Hoob."

This was a desperate gamble. She didn't even know if Vissica would allow it.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Nebbil made a move to stand, and was frozen in place by Vissica's raised paw. He abruptly course corrected to remain in his seat.

"Cadet Hoob already has an incentive to not cooperate with your interrogation. Instead, I will be your assistant."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika turned smoothly toward the Selonian. "With respect, Lady Vissica, Cadet Hoob is uniquely suited for the task. I believe I can provide adequate incentive."

She looked back toward Nebbil and held out a hand of welcome. She smiled and gave him a slight nod, encouraging.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

The Selonian's almond-shaped eyes widened slightly, and she let her breath out in a testy hiss from her nose. Her eyes briefly flicked back to Jeryd, then returned to the half-breed.

"You now have nine minutes, Cadet."

Vissica's torso twisted nearly 180 degrees. She beckoned again for Hoob.

[Jeryd Redsun]

When the cracks started to show in Onika's composure, Jeryd fought to keep his smirk from sight. If he was to keep her believing they were on the same side, forming a united, albeit secretive, front in the face of Lady Vissica's cruel tutelage, he had to play his part. So he grunted, and he hissed, when she lashed out in frustration at the desk. She was expecting him to break too easily. If he confessed his secrets under the influence of her cute massage technique, Vissica would sniff out the deception in an instant. Besides, he wasn't about to crumble from some Twi'leki parlour trick in front of the whole class. He deserved more credit, more dignity, than that.

The sudden change of tactic caught him by surprise. His brow creased as he craned his neck to inspect the rows of spectating cadets. Nebbil rose with uncertainty, as if bracing himself to evade danger at any moment. For the first time since they met, Jeryd was annoyed with his unassuming pink torturer. Why did she have to bring him into it? And directly under Vissica's glare? He cast his mind back to their first day, recalling the sight of Nebbil folding, fetal, from brutal assault at the hands of their ruthless Selonian instructor. And, judging by the look on his friend's face as he approached the grim stage, he was thinking of the same thing. He twisted to get a better look, laces biting into his wrists, and summoned a grin full of confidence.

"Hey, Neb. Easy on the face, okay? I only have the one."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika twisted inside with revulsion at what she was about to do. But to Nebbil, she smiled. She knew, much to her chagrin, exactly how much teeth to show, how deep her dimples should fold, how much her eyes should crinkle, to achieve the precise mixture of inviting and alluring that would draw him in without intimidating him. She reached a hand down to help him up onto the stage and rubbed his knuckles in a small circle with her thumb.

"Thanks, Neb," she said, softly. "Everything will be fine, okay?"

Then she seized him around the shoulders and forced him backwards into the welcoming embrace of the Regulator. Its wrist and ankle restraints found him with unerring efficiency, and with a throaty electronic hum, the machine vibrated to life, its twelve spidery manipulator arms unfolding with a high-pitched wine of twisting servos.

"Wh- What are you doing?" Nebbil cried, voice strained with terror.

Onika stepped behind the control panel, daunted by what she saw, but she kept her outer shell cool and unyielding. Hard red eyes stared at Jeryd's bound form like a statue.

"There's more than one way to make you feel pain at a distance, Jeryd," she said.

[Matatek Sel Vissica]

Vissica's dark eyes brightened a bit at the sight. Although it was perhaps unsavory and manipulative form for a Selonian, the Knight could appreciate the possibility of cold, clean results from the mongrel's treachery.

"Impressive." she crossed her arms, surveying not just Onika's new prisoner, but the state of both the interrogator and her subject.

[Jeryd Redsun]

From the moment Onika walked Nebbil out of sight, Jeryd grew suspicious. There was something off in the way she offered him reassurance, like she was overcompensating for something. When the footsteps turned into a scuffle, Jeryd knew. The snap of metal restraints sent a chill down his spine. He knew, and yet he refused to believe, even as Neb's cry pierced him like a blade, and the hateful buzz of the Regulator churned the collective apprehension of the room into alarm. Jeryd heard the gasps and the startled utterances that punctuated Onika's betrayal, and he pulled against his bindings to catch a glimpse of her, to catch a glimpse of his friend. There was no pretence in his grunting and hissing this time; the laces coiled tighter around his ankles and wrists, making it impossible to see what was going on.

"Onika, what the hell are you doing?" He snapped in his frustration, casting his gaze frantically left and right, until she appeared behind the control panel. Her calm was infuriating, and at repulsive odds with his racing heart. "Don't you dare do this!"