Poisonous Fox

I just had to pretend it was like getting arrested, or ‘questioned’ for an adjacent crime where I ‘absolutely was not’ a suspect. I knew I could make it through this.

I just needed to find the Inquisitor’s angle. Then, I could tailor my answers, satisfy his curiosity, and go back to being a regular old ‘pet.’ At the thought, I could not help but shudder, if slightly.

The soldiers led me away from Kate and Muleater, away from the winged inquisitor as well. Three guards escorted me, each with the red-gavel insignia.

We came before a black pavilion style tent, one with the same red insignia, but larger, and sewn into both sides of the entrance. A flap was pulled up, revealing a dimly lit interior. The soldier behind me shoved me forward, and the three of them followed after.

“Strip her,” the soldier from behind said.

The flap doorway was still open, and several jeering faces peered in from outside. Some were more interested than others. I felt dirty, but I had dealt with worse.

I cooperated with them, as much as I could with my bindings. I could have struggled, but what would be the point? It was always better to bide than to flail.

It was still embarrassing. My cheeks burned. I saw Kate beyond the doorway and I looked away, unable to bear it. Rather than focus upon my shame, I took in the interior or the pavilion of the inquisitors.

A rusted table stood along one wall, facing a steel chair with manacles at the legs and armrests, and a high back with a padded headrest. The chair sat upon a large metal plate which was carved with glyphs and runes, but also faded by the dust and grime of the wastes. Notably, the plate stretched from the chair to the table, and conduits ran from the plate, along the legs of the table, up to what looked like a control panel, made of brass and ivory and gem diodes.

To the sides of the panel, there were sharp, long, and curved instruments that had grime and pieces of dried flesh stuck to them.

The entire room smelled of sour sweat and blood.

It was a torture room.

The soldiers finished stripping me and tossed my belongings into a wooden box unceremoniously.

They shoved me towards the metal chair, and numbly, I complied, still in a shock of disbelief. They shoved me downwards, sitting me heavily against the chair, slamming my back against the rest. The manacles slapped around my ankles and wrist, and a chain hooked around my midsection.

There would be no escape from this.

Two of the soldiers went to stand by the entrance, while the third left.

They left me there, letting me stew, for what felt like hours, with two soldiers watching dispassionately. While under supervision, there was little to no chance of effecting an escape, if I were to even seek such a course out. Depending on what they planned, I would have liked to have options.

I hoped, hoped, that the room was for show, that it was meant to intimidate prisoners.

For some reason, I doubted that.

After I had gone nearly mad from worry, the third soldier returned, carrying a folder full of loose sheaves of paper. He settled in behind the control console, so that he faced both the controls and myself. He flicked a switch off to the side, and several of the crystal diodes lit up.

A whoosh went out, and it grew silent, except for the men’s breathing.

My ears popped.

I could hear my own heart, the hearts of the soldier manning the brass panel, but not much else. To my enhanced ears, the rest of the camp had gone silent. It was deafening.

I faintly hoped that the control panel was solely a noise dampener. But given the fact it looked more like a steampunk sound-board, with a multitude of knobs, switches, and even three levers, I suspected it had a deeper purpose. And considering that the control-panel was connected to my imprisoning chair via conduits and a petal plate serving as a floor, I knew that whatever tool this control panel was, was malicious.

And there was no doubt that there was malicious intent. Why else would they have insulated the room from the noises of the camp, except to insulate them from the noises that I might cause from within the tent. Though there was a possibility that they wanted to protect some information, such as interrogation tactics.

One thing of note, was that after the third soldier re-entered the room, that the flap protecting the doorway was let down, sealing away my view from the outside, diving the room into darkness, where the only lights were weak glow-stones and the lit crystal diodes atop the control panel.

The lights cast a menacing shadow upon the soldier’s face, coming up from below, making his nose seem to be a black hole stretching upwards, and his eyes to be dark pits. Quite menacing, indeed.

As the man reviewed the settings on the panel, he used a small pen light to read through his notes. I strained my neck to try and see, but the collar upon my neck had locked into place against the back of my chair.

The feelings of claustrophobia were growing stronger by the minute that the silence continued.

I compared this interrogation setup against what I vaguely recalled from home. And while the particulars were missing, I knew that there had at least been the guarantee of humane treatment within the criminal justice system. In this room, in this world, it was clear that there were no such considerations as ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ here. At least, not for non-humans.

I wondered if I needed to change tactics. Ordinarily, I would remain calm, and quiet, and wait out the detectives. At least, that was what I had been trained to do. But here? Maybe I should break the silence? However, doing so might weaken my position.

I felt so out of place, so confused, and at war with myself.

With these feelings, the doubts grew. And not for the first time, nor second, or even third, I thought that perhaps, I should have listened to Larissen and Kissen from the beginning. That perhaps, I should have put more effort into avoiding the humans.

Unfortunately, it was a bit too late for that though.

The soldier operating the brass panel then flicked another switch, and one of the crystal diodes near the top of the panel, within clear sight of all, lit up with a pale green light. Since the Inquisitor had yet to make an appearance, I assumed this was the preparatory work for the ‘interrogation.’

As I watched the green light, the man operating the panel glanced up at me.

“Prisoner,” he said with a bored voice, finally breaking the silence. The other two soldiers standing guard remained impassive. “State your name.”

I matched his expression, wondering what his game was. If he actually cared about my name, then he might have been the first. I was unsure if even Kate knew my name. I was unable to remember if I had ever introduced myself to her. And if I had, would she have bothered to remember? It was a toss-up if she would decide to just give me a new ‘pet-name,’ at least if Muleater’s plans were to go through.

Disgust began warring with the self-doubt. But no, I needed to remain focused, at least if I were to escape this interrogation with minimal damage.

To decide on my answer, I wondered if the purpose was for their records? While I considered and struggled with inner turmoil, the man grew impatient.

“Prisoner!” the man snapped. “Your name.”

There seemed to be a humming rising up from the metal floor. I decided I would attempt to figure things out as we went along, and I quickly answered.

“Jackie,” I said. I had thought of using my full-name rather than my nick-name, and I kept a close watch on the green crystal to see if it was affected. Thus far, it remained a consistent light green. It gave me some hope that I would have some leeway.

“Surname?” he prompted.

I shook my head. The crystal retained its green glow.

“Answer verbally.”

“No,” I answered, still watching the light for any sense of flickering, to see if it responded differently to negative answers. “No surname,” I clarified. I thought I might have seen a slight change, but it was far too quick for me to remain certain. It would have surprised me if it did react, as I had spoken the truth. Mother had never given me her surname, not that I would have kept it if she had.

The man made a note, reviewed the control panel, and then continued, still sounding both nonchalant and bored.

“State the surname of your previous owner.”

That question caused some confusion. I should have expected it. Muleater had asked something similar. But I was still thinking of Mother. She had never ‘owned’ me, at least not in the legal sense of it. I was unsure how much I wanted to say here, or what even would be the truth. They clearly had the means to detect falsehoods. They clearly believed I had been raised in their slave-owning awful society. I did not necessarily want to break those assumptions of theirs, at least not if there was no profit to it.

“Prisoner!” the man said, this time flipping a switch. The hum resonated further, traveling up the chair. I could now feel it. It reminded me of the vibrator on a phone. It was a clear warning, and emphasized his question.

“What was the surname of your previous owner?!”

I had to answer. I ventured, “I… I’m unsure.” This was somewhat of a deceit, but I thought I could keep it more truthful than not. The light began flickering as I answered. I focused on the fact that I really was unsure of what they meant, if they were implying legally, or if they would have counted Mother. The light ceased its indecision and returned to the pale green glow.

“Hm,” the man said, thinking out loud as he tapped the control panel. “I wonder. To clarify, yes or no, do you know the surname of any of your previous owners, or beyond that, a family name?”

“No,” I answered as briefly as I could to avoid further antagonizing him.

“Do you know the most recent city you resided in?” he asked, something more interesting than his initial tone. It did not bode well, I thought. His interest, that was.

But to answer his question, it was not that simple. First and foremost, naming any cities from this world was right out. Second but still foremost, I could hardly name a city from my old world, both because I struggled to remember, but also because a simple fact check would prove to be an issue.

For once, my amnesia came to my aid.

“No,” I answered truthfully.

He hummed and tapped the metal table, creating an ominous clack-clack-clack. Eventually he asked, “Are you missing significant pieces of your memories?”

That, at least, was an easy question.

“Yes.”

“Fascinating. He’ll take issue with that,” he muttered, not intending it for my ears. “Should continue creating a baseline…” He turned his attention back to me.

“Look at this garnet, please.” An orange red crystal lit up on the back of the panel, facing me. He leaned over and gestured to the crystal, so that I could in no reasonable way miss it. “What color is it?” he asked.

“W-what?” I asked, taken off guard. The coloration was clear. Unless there was some other magic at play that changed an individual’s perception of it… I wondered if answering would reveal too much.

“Just answer the question,” he sighed. “What color is the light?”

His attitude left me thinking that this was not a trick. But then again, it could be an act. I still decided to answer, largely because I had no real other alternative.

“Burnt orange?” I said.

He pressed another switch on the panel, but the light appeared unaffected.

“And now?” he asked, a hidden anticipatory tone now showing from his posture.

“Still burnt–” as soon as I answered, the light brightened to a clear yellow, but the words were already coming out and my heart-rate spiked as I attempted to correct my answer “-orangey-yellow?”

The green light went out. An electric current ran up from my ankles. My legs seized from the electrocution, and my stomach felt like it was tearing up. My diaphragm froze. Fortunately the current exited at the chain around my middle, or the current would have hit my heart. I was unsure if that would have been lethal or not.

It had certainly hurt.

“-what–why?” I asked, panting for breath.

He ignored my question, instead asking his own and continuing constructing a ‘baseline.’

“What color is this?” he asked, pointing to the green crystal on top of the panels, the one I suspected was a ‘truth-stone.’

I stared at him dubiously, still catching my breath. Why was he asking that?

“Answer the question,” he snapped, and began reaching towards another switch. Was he going to electrocute me again?

“G-green!” I rushed.

“Now, lie for me,” he said.

“W-what?!” I asked, not wanting to be hurt.

“Attempt to deceive me, and make it obvious.”

“But… why?” I asked, cringing at the obvious ramifications of what would happen when I did so.

“We’re just taking a baseline,” he said calmly. “Tell me this–” he tapped the green crystal once more “-is purple.”

After a pause, as I was still very reluctant to obey, he added in an almost amiable, conciliatory tone, as though he just thought of a valid reason I might not be able to answer.

“You know what purple is, yes or no?”

Condescending oaf! Of course, I knew what the color purple was… I gave a single jerk of a nod, at least so far as my restraints allowed.

“Verbally answer.”

He began twisting a knob, and the humming, vibrating below my feet began to grow. Was the device building another charge?

“Yes!” I said quickly. The humming paused.

“Good, so you know the color purple. Now tell me that this–” he once again tapped the green crystal “-is purple.”

“It is,” I said, wincing, trying my best to get out of making an obvious lie, from receiving another shock.

“Is what?” he asked dryly. I wondered how often he performed this, if it had grown to be a routine for him.

“It’s purple!” I said, wincing already at the expectation of electrocution.

But surprisingly, the jolt never came.

The soldier hummed, tapping another portion of the panel. He was turning another knob. The chair felt colder beneath me, and ice seeped into me from where the metal contacted me.

“In these exact words, repeat after me,” he said, then paused, and began once more, slowly, deliberately, over enunciating each word. “This green emerald–” he once again tapped the diode “-is purple amethyst.”

I had to wonder why they needed a baseline at all. Muleater had never required a baseline when she used her skill or talent to determine if I was attempting deceit. Were the inquisitors less capable than Muleater? Or were they solely calibrating a device as a redundancy? Or… or were they attempting to toy with my psyche? That last one sent an unpleasant tingle through me.

“Do so now,” he chided, before beginning to count down. “Three… Two… One–” he reached to the side of the panel, where a very obvious and very visible switch was connected with long wires to the panel, clearly meant to be able to move around the room. “-zero.”

I had yet to repeat after him.

He flipped the switch on.

Another jolt went through me.

As my diaphragm forcibly contracted, a screaming gasp tore itself from my throat.

He flipped the switch back off.

The jolt ended.

“Repeat after me,” he said impatiently. “This green emerald is purple amethyst.”

I still paused, to catch my breath, and torn with indecision. I would be electrocuted either way. One way, the punishment would escalate. The other way, they would take a better baseline to determine if I was telling the truth. But did they even need a baseline? Could they not just have a talent to discern truth from falsehood? Why were they–

“Three… Two… One–”

“W-wait!” I rushed. “This g-green emerald is purple amethyst!” I cringed. The humming rose up from my feet. Again, electricity arced through me. Though either I was inured against it, or the pain was less. The electrocution ended.

“The built up energy will increase with every lie you speak,” the soldier explained, before advising, “Don’t lie.”

I nodded, swallowing to wet my dry mouth.

“Very well. A few more preliminaries. Were you travel companions with…” he glanced down at the table, where I could not see, “Lieutenant Muleater?”

I was still catching my breath.

“Y-yes,” I hastened to answer.

“You were found and claimed by the caravan of Manny Stillson?

“Yes.”

“You escaped during the wyrkwik attack and fled with two other beastborn, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You rejoined Lieutenent Muleater’s party and traveled with them?”

“Yes.”

“Willingly?” he added. I wondered why he clarified that, though perhaps it was to establish motive.

“Yes,” I answered, all the same.

“You shared duties with the party and stood as sentry, or otherwise known as lookout, or guard, during the night?”

“...yes?”

“You are unsure?”

“No, I mean, I did–”

“Yes or no. These are simple questions and deserve simple answers.”

I winced, but nodded all the same.

“Your compatriot beastborn abandoned you and the party, stealing themselves?’

I wondered briefly at the wording. But then recalled that Kissen and Larissen had left us in the gorge. Would Kissen still be alive, if they had remained with the humans as I did?

“Answer the–”

“-yes,” I answered.

“Very well,” he continued. “While you were standing sentry at night, you abandoned your post as sentry and absconded with one of your previous compatriots, a male beastborn.”

“Yes,” I grimaced, feeling a tremble as painful memories did battle with the after effects of the shock.

“You encountered and engaged in combat with the Apprentice Alchemist Charson, no surname?”

“Y-yes.”

“You and the male beastborn were retrieved by Sir Kate Guardson?”

The memories came in, of Kate appearing from nowhere.

“Yes.”

Of Kate blocking Larissen’s rampage.

“In that engagement, you were wounded.”

Of Kate striking down upon me with her sword, severing my left–

“Y-yes.” I shuddered.

“You were cared for, tended to, and carried by, Sir Kate Guardson.”

Of Kate carrying me back, nursing me to health, despite her otherwise ill treatment, and the fact that she had been the one to strike me down.

“Yes…”

“Later, during a battle with the wyrkwik, you dissented from the party and abandoned Sir Kate Guardson and the remainder of the party.

“N-n–” I started answering, but the humming was back, crackling at my ankles. I changed my answer, “-it wasn’t like that,” I argued. And in truth, it had been far more complicated than that. I had made a deal with the caravan master. I had paid for our leave, and given them the means for success. But at the same time… in the crudest sense, my actions could have been seen that way, at least from a human’s perspective.

“Yes or no,” he chided sternly, reaching for the obvious electrocution-switch.

“...yes,” I answered, under protest.

“You performed the barbaric custom of consuming your dead when the survivors of Lieutenent Muleater’s party found you.”

I grimaced at the memory, but at the same time I felt that hunger stir. It had been a while since I last ate, with the mucary feeding me raw meat, which apparently, I preferred.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You traveled into a crevasse in pursuit of the Apprentice Alchemist Charson, no surname.”

“We did.”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

“You diverged from the party, along with the male beastborn, into an unknown and narrow space.”

If he was referring to when we followed the trail of Charson into a very narrow off-shooting crevasse, then yes. But he made it sound like it had been without the consent of the party. Well, when Larissen had gone in, it had been with consent. When I had followed after him, it had not. Regardless though, the answer would be clear.

“Yes.”

A short voltage seared my ankles, causing my feet to shake and legs to tremble.

“Not the full truth, then?”

“I followed Larissen after some time had passed.”

“The male beastborn?” he asked for clarification.

“Yes,” I said, remembering how he eventually betrayed me and decided that slaying me would be the kinder fate.

“Ah.” The soldier made a show of writing down a clarification on his note.

“You did encounter Sir Kate Guardson while apart from the rest of Lieutenent Muleater’s part?”

“Yes.”

“After returning to Lieutenent Muleater’s party, you and the male beastborn engaged with the party to combat encroaching wyrkwik.”

“Y-” I started to answer, but the voltage gave a small zap, making a popping sound.

“I see. You were reported to have murdered the Caravan Master Manny Stillson?”

“What? No!” I quickly added, I could only imagine how murder charges would end in a summary execution for a sub-human. Fortunately, it was the truth. I had not, personally, slain the fat greasy man. I had just shoved him to the mucary…

A pause passed, with man seemingly waiting to see if the light would change, or if an electrocution would be imminent. When it was not, he shook his head silently and crossed off another line from his notes.

After the pause, I decided to venture a question of my own, to perhaps learn more of these soldiers and their thoughts.

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“Ah, it appears that Apprentice Artificer Gregory Silverborn’s had made the claim, though the truth was unclear. Did you kill the Caravan Master then?”

“No… I did not.” The light may have flickered just a tad. The questioner saw this, and pushed further. “You did not kill Caravan Master Manny Stillson, yes or no.”

“No,” I answered truthfully. Because I truly had not. Manny Stillson had been a sacrifice made for the rest of the group to escape. Had I not acted, they all would have fallen regardless.

The light was still flickering, but gave no other indication that I had lied.

“We’ll revisit this later,” he said. “Moving on, after the battle, you and the party retreated from the wyrkwik, until the party was unable to tolerate your pace or treachery, and left you and the male beastborn behind?”

“Y-ye-nnno?” I started one answer, realized that his question was loaded, and changed course. But the damage was done.

Another pop. Another electrocution. This time, the current reached past my thighs into my organs, squeezing and pressing. Thanks to my biology, I never soiled myself. Though I felt, had I still been human, I would have.

“The party went ahead of you and your male beastborn compatriot?”

“Yes.”

“You then joined forces with the wyrkwik?”

“No!” I kept the image firmly in mind, of the crevasse, of the desperate hiding. Of the humans’ supposed last battle.

“You joined forces with the wyrkwik after the humans did battle and pushed through?”

“No…” I answered, once more, keeping the crevasse firmly in mind.

“You were infested or otherwise corrupted, or had been–”

“No.”

He frowned, and eyed the switch, but refrained from pulling it. He clearly was not getting what he wanted.

“You were captured by the wyrkwik?” he asked, changing tactics.

“Yes.”

“You were housed in the same prison as Lieutenant Muleater.”

“Yes.”

“You were pulled aside by the wyrkwik several times, away from Lieutenant Muleater?”

“...yes.”

“You were corrupted, infested, or otherwise infused by the wyrkwik.”

“No.” I wanted to snap back. He was so convinced I was somehow fooling the truth stone. But to my knowledge, doing so would have been impossible. I could only grin and bear it. Eventually he would grow bored.

But it took a while. He continued different angles of attack, trying to somehow catch me out in a deceit. It never happened, largely because it was the truth. I had not been corrupted. And I had never finalized my plans with Emboru. I wondered if this was why? Plausible deniability.

Surprisingly, he never asked what the mucary had wanted me for. It was possible that they never considered the fact that the infested were sentient, or that they could communicate, or want anything that could be achieved by discussion.

Or, and this was my personal suspicion, they were saving that question for later.

The questioning continued.

“You aided Lieutenant Muleater in escaping and fleeing the wyrkwik.”

“Yes.” At least at this point, I could answer truthfully in the affirmative and make a case for clemency.

But then he tried sneaking another question in. “At any point in time, you were corrupted, infested, or otherwise partially consumed by the wyrkwik.”

I groaned, “Nooo.”

He scoffed, tapped the electrocution switch without triggering it, and then stood. He shut the folder and carried it with him, walking out, past the soldiers.

I called after him, “Hey, wait–”

But he stepped through the exit, leaving me alone with two guards in the sound insulated tent.

I remained naked, strapped to the torture chair. The guards looked on dispassionately, practically asleep where they stood. If I could just manage to free my ankles, or even my hand, then I could probably escape. Though I still needed to lift the key to my collar. I had probably best wait until nightfall, I decided.

And so I waited.

And I waited.

An eternity passed, my legs had fallen asleep, my arm had gone numb, my stomach ached from hunger, and my throat parched from thirst. I could not tell if days had passed, though I assumed not, as the soldiers never changed guard.

Finally, there was movement.

The tent flap was swept aside.

In entered the Inquisitor.

“Let us begin.”

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 65

Mind: 75

Spirit: 49

Talents:

Athleticism (3/9):

Climbing I (1/9)

Featherlight (6/9)

Stealth I (5/9)

Trackless Tracks I (1/9)

Area Coverage (1/9)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Eschiver (3/9)

Evasion (6/9)

Spells:

Illusion I (5/9)

Touch (6/9)

Closed

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (3/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)