Divine Confessor's Story

Timbali cleared his throat. "As I said, we welcome you to Terra. I'll send you the docking coordinates and alert the TNG of your arrival. I cannot speak for my government as far as... personalized security goes..." He nodded slowly. "I'm sure an arrangement can be with the authorities once you're on-planet."

A few flips of his holopad and the coordinates would be sent to the Gigashadow.

"See I told y-" Marshal barked, only to realize he was being talked to. He cleared his throat and prepared his response mentally. "No need. Kalar representatives are expendable. But, I would recommend a tolerant guide for them. Kalar can be... Excitable. We have a small supply of gold, platinum and other precious metals to trade for your local currency to accommodate the representatives." He paused and carefully added, "They will mostly be there to understand your culture, people and technology. Any formal acts of diplomacy between our people should be done directly through me on this ship or another formal diplomatic representative. Please never ever attempt diplomacy through common Kalar."

The common Kalar was an incredibly stupid creature who lived in the moment constantly seeking the next impulse. If it wasn't for Kalar like Marshal, Meownan or Leopold the entire empire would collapse.

Once Doug was taken from the Illumene Police station by the CPF, things for the man would only serve to get darker as he was fitted with a much stronger Anti-Magic collar.

The CPF Threw a dark fabric sack over his head before transporting him in a specialized Armored Car, this Armored car would be escorted by a pair of Lynx IFVs, with Aerial oversight done by a squad of Apollo fighters, and the Military Fleet in orbit.

The drive was fairly short, given the central location of all the Government buildings. The Black sack remained firmly fitted to Weskit's collar, his hands bound behind his back to a chain link belt around his waist, which was fitted to chains that ran down his legs and were attatched to shackles around his ankles, with chain running back up to his collar. Needless to say there was no sparing in the Security department for Doug's transport, and he would find it difficult to move, let alone mount an escape or use any of his magical abilities thanks to the firm Magical inhibition of the collar.

---

Still bound and shackled, Doug would be led, with the sack still over his head to a room that was devoid of any furniture, a thick reinforced poly-carbonate door that was further augmented by a hard light shield opened with an audible hiss. A kanvium cable was attatched to the collar, through the wrist restraints, and the ankle restraints, and attached to a metal loop that was bolted to the floor in the center of the room.

Four Marines, all of them armed with Disruptor rifles modified to emit an Anti-Magic pulse stood back with their weapons drawn as an LDA Agent moved to withdraw the hood from over Doug's face, allowing him to take in his surroundings, most notably the man in the blue jacket standing behind the group of soldiers as they slowly backed out, and more than likely the Psion from earlier was also there.

The man gave a wicked grin as he read over a piece of paper in front of him, and then he cast it aside.

"Admiral Doug Weskit." The man said with a grin as he paced around Doug, just out of the man's reach.

"My my... just what is the Council up too these days?" The man asked yet again, as the cell door opened up behind him, another LDA Agent wheeling in a double decked aluminum cart with two bright yellow briefcases sitting atop each tier.

"You took an awful big risk coming here..." The man said, as the LDA Agent nodded and turned to leave, the door closing behind him.

"It obviously didn't pay off as well as you had thought, now has it?" Prince said as he moved to snap open one of the briefcases.

"Let's start simple." He said, opening the case up, revealing a rather large and diverse assortment of torture implements, Prince looked them over, as if he was a customer making a selection. Needless to say, the sheer diversity and number of tools was enough to make any surgeon jealous, or perhaps make someone cringe

"Why are you here?"

Whisper stood quietly in the corner of the room, observant, but giving no sign of her thoughts on what was transpiring. Her face was a picture of neutrality to the casual eye.

However, when pale blue eyes sought out Douglas', there was an intensity to her stare that her expression hadn't betrayed.

Douglas was rather good with directions especially the ones in which one is blindfolded and brought to a place of secrecy. That of course was a story for another time and most likely not as useful as he would have hoped if he expected to get out of the security. The now rather young ship admiral simply smiled as someone seemed to address him so formally that it almost seemed astonishing to him.

"How very rude of me." Douglas chuckled as he looked at the man with his tools and knew full well what the man was intending to do. Douglas simply smirked and tried to get a good look at the fine equipment himself as there was probably some better tool to use to inflict pain onto a person. "It seems that we have not yet been properly introduced and it seems that our information these days are a bit off, though granted, I do suppose however my ties to the Council do prove to always be a nuisance."

Douglas would not even try to call upon his reserve of arcane energy as he wasted a good majority of it trying to escape and even with what little he could muster at this point he knew it would be pointless. His eyes trailed over to Whisper who remained in the room only to simply ponder something for a brief second just to then come back to his interrogator.

"I suppose things didn't pay off well. Needless to say that sense I found myself a bit of vigor in my new found youth I decided to come right back out of retirement and place my hands on a descent company where I act as one of the many, many, business consultants and advisers to its CEO. As to why I am here it was business related." Douglas continued to smile as he looked at Prince and he did not waver or try to weasel his way out of it. Though he supposed things could have gone down smoother if he payed with the proper currency. "For entertainment value I suggest you use the scalpel second to last. I doubt I am going to get out of this with little to not bruises or cuts."

Douglas was well aware of Whisper and her abilities but he still had a trick or two up his sleeve in case she tried to force her way into his mind. The transmutationist simply began to run several math problems in his head and other ideas and thoughts as to make sure that his game could never easily be found out. He had to wait and hope that his aid would arrive before he could break. They could try and kill him or simply take the pleasure in removing what they could with diabolical technology that should have never graced the hands of any man or woman. Only time would tell though.

Despite Douglas' assumption otherwise, Whisper didn't seem to be making any effort to enter his mind. She simply stood there, observing silently.

Mind reading had never been one of Whisper's talents, and Douglas would feel no brush of her mind against his own.

Whisper knew there were more efficient means of getting the information from Douglas than her, or that confessor. No, she could see it in Prince's eyes, feel it even. This was about pleasure more than anything. The man liked his job.

{This is a continuation of the scene with Tenna and the Confessors on the Reverence in Barnard's Star, taking place in the ship's brig.}

AHSC Reverence II Esteem
Somewhere in the Barnard's Star System

Brig

In the attempt to remove Tenna's Weapons, the marines found their hands slightly burned through their gloves. The Confessor simply huffed at this turn of events, before he attempted to use his psionic abilities to remove the weapons, suspending them in air as the AI ordered a crew to place the weapons in a special containment box which would allow them to remain hot and not damage the surrounding materials.

The weapons would be secured through Duralthene calipers, and men in Heat-suits, and taken to the Armory. Tenna on the other hand would be thrown into the brig itself, with Prince towering over him as two Marines secured the binders to a chain, which was fastened to a metal loop in the center of the room.

"You should have disarmed when the men told you too, Mr. mercenary." The Confessor said, grinning as a second Confessor wheeled in a large tray with assorted torture implements.

Tenna sighed and let the weight of his body relax as comfortably as he could, eyes on the confessors. He'd never really liked the way the Aschen did their business, despite running a dirty style of business himself, but it was in this moment that he came to realize why. They had all these pretty rules, all these useful things at their fingertips, and they still resorted to the most vile and unlikeable things.

"I should have? I mean, words are words and can mean some very pretty things, Prince, but sometimes you can't obey them. Conviction is a powerful force, and I weighed my options. My job was set, my task before me. I was simply following what I was contracted to do." He smirked somewhat.

"Just like you two fine men. I would call you gentlemen, but that doesn't exactly fit the situation." He moved his head in a way to vaguely suggest the torture implements. "You're just doing your job, and there's no foul to be had there. 'Course, by that logic I'd be walking as a security escort right about now, but that's hardly the case." He shook his head and chuckled darkly.

"So, what's on the agenda then? Gutting? Thousand cuts? Or maybe you were going to try something new and as of yet untested on a half-Terran subject."

"You see..." Prince said as he paced around Tenna.

"Just because you accept a job, that doesn't mean that you can just waltz onto a military ship like it's your own personal palace." The Confessor said, coming to a stop in front of the mercenary. There was a pause, before the Confessor went to select his varios instruments, his hand moving across a pair of battery cables, and then they went to a pair of pliers.

"How should we begin... Ah!" Prince said as he grabbed the battery clamps, and then he turned to Tenna.

Sparking the clamps in the mercenary's face, the Confessor grinned.

"I'm going to level with you..."


"This is going to hurt." He said, before he put both clamps on Tenna's chest, to deliver a painful electric shock.

As the man, if confessors could still be called such, prattled while selecting what to use first, Tenna's eyes traced the lines of the room. He was looking for escape ways, but he couldn't see much more than the door in front of him and the area to his sides, as well as the holder of the torture instruments. He sighed ever so slightly, wondering how anything on this ship got done if things went south. Only one way in an out was a near literal death sentence in an emergency for anyone who got trapped inside if the door become inoperable.

As the clamps sparked in front of his eyes, he debated quickly whether or not to have the magnetics in his suit activate and re-route the electricity away from him, but he didn't want to antagonize them any more than he already had. When the jolt shot through him, however, the suit responded to the spasms of his muscles. As he twitched, the artificial fibers grew tougher, flexing and automatically augmenting his natural strength of body. A sharp crack rang out, followed by a quieter pop, the pop coming from Tenna's left shoulder. The mercenary grimaced, face locked in pain, but he did not cry out.

He refused to give them that satisfaction.

Instead, he flexed again, this time fighting against the current flooding his body's nerves with fire and pain, forcing the suit to constrict against his upper arm. Another pop rang out, and Tenna heaved out a heavy breath through his teeth as the electrical surge continued. At least he'd gotten his shoulder back into its socket.

Mind wiped of thought, Tenna didn't process the feeling of more blood flow in his wrists. He didn't register that the flexing twitch augmented by his suit had loosened the binders minutely. It wasn't enough for them to get him free, but it was more than nothing.

The sun was slowly setting over the skyline of Caprica City. Isambard Prince was on the balcony of the Imperial Palace, staring westward at the city spreading out before him.

He was swirling a glass of Ambrosia in his right hand, as he looked up at the green and blue crescent of Pangar in langara's sky.

A Confessor peered in behind him, before he bowed deeply.

"My Lord..." The Confessor said, standing aside. Minister Chaska, the Minister of Defense for the United Aschen Empire was standing with file folders tucked under her arm.

"We discovered a new planet, inhabited by a primitive civilization." She said, stepping forward as Prince slowly turned around. "I heard. The Quorum was in an uproar; you proposed we conquer the planet for the Empire." Prince said, as he turned and started to approach the Minister.

"You moved forward on preliminary invasion scouting missions without consulting with me; your emperor." He said, setting the glass down, his jaw twitching with anger.

"Maybe i had something else in mind that would not equate to invasion. You see; Minister. The antiquated way of thinking that we'll just conquer anything doesn't get this Empire anywhere." Prince explained. "You have failed your Empire, Minister Chaska."

Chaska swallowed hard as Prince approached her. She looked up at Prince, as if expecting her life to end then and there.

Prince turned, and stepped away, before he held out his hand.

"Confessor, give me your weapon." Prince ordered, and the Confessor nodded abruptly, before approaching and handing Prince a sleek Disruptor pistol.

Prince turned, and raised the weapon, firing once into Chaska's thigh. There was a green flash, an audible pop and a plume of smoke that stank of flesh. Chaska buckled to one knee and screamed in pain, grunting as she held the seething wound. She was panting, clenching her teeth at the searing pain of the disruptor bolt that had struck her leg, leaving a gaping hole that had gone clean through her leg, cauterizing everything.

"If you fail me again, it will be your life." Prince said flatly, as the Confessor carried Chaska off the Balcony, and into the palace where she could get medical treatment.

----

Meanwhile, Prince dusted the charred bits of flesh and clothing from his outfit, before he turned to a second Confessor.

"I'm intrigued, I wish to learn more." He said to the Confessor.

"Prepare the Bifrost, and get my staff ready. I will gauge this world's worthiness of contact with the Empire."

Prince and Chloe continued their meal, completely ignorant of what was going on outside. They appeared happy, sharing a laugh, something that brought a degree of humanity to the man who was supposedly the ruler of one of the most brutal regimes in history.

Wilson had a good solid ten minutes at the window, plenty of opportunity to snap photos of the pair, even so far as to have the opportunity to snap a photo or two of the pair sharing in a kiss.

Opportunities that were cut short as a well dressed man slowly crept behind Wilson.

The man was a middle aged man, large in stature for your average person, with his robust frame clothed in a well worn dark blue pinstripe suit. The white shirt and black tie completed his attire along with a single lapel pin worn on his right lapel. The pin was a circular iris design, like a mechanical shutter on a camera, or seven interlocking talons. To the Aschen, this was the symbol of the Confessor Cabal, to anyone else, it was likely meaningless.

He waited for a moment to strike, waiting for Wilson to be engrossed in snapping his pictures before he inched ever closer. Should he get close enough, he would reach out and attempt to grab Wilson by the collar, and throw him to the ground.

"Your life is forfeit!" He said through a thickly accented voice, withdrawing a strange ornate dagger from inside his jacket, he raised it up but a second voice pierced the darkness.

"Desino!" The voice said, a lone Pirandello/Kruger security guard dressed in plainclothes, another suit and tie could be seen, running up to the man.

"Hoc non imperium, non solum circa executionem populo!" The man shouted, grabbing the other man's dagger arm. "Mitte qui eum!" He barked, and then stared at Wilson. "This is a private function! Get out of here! Give me your camera!" The P/K Bodyguard ordered.

"My camera? No, dude, it's my livelihood." Wilson told the bodyguard, slowly getting up to his feet as not to set the man off. Brian continued snapping photos. Violence was always a good seller to someone somewhere. It was too bad Wilson seemed to be on the receiving end.

"I should probably help him." Brian said to himself, "After he gets punched in the face, at least. I need the money shot."

Wilson raised his hands up, "I'm a photojournalist. I'm just trying to get pictures of celebrities in town for the music festival, man. I didn't even get anything good. Let me go, man." Wilson begged.

The Pirandello/Kruger officer sneered for a moment. He knew that causing an incident here could lead to a major international shitstorm that wouldn't bode good for the propaganda machine Prince had back home.

The PK also knew that while taking photos of the Emperor without his consent led to summary execution in the Empire; this wasn't the Empire.

The Confessor merely stared at Wilson, clenching his dagger and sliding it back into his jacket.

"A photo is not worth your life, and that of your family." The Confessor said in a low voice. Something seemed off, perhaps the man that the Councilwoman was having dinner with had mob connections?

The PK Bodyguard simply shook his head. "Those aren't celebrities, now get lost before I call the cops."

"Yeah, man... N-no problem." Wilson said, eyes moving towards the Confessor. Maybe he walked right into Chloe meeting with mobsters. That could be a scandal itself, then again it was Van Leugen. Even the good guys cut deals with mobsters to at least make things better in the moment.

Small victories wherever you could get them.

Wilson didn't waste much time in jogging away back towards Brian's car. He was sweating heavily by the time he jumped inside. "No help?" He asked.

"I was coming and then I realized I wasn't going to die tonight."

"Fuck you. Please, drive me home."

During the commotion, Prince and Chloe finally managed to finish their dinner. Outside and in front of the restaurant, if the Photojournalists hadn't driven off yet, a black limousine with diplomatic car flags mounted on the fenders, along with two black SUVs both in front and behind could be made out. The limousine itself bore diplomatic plates, the consular plates for the United Aschen Empire.

The flags mounted on the fenders were also the flags of the Aschen Empire, and the well dressed men that Wilson had run into appeared to be gathering around the back of the limousine, with one of them opening the back door as Prince and Chloe made their way out of the restaurant.

Prince led Chloe into the back of the Limousine, and she lowered herself into it's leather embrace, and then he slowly moved in. The Confessors closed the door for them, and then started to filter towards the SUVs in front and behind, the motorcade being prepped as everyone took their positions.

Engines started up, and all three vehicles crept along the driveway to the restaurant; headed deeper into the city for the music festival.

The man wasn't a mobster, he was someone far more powerful.

"Wait." Brian said, pointing to the restaurant. "Not afraid to snap a few more, are you?" He asked Wilson, "Afraid? No. Think this is the first time. I got threatened doing this here?" He responded, both them aiming their cameras out at the limousine and Chloe.

"I think the guy's a gangster." Wilson told Brian, "I fucking told you they weren't lovers. Probably letting that lady know her days are numbered. Or maybe she's letting him know his days are numbered." Brian said.

"What if they are lovers?" Wilson asked, snapping away. "That means we getting paid, Willy. Let's get out of here before we get dead instead." Brian said as he put his car into drive, easing out of his parking space to head into the inner city. They had to get prepared for the music festival.

It was officially kicking off tomorrow, but unofficially it had already begun if you knew the right people.

There was an audible clunking in the doorway, followed by a hiss, and a second clunking sound before the door opened up, creaking on it's hinges.

There stood a confessor of the Aschen Empire, Confessor Yottskry was his name, a fair veteran of the Confessor Cabal, his dark violet robes were a fair indication of his station, and he towered over the room.

"You are the blue switch." Yottskry said as he slowly stepped into the room, the door slowly shutting behind him, while two Imperial marines waited outside with a prisoner transfer platform.

"Behold, the fruits of your labor." Yottskry said, as he placed a holocron on the concrete table.

A rectangular image flickered to life, showing Tim, the red switch being escorted, in little more than a prisoner jumpsuit to the gallows. Aschen gallows were a unique invention, a large circular structure with restraints for the feet, the hands, and the neck, attatched to cables that were designed to retract into the structure, essentially quartering the individual.

Red was affixed to the structure, standing there in the gallows as the crowd cheered on.

Once he was fully restrained, the neck restraint pulled up, lifting him by the neck roughly six inches above the ground, while the other restraints pulled at his arms and legs, allowing him to hang for a moment, choking, and struggling to breath.

The crowd cheered even louder.

"This is the fate of those who challenge the Empire! This is the fate of those who bring down our wrath!" The announcer called out.

There were no last words, instead the executioner pulled the lever, and the cables snapped back, pulling the man asunder, tearing his limbs from his torso, and even decapitating him, blood and viscera flew, coating the platform in a sheen of red.

The holocron shut off, and Yottskry picked it back up.

"This is the fate that awaits you, because you challenged the Empire." He said calmly, nodding his head as the two Marines stepped in.

"Take her to the Aurora Chair... we must begin our interrogation."

"You are the Blue Switch."

It was not a question but a statement directed at Jacqueline. She sat up more as a reaction to someone entering her room and not so much as interest in the individual that did. The man paced towards the concrete table and placed a holocron, she watched only out of lack of anything else to do. That was until she saw Red.

"Behold, the fruits of your labor."

Blue couldn't contain the childish giggle at seeing her beloved. She thought that this was probably a live feed and if so, it was probably being shown to her to break her spirit by showing the fate of a fellow comrade. However, they underestimated the Red Switch. He was cunning and calculating, a walking blood bath. He was an Aspect of Death, he could not die by normal means...there was no grave worthy of him. In Blue's mind he had some method of escape. He was not broken, he was not beaten, this was merely a way to fool the Aschen. Soon enough he would spring free and the holocron would be hastily shut off. The man before her would appear like an utter fool and Blue would merely laugh maniacally and mock their effort.

Yet he never did spring free. Blue watched until the final moment. Even when he was fully restrained and resistance was absolutely impossible, she watched. For Blue it was not hope, but a fact, that kept her believing that Red would break free. All the way until his limbs were no longer attached to his body and his head was removed from his shoulders, she believed. And when that was no longer an option, her mind told her a lie. "Such things can be easily fabricated. This is a trick. Red is alive...Tim is alive... Don't fall for it...You cannot be fooled."

It was something she kept repeating to herself as she continued to reply the scene in her mind. Blue was not fearful of blood or guts and gore, she had often bathed in it. However those were his guts...his blood... even if it was fake...it was...absolutely repulsive. When the Marine approached her whilst she still stared at the now shut off Holocron, rewatching and retelling herself that it was a lie, Blue only reacted when he moved to touch her.

Naturally her reaction was violent. Jacqueline hastily backed away and crouched, feigning fear and even so much as showing visible tears. However this was all a ruse, a good disguise for her attack. When the guard moved into range, she performed raising kick. It's speed, 140 km/h and it packed almost, if not more, than 800kgs of force of force. The man slammed into the side of room after her foot made impact with his side, rib caged cracked and internal organs damaged. The second marine was faster and wise, before Jacqueline could get into her stance he tackled her and slammed her into the wall, his brute strength too much for her to overcome. Still...despite the injury and the blood trickling down her head from being slammed...she smiled...she laughed...like a joyful child. Her eyes fixated on the one she had bested...maybe even killed.

Yottskry said nothing, he merely silently watched as the Marine was kicked into the wall, clutching his chest. Such was payment for his insolence, for his lack of care to such a dangerous specimen. It didn't matter if she believed the truth or not, Yottskry was there, he had seen Tim break before Kesslee, he had seen the deal made with the Emperor. He watched as the red switch carried out the Emperors command without hesitation.

As the second marine moved in for the tackle, trying to restrain the woman, Yottskry moved with purpose, his footsteps silent as he focused his gaze on Blue, exerting his will upon her, will that culminated into a strange force that made it difficult for her to breathe, a telekinetic fist clenching around her windpipe.

"Get off of her." Yottskry ordered, as he raised his right hand, clinched into a hard fist.

The same unseen force that was aiming to choke Jaqueline, threw the second marine off of her, before lifting her up, as Yottskry's hand was now outstretched.

His face contorted into a snarl, and with a flick of his wrist, the unseen force that lifted her, would slam her into the wall, hard enough to cause considerable pain.

With aid from Yottskry's telekinesis, the second Marine guided Jacqueline to the restraints, her wrists, her ankles, and her neck were strapped to a large metal gurney, completely immobilized by the telekinetic influence, and then the straps of the restraints.

Yottskry drew his blade slowly, and glared at Jacqueline.

"You injured my marine, and now you shall suffer the consequences." The Confessor said coldly, aiming the drive the blade into her side, purposely avoiding vital organs and blood vessels, wrenching the blade to exacerbate the pain, and then pulling it back out.

"Take her to the Aurora chair!" The Confessor shouted, and soon they would be on their way.

Before Blue knew it, she was being strapped into a large chair, electrodes attached to various parts of her body, while a technician was going over readouts on a screen, and Yottskry was lurking over her.

Once she was sufficiently restrained, a screen was lowered in front of her, and Yottskry stood up.

The chair was activated.

The sensation could be described as odd, like a splitting headache coupled with electrocution; memories would begin flooding to the conscious mind, which were displayed on the screen in front of her.

The more she resisted, the more painful it seemed to get.

Though, the interrogation was mostly superficial at this point, with how Red broke, the Aschen already knew a great deal.

"This is what happens when you challenge the Empire!" Yottskry called out, nodding to the technician, who activated the machine yet again.

"Lochlyn is no more, Red is dead! No one is going to save you! You must answer for all your sins!"