Those Who Fall

[Kal Strife]

Confederate Holding and Processing Facility
The Rock
02:21, Galactic Standard

Sound seemed dull here. Muted, somehow. Perhaps it was because of the thick, black, stone and durasteel walls on all sides. Or the weight of thousands of tone of rock that surrounded the facility. Or perhaps it was the masked, armoured guards that stood at every interchange and doorway, utterly anonymous and almost inhuman in their black uniforms, blaster rifles held ready for an attack that couldn't come.

In truth, Kal Strife neither knew nor cared as to why sounds seemed so very different here, in the deepest depths of the most secure holding facility in Confederate space. He barely even noticed that, as he strode down a long corridor marked by dozens of security checkpoints, with two troopers close on his flanks, that his booted feet made only the slightest thud as they pounded against the reinforced flooring. Any why not? His thoughts were far from those bleak place, lingering as they were on a world half a sector distant. On Druckenwell. He did not - no, could not - regret what had happened there, but it had consumed him nonetheless in the days that had passed since the heavens fell on that ill fated world. There was always something to do, some loose end or another to tie up, one piece of history that needed to be carefully erased before the galaxy came to learn of it.

The Corellian was beginning to think that [member="Salem Norongachi"] was finding them on purpose, as punishment for the glassing of the world perhaps.

Ah well, no matter. It wasn't just the tying up of loose ends that brought him to the Rock on this day. No, Kal Strife had another goal in mind.

"Sir?" one of the guards called, his voice heavily distorted by the rebreather mask he wore, "He's just in here, sir."

Nodding, Strife stepped across to the door. It was solid as the walls themselves, an alloy comprised mostly of durasteel with slivers of beskar for strength. There was an ysalimir somewhere nearby as well; he could feel it dulling his thoughts and blocking the Force from his grip as he laid his hand against the palm reader, letting the system verify his identity. A beep marked its approval, and a spoken command phrase earned a second beep before the two identical guards slid matching keycards into slots of either side of the door, causing it to grind slowly open. Beyond, a single figure hung, suspended by shackles of beskar that completely enclosed his hands and feet, while a shimmering field of orange energy marked the boundaries of the Force Cage that enclosed him. It was clear that the man was a prisoner, and one whom the Confederacy did not wish to escape.

Given who he was, that was hardly surprising.

"Good morning, Commander Briggs."

 

[Kal Strife]

Though the haggard man in the restraints had clearly suffered much, there was still a glint of steel in his eyes as he raised his head. "Ain't no Commanders here, Admiral," he growled, the words distorted slightly by thickly swollen lips. They weren't the only signs of injury, either; clearly Serock's lackeys had been quite thorough in encouraging the man to confess his sins. "Disgrace ter the uniform, an' all that."

Nodding slowly, apparently conceeding the prisoner's point, Strife let his gaze drift across the cell. It was small, perhaps six foot in each dimension,and the containment gear took up much of that space. The rest of the room was empty, and the walls seemed little more than blank facades of black duracrete. There were cameras though, concealed somewhere he couldn't quite discern, and microphones. He knew that from the long hours he'd spent observing the prisoner. Studying him. He had learnt little, beyond the fact that the man was as stoic as any soldier he had encountered, but that in itself was a nugget of great value.

For the moment, the Corellian gave Briggs the time the contemplate what his arrival heralded, for his silence would do more to unnerve the man than any words he could offer. Unhurriedly, he unclipped the special-issue comlink from his belt and raised it to his lips. "Strife to control," he murmured, "Deactivate restraints in cell Onith-nine-six. Authorisation Strife-Krill-Aurek-Seven-Zero-One." Barely had the last fragment of code left his lips than the device, a specially designed and heavily encrypted link which was programmed to self destruct if it left the facility, bleeped an acknowledgement, and the shimmering force field around the prisoner faded into nothingness. A loud clunk, which came just a heartbeat later, marked the deactivation of the physical restraints, which allowed Briggs to collapse to the hard, unyielding floor.

"On your feet, Commander," Strife barked, placing heavy emphasis on the other man's rank. His tone was hard, yet neither unkind or malicious. Why should it be? There was no benefit in torturing this man still further. Serock had seen to that.

Groaning, clearly aching, the other man rose slowly, unsteadily to his feet. His left hand rubbed at his right shoulder, apparently working at a knot that had formed in his muscles, but his eyes remained fixed distrustfully on the Corellian. "What're ya after, Admiral?" he asked after a long, uncomfortable silence, "Yer man Serock already got everythin' outta me."

"I imagine he did," Strife answered, his expression cold, his eyes narrowing just the slightest at the mention of the former Grand Marshal's name, "And it is that, in fact, that I wish to speak to you about. After all, I think we both know that you lied to Serock."

 

[Kal Strife]

A look of blank incomprehension greeted Strife's words. "Ah'm a lot of things, Admiral," Briggs growled, flames sparking in his eyes, "A brawler, a killer, mebbe even a monster. But ah'm no bloody liar, ya get me? When ah say ah tol' that kath rutting son of a vornskyr everythin, ah mean it."

His indignant response brought a ghost of a smile to the Corellian's lips. "Indeed?" he replied, "Then let us speak frankly, monster to monster." Giving the man no chance to consider what he meant by those words, the Corellian drew a packet of flimsiplast sheets from within his coat. A datapad would have been easier, but the Rock's rules stated that no devices of any sort were allowed to be brought into the facility, and not even an Admiral's authority was enough to override those imperatives. Still, flimsiplast was sufficient for the task at hand, and Kal quickly set about breaking the seal on the packet.

"I know you lied, Commander Briggs," he noted, pointedly ignoring the man's furious expression as he ran his thumb across the seal, "And I know the reason why." Pulling the first sheet of flimsiplast out of the packet - a picture of a young man in a Confederate Lieutenant's uniform - he held it up for the other man to see. "Your son, I believe? Unfortunate for you that he ended up in a unit under Serock's authority."

"Ah don't-" Briggs began, but Kal interrupted with a gesture, before tucking the flimsi back into the packet and drawing out another. "Your wife. Eleida. Lives on Bothawui. A barracks controlled by Serock just two hundred metres from her hab block." Another flimsi followed. "Your daughter. Attending an academy on Roon. A promising student, and currently in a relationship with an officer under Serock's command." Back went the flimsi, and another followed. "Your youngest, still at home with your wife." Tucking the flimsi back into the envelope, Strife raised his eyes to meet Briggs', remarking, "He threatened them, I imagine? Don't worry, I don't blame you. In fact, I admire you. Sacrificing your honour to save your family? Remarkable."

Briggs shook his head, his expression bewildered. "No," he answered, "Yeh're wrong. They ain't mah family. Ah ain't got no family."

"Oh?" Strife answered, arching one eyebrow speculatively, "Well, my mistake." Turning on his heel, Strife turned toward the door, raising his comlink to his lips as he did. "Open up," he commanded, before turning back to Briggs, adding, "I'll see you tomorrow, Commander." The door slid open to admit a pair of guards as he spoke, and Strife offered Briggs a last nod before he stepped through. The moment he did, the door slid shut behind him and another pair of guards stepped into escort position as the Corellian raised his comlink to his lips once more, "Sleep deprivation and white noise for Onith-nine-six, control. I'll be returning in six hours."