The Interrogation room was large by design. The former Grand Inquisitor had made requests for ample room should unorthodox tactics be required with prisoners. While the room was clearly Imperial, every surface polished and pristine, it lacked the typical rule of function over form. The room was circular, perfectly so, the walls a dull grey baring no panels or access ports. The floor and ceiling were similar in that both were flush and flat. The entire ceiling gave off a diffuse glow, and the polished pearl floor reflected that light back.
This was again, by design, giving prisoners nothing for their eyes to rest upon. One could follow the grey walls that circled the room like an ouroboros, or trade glances between the floor and the ceiling. Inevitably the eyes would be led back to the only pieces of furniture in the room. A simple metallic table, or the torture bed itself.

Tear wanted them to see the table which was spaced a significant distance from the bed. The table had an impressive array of tools and instruments laid over it. While the torture bed was typical in its design, having numerous options for restraints and several attachment arrays that could be used on the prisoner seated in it.
From the seamless grey wall, pneumatic doors hissed open and a pair of black clad storm troopers entered the room. Between them, gripped by the arms, was a prisoner with a black hood over their head. The prisoner’s boots squealed over the pristine floor as they were dragged across the room. The bed was upright at first, forcing one trooper to hold the prisoner by the shoulders while the other tapped a panel on the side of the bed, allowing it to recline back. The prisoner’s wrists and ankles were then secured, and the black hood removed. A white sheet that was laid over the nearby metallic table was also collected before the troopers left.

Tear would enter the room some hours later. He stood at the doorway, his body clad in a black body suit, that sported simple red lines running inward from shoulders to chest. Around his neck was a high collared metallic grey gorget, sporting the Imperial emblem on the front. The prisoner’s sedatives had worked their way through her system hours ago and the pair instantly lock eyes.

Now you know, Tear thought to himself as he walked across the room. His footsteps the only sound to break the monotonous silence that had surrounded the prisoner since she had been strapped in. He continued toward the prisoner at a measured pace until he came within arm’s reach, instantly reaching out to clutch her by the jaw. Eyes wrapped in the power of the darkside stared into the prisoner’s light green, no words needed to be traded, they both knew why she was here.

As quickly as Tear’s hand had come against her, it was gone. He turned his back to her as he walked to the table. His hand instantly found an instrument, seemingly out of instinct, or perhaps repetition. His footsteps brought him back and the prisoner would feel the bed she was strapped onto begin to sink backwards.
Again, their eyes met. And again, no words were exchanged. The prisoner seemed defiant in the face of her consequences. Consequences that were now spreading her fingers apart as the tool in Tear’s had slid over her pointer finger and without much ceremony, lopped it cleanly from her hand. The pink digit fell with a spurt of blood over the pristine white flooring.

Now she would have something to look at.

In the hours that fed onward from the moment the prisoner lost her first finger, she would find her remaining digits also severed from her body. After each finger was cut, the prisoner would thrash against her restraints and paint Tear with ferocious eyes. She exuded rage as was expected. He could feel the pang of loss roll through her being. But there was also more. With each finger he took, Tear couldn’t help but taste the root of some deeper trauma that came bubbling to the prisoner’s surface. Never shown, always swallowed back down like bile at the back of her throat. Still, it made the Executor curious.

Her opposite hand would be flayed open next. A dissected path running up her forearm to her shoulder. In the open flesh of the prisoner, the former Grand Inquisitor would insert Kartassian glass needles into her nerve endings. Kartassian glass needles were organic creatures no thicker than pins. On their home world they were known for burrowing through their environment toward dense mineral deposits. They moved slowly through their surroundings, be it stone, dirt, or in this case, even flesh. They had the unique trait of traveling through anything at a very slow pace. Only millimeters in hours, but were always moving, always digging.

Tear absent mindedly brushed aside an errant blade of hair that had fallen into his eyes. His blonde hair, normally slicked back had become tussled with his work. Hands running over his scalp as he considered the next brush stroke in his art. The prisoner hadn’t broken yet. She had screamed, of course, grunted, spat, attempted to inflict any amount of damage when she thought it possible. Yet she didn’t say anything, and he didn’t ask.

It was only when he reached for her eye, with tool in hand did he finally notice the prisoner flinch. It was small. A crack.

It was enough.

“Good.” Tear spoke at last. “Now we can begin.”