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CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

“NO ONE WILL CLAIM YOU!”

STARDATE 57654.67
APRIL 18, 2381
1452 HRS

[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Holding Cell | Deck 13 | IKS Ta’Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

‘You will be captured...’

Spend enough time in the service as an undercover operative, or on clandestine operations like this one, and eventually the odds would turn against you, irrevocably so, and you would find yourself rather aptly apprehended. It was numbers game. Plain and simple. A reality of the life of a spy. No one could do it forever and really hope to get away with it for just as long. That was one of the first things they taught to the new trainees back at the Farm, and as laid silently in the middle of an apparent cell of some sort, he could distinctly remember how he and his peers tried to react with hubris and overconfidence. A wholly natural way to respond, given that the alternative meant accepting a failure on your part, rather than endlessly striving to prove how special and above the rest you truly were. Deep down though, each of them knew, just as Fisher knew, that there was an inherent truth to the warning being made.

‘...and when you are, no one will claim you!’

That was one of the other things they taught the new people. It was a trope of the business, sure, but it was also reality. If a power accepted responsibility for one of their spies upon capture, it would undo any and all advantages that had been won by said spy. It was a well-known, and accepted risk by those who entered into Intelligence Services, that their sacrifice was a necessary one in the fight for their cause.

Through the one sage-green eye that hadn’t swollen shut during the mild thrashing he'd sustained during his capture, Fisher peered about him and his immediate surroundings during this moment of relative peace. The quartet of low-level nimrods who had finally brought him in, and whom he had given a series of mockingly false identities to, had left him alone for the time being. He doubted that he'd seen the last of them, and couldn't wait to offer up the next few names which were bouncing around in his throbbing head. He ached, and what little vision he had was blurred, but for the most part he was still in a condition no worse than he’d been in before. No, he knew that the real punishment would come sooner or later. For now, his ability to annoy them and their efforts hadn’t completely whittled away the care with which they approached their interrogation. It stung his pride a little, as he wondered if maybe his penchant for snark and humor had slipped somewhat.

Pushing that thought to the back of his mind, he resumed trying to get a better understanding of his immediate surroundings, as it was a standing order for any and all captured spies to resist, and attempt escape however and whenever they could. If he died in the process, then whatever information and secrets stored in his head would be kept safe as a result. He hadn’t ever seen the inside of a Klingon Brig, having never been arrested aboard a Klingon vessel before. It was sparse to say the least, even by Klingon standards. In fact, aside from the simple metal stool that seemed to be bolted to the floor that he had at one point been perched atop of, it was entirely inornate. Little more than a gray metallic box with one open side, that was no doubt sealed shut via a forcefield of some magnitude.

The non-descript nature of the cell, made it difficult for him to even get an idea of what deck he was on within the Ta’Rom, and wisely, the Klingons had black-bagged him after his apprehension.

It was a surprise to him that they’d removed the hood after setting him down in this cell, as to an extent he wondered if he would be simply lined up against a wall and shot, given how many Klingons he had killed during his incursion aboard the ship and subsequent holdout after the Apache had departed without him. In a very real sense, Fisher had intended to go out in a veritable blaze of glory, fighting until every last bout of energy he had in him, and his phaser had been spent. But fate had other plans as the Klingons quite literally had thrown themselves at him in wave after wave of banzai like attacks, under orders which evidently prevented them from ending his defiance with judiciousness, clearly intent on taking him alive, rather than dead. When he had finally been subdued, he rightfully assumed that Gorka, or someone on behalf of Gorka had wanted a chance to interrogate a captured Theurgy officer.

He had since been stripped of his Savi armor and all other gear, left in only his black duty slacks and crimson undershirt. Then the nimrods went along on their merry way with little more than the names of pop culture characters that Fisher had held a personal affinity for. Grunting as he rolled over onto his other side, ribs aching a little and his shoulders contorted by arms tied behind him, he yet again let a broad shit-eating grin cross his face in a supreme sense of satisfaction.

“C’mon! I haven’t got all day!” he announced, followed by a hearty bout of mocking laughter.

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #1 –
[ Captain Gorka, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai | Deck 13 | Holding Cell | IKC Ta'rom | En-Route to Qo'noS ]

What they waited for, was for the Commanding Officer to arrive, and when he did, the other Klingons backed away - the silence having grown thick and menacing.

The forcefield winked out before Gorka, son of Margon, and he stepped into the holding cell with his large hands at his sides. He did not look at the human on the deck plates, expecting little in terms of cooperation. Instead, he took his time, gathering his thoughts. The fallout of the battle had been less-than-ideal, since artok had fled on a shuttle, making his way towards Qo'noS long before it even started. On top of that, House Mo'Kai had lost more ships than Gorka liked to the Theurgy.

Be that as it may, the worse of it had come afterwards, since the Ta'rom's communication system had been compromised - the ship infiltrated by the Theurgy crew mid-battle. The result? All the necessary actions he had taken to ensure that Martok didn't remain in power had been aired to the Houses that he contacted. Biased intel spewing across the subspace relay networks. While he'd believed he'd rallied Mo'Kai's allies to his cause... they had instead learned things of which they knew too little about. Such as the fate of the IKS Daqchov, and the outcome of other battles he'd fought since he left Aldea behind. Like his affiliation with Eriska, the sister of Daa'maq, which was of particular concern since it had soured the potential to gain the ear of House Daa'maq forever. While he had believed he'd rallied them to another battle in orbit of Qo'noS, he'd seen the Houses shut down the hail from the Ta'rom, one by one.

And the squishy little human on the deck plating was responsible for it. Him, and a team that had escaped without him. So, Gorka had to take a moment, lest he'd torn the human to pieces without learning anything of use. He wouldn't even be able to use the human for leverage against the renegade Federation ship.

"I had thought the Federation wouldn't use stealth technology," he rumbled, still looking at the bulkhead. "Then again, you are traitors to your fleet, so why would you even care about that foolish treaty with the Romulans? It certainly didn't stop you from killing your own at every chance you could get after your ship fled from Earth, destroying everything in your path. That starbase close to the RNZ? The Azure Nebula, stranding countless and cutting them off from communications? And yet..."

Gorka now looked at the human, the overhead lights glinting across his scalp. "And yet you dare spread claims of my dishonour, knowing your ship has done far worse than I when it comes to domestic conflict." Gorka's teeth flashed as he spoke, hands curling into fists. "That... Simulcast from the starbase you attacked was a criticism towards the Prime Directive... but how can you kill for the sake of planets unaware of your existence? They don't even know you. What difference does it make, and how does defecting to Romulus aid that cause? Your Captain and crew are killing for a fool's cause. Social justice for the ignorant? For the weak and unfortunate?"

With a derisive snort, Gorka slowly drew his dagger and walked up to the puny human. He put his boot on top of his head, and leaned his weight on it. "While I am trying to save my Empire, by any means necessary... you have sold your souls to the Praetor... who has no interest in uplifting other species. You will die a fool, human."

That neck lay exposed next to his boot, and Gorka was tempted to bleed the prisoner out on the deck. It would be some compensation, at least, for the damage that the comms system had caused him.

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #2 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Holding Cell | Deck 13 | IKS Ta’Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan @stardust

Fisher’s personal experience with Gorka was limited to say the least. In fact, Klingon affairs weren’t necessarily within his usual realm of influence as an Intelligence Operative, at least not within recency. It seemed, for the most part anyway, that Fisher was constantly dealing with the rivals of both the Federation and Klingon Alliance, rather than directly with the Empire. Incidental, perhaps, but more likely a deliberate decision made by his superiors, since the Klingons were generally considered allies, rather than not, and Fisher’s expertise best fit times wherein he could be a little more liberal in how he dispensed prejudice. In essence, his reins weren’t fit as snuggly around the neck when dealing with the Obsidian Order, or the Tal Shiar, and he generally much preferred it that way. But that wasn’t to say he was ignorant of internal Klingon matters either. No, he had his sources and assets within the Klingon Empire, just as he had elsewhere, and as such was well aware of the strife surrounding this apparent claimant to the Chancellorship.

He just hadn’t had any immediate interactions with him, or anyone working on his behalf prior to coming to Theurgy.

As he listened to the colossal prick, who had been little more than a constant strain and headache upon Theurgy and it’s mission, he began to weigh the facts, however limited they may have been. Fortunately, Gorka had something of a penchant for verbose displays, and found it necessary to ascribe a diatribe of reasoning hidden behind his duplicitous actions. It would give Fisher some additional information with which he could act upon, contingent on whether or not he survived this whole imprisonment ordeal. No laughing matter for sure, as the captured spy had little confidence in the endurance of his captors, especially when faced with his supreme sense of sarcasm and sardonic sense of humor. Call it a game, where he would need to tread carefully at the very precipice of valuable prisoner and expendable nuisance.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that.” He quickly responded to Gorka’s accusations of implicit guilt as a member of Theurgy. In truth, Fisher hadn’t been around for any of the things that were lobbed past him as way of incrimination. Though, even if he were, he likely still would have feigned innocence out of his need to obfuscate at every turn. This was after all, an interrogation, and he was very much a spy. Keeping secrets was one of those things that his profession needed to practice with unrivaled capability, especially in the face of duress. He considered testing Gorka’s temperament by claiming to have been nothing more than a simple stow-away, despite the fact that he had been quite literally caught red-handed in the act of sabotage. Hell, it might have even been good for a lark, in his mind, to have pressed on the issue out of sheer arrogance and stubborn refusal.

Maybe at a later point during their exchange, but for now, Fisher found himself surprisingly intrigued by that which was slipping from Gorka. Despite the incredibly poor timing, and his obvious penchant for dishonorable tactics, Gorka sounded almost as though he were acting in what he thought was the best interests of the Empire. That this wasn’t just about himself and his glory. It even sounded genuine, and perhaps it was, but trust in what an enemy leader espoused was hardly something which Fisher held in any reserve for this particular usurper. Lies were abundant. All the same though, it did make the spy wonder if maybe Gorka was just another unwitting pawn in the game of chess being played by the Nameless Darkness. Otherwise, why would he attempt to explain himself, and his actions in such a manner?

At the drawing of a dagger however, the deeper considerations at play within his mind were pushed to the back.

Half-expecting to be bled dry right here and now, Fisher remembered the advice of an old friend and mentor and dared not tear his sage-green gaze away from the face of Gorka. When faced with death, it was important to stare it down in defiance; to fight the natural instinct to hide from fate, and as a result be forgotten. Those who could and would resist unto the final moment, the unyielding fight clearly evident within their eyes, would be remembered and haunted by those who would claim their lives. You would endure and have a lasting impact well beyond the limitations of your mortal coil, and in this very moment Fisher was determined to put it to practice. He would glare at the Gorka, his heart racing in reaction to the imminent threat of death, yet the thoughts in his mind were impervious to physical attack.

He thought of his home. Of Boston. His mother tending bar in their family restaurant. All around him were the past friends and colleagues, be they living or deceased, their glasses raised in reverence of him. Seated across from him, a beautiful face which he had only just met a few weeks earlier, and which had quickly come to represent something special to him. She smiled, a teasing hidden behind those azure-eyes of hers, and he swore he could feel a cool droplet of water touch against his hand, just as it had that night that he’d spent with her in the ship’s lounge.

And Fisher was ready. He was at peace with this. Whatever would come to him, he would not fear, he would not hide.

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #3 –
[ Captain Gorka, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai | Deck 13 | Holding Cell | IKC Ta'rom | En-Route to Qo'noS ]

As tempted as he was to end the life of the human just for the sake of his own satisfaction - in ire over the virus that had affected his standing with his allied Houses - Gorka did not, for he reckoned that there were more important answers to be had.

"Over the past couple of days," he said quietly and crouched down over the puny Human, boot still on his neck, "the Theurgy was able to cross many light years, using some means of propulsion that gives your ship an advantage. If you wish to live, you will give me the means for this kind of travel, and I think it would be in your best interest to give me this information now... rather than my House pulling the answers out of your throat with mutilation and pain. Those are your two options."

Gauging the Human's wiliness to oblige his demand, tilting his head a little as he looked at the struggles of the prisoner, Gorka eventually stood tall and removed his boot from the man's throat.

"Speak, and live a life as a whole man, or remain silent if you wish to take your chances." With his dagger still in his hand, Gorka idly paced the chamber. "I should warn you, however, that your mind might break long before your body surrenders to the inevitable, and at that point... you will be saying anything to make them stop. So, tell me now instead, how can the Theurgy cross Klingon space so fast? How, I ask!"

Like the crack of a whip, Gorka's voice flayed the barren walls of the chamber, equivalent to a kick in the teeth. The promise of the dagger in his hand served as the non-vocal threat as he stalked the room in quietude - waiting for the Human to speak.

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #4 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Holding Cell | Deck 13 | IKS Ta’Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

This.

This was more akin to the man he had expected to be at the forefront of an attempted coup d'etat of the Klingon Chancellorship. Self-serving, and seemingly desperate to improve his own chances at a successful power-play. It was also more in line with the make of enemies and rivals which Fisher had spent a portion of his career as a spy working against. To an extent, it put a modicum of concern at the back of his mind to rest, as Gorka had just reclarified himself to be the villain Fisher assumed him to be. Gone was the attempt to justify and explain the reasoning behind his duplicitous actions, replaced by an insistence on getting secretive information which would benefit him. It was enough to elicit something of a shit-eating grin across Fisher’s bruised and swollen face as the boot lifted free, and the knife withdrawn from the imminent threat of death. Internally, he thanked the fates for setting this whole thing straight, at least as far as he saw it.

“Well... the problem is... and I do so apologize for this...” interrupted by a short bout of coughing, Fisher stared up at the massive Klingon General as he fought to regain a hold of his breathing. “...engineering was never my strong-suit at the academy.” Explicitly, this was the truth, a fact that nearly caused the beaten spy to succumb to a fit of laughter, as he hardly expected to be so honest in the midst of an interrogation. “But...” he hesitated, the threat of enhanced interrogative measures weighing in the balance of how he proceeded. Fisher knew that beatings and typical forms of physical torture were nothing but an overture in any modern interrogation. If anything, it suited him to be mired in the midst of such physicality for as long as he could, because he felt more confident in his ability to hold out under such duress, than he did in his chances at surviving more sinister methods. “...from what I understand... our Chief Engineer developed some kind of a new engine...” shuffling about on the floor where he’d still lay, he moved so that he could slide himself to an upright seated position against the wall.

“...I think it’s called an outboard motor. Five-bladed propellor. Makes rowing totally obsolete.”

The grin across his face broadened as he couldn’t help but let a soft chortle escape, though it hurt worse than his previous fit of coughing, the ache of his broken ribcage that which he couldn’t entirely ignore. Grunting audibly as he fought against the pain, he let his head roll against the metal wall behind him for just a moment. “C’mon!” he shouted at Gorka. “You’re a General. You... you can’t expect me to roll over so easily... can... can you?” coughing again, Fisher spat a globule of fresh coagulated blood from his lips unto the ground beside him. “You... you didn’t get to where you are, entirely by conniving and cheating. You...” struggling to catch his breath still, Fisher wondered if his lung was collapsing within his chest cavity as vision blurred once more. “...you have to have had some... some kind of dealings with people like me before.” The wheezing in Fisher’s voice was growing ever more obvious with each word he spoke.

He glared at the big man, wondering where their interaction might lead next. If there was more that they needed to glean from one another, or if this situation was just an entirely foregone conclusion. “You ever... ever stop and wonder what History will judge of you, when all is said and done? Even for a second? Because...” groaning as the ache in his chest intensified, Fisher had half a mind to slump over onto his side to try and assuage the pain.

“...because it doesn’t look good right now, pal.”

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #5 –
[ Captain Gorka, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai | Deck 13 | Holding Cell | IKC Ta'rom | En-Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]
It ought to have been expected, perhaps, that the Starfleet officer whom had infiltrated the Ta'rom was of the ilk that may have been in interrogations before. Gorka neither laughed nor growled when the Human spouted his humour and chortled at his own wit, having come to stand perfectly still in the middle of the room and looking at him from beneath his forehead ridges. The overhead light cast his dark eyes in deeper shadow, and he bid his time waiting for his prisoner to finish.

He wouldn't be swayed to reveal the means of propulsion that the Theurgy used immediately, but Gorka had faith that once they reached Qo'noS, the best interrogators of his House would be able to wrest the information out of him. Tasteless methods, not very honourable, but as efficient as they were ruthless. In the end, given the retort, he wouldn't even have to tell the Starfleet officer twice what would happen if he didn't comply. He'd already said to expect.

Instead, the question in the end... oh, it was pointed, as if the Human challenged him. A taunt, plain and simple. How could he not answer, knowing exactly how righteous his claim was, and equally so, wherein he was boldly challenging tradition and norm for sake of the betterment of the Empire. It might be that he had a personal incentive, with the death of his father at the hands of Martok's bastard son, but that was merely the catalyst for a wind that would even the keel of his people before they were lost.

"You would not know, Human, what has become of our Empire and its great Houses under the rule of Martok, the traitor," he rumbled in his deep voice. "All Houses know, what the priorities of Martok were when he came into power. History will know that I will undo the damages Martok has caused to this great Empire of ours. How he has come to dampen our spirit to the degree where we now stand unprepared, when the Romulan Star Navy traverse our borders."

Did he gain anything farther by abusing the flesh of this prisoner with his dagger? Anything beyond the soothing of his rage and the embarrassment the Theurgy crew had caused? The prisoner wasn't exactly challenging his honour with his question either, so he refrained from burying his weapon in the Human's cut for the time being.

"My proud people had a rich history of feats, achieved by the Houses of the past. The first thing he did, was to purge the High Council and Great Houses of many great warriors, whom held the honour of achievements by being the strongest! He called it corruption and dishonourable practices, yet in war and conflict, we all know the lines are always blurred in this regard. Many distinguished warriors lost their lives and their standing, titles and possessions, when Martok became Chancellor. If we are not meant to act and be like Klingons, what are we supposed to be? He challenged the spirit of our people, and left the survivors questioning whom to trust when speaking of glory and conquest."

As he spoke, his great shadow moved in tandem with his step, cast across the face of the Human when he stepped closer - the overhead light making him a dark silhouette against the light. "His next decree, was to make the Klingon High Council and its powers 'accessible' to common subjects of the Empire, allowing the ignorant mob to meddle in the affairs of those who knew better. Whom saw the full spectrum of power and possibility, and knew best what would benefit the lesser servants in the minor Houses. He struck at the foundation of our hierarchy, and ever since, we have watched it crumble. That might be his greatest sin, for it has led to the necessity of this very hour, where I have to strike him out of his seat of power, and restore the structure of power before it crumbles and the Empire fall apart in conflict."

He reached out, grasped the puny neck of the Human, and pushed him against the wall - choking him.

"Federation. Starfleet... While puny and weak, possessing a wealth of resources, and being the means to keep the Star Navy behind its boarders. Diversity in strengths. If it hadn't been pretence, the only thing Martok might have done right was to make an ally of your kind during the Dominon War. Had he been genuine, I might still have served as I did... biding my time in quiet anger at all his other affronts... but then... he showed his true colours. Siding with your Captain and the Praetor, and showing how his support for Donatra was just a cowardly farce to keep the Council oblivious."

He let go of the Human then, by throwing him to the floor. Standing over him, Gorka shook his head.

"Martok has blinded so many of us, of high standing and low. His deception run so deep that in order to save my people, I have to do whatever it takes to tear him down and restore our Empire... before it is to late to save it. The Romulan fleet is marching for our border, and our very Chancellor is in the Praetor's pocket. You think my actions callous and cruel. I say I have no other choice. History, as you say, will tell if what I did was enough."

Gorka slowly stepped towards the door, and sheathed his dagger. He cast another glance in the man's direction.

"I give you one last chance to speak... before I hand you over to those in my House that will pry the truth past your teeth by means your people don't even have a name for."

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #6 –
[ Lt. Cmdr. Andrew Fisher | Holding Cell | Deck 13 | IKS Ta’Rom ] Attn: @Auctor Lucan

Fisher was exhausted.

Utterly and completely so. His body was beaten, broken, and bruised. His ribcage ached almost as badly as his surgically repaired back, and he was hastily getting sick of the taste of his own blood being coughed up from what he presumed to be a punctured and partially collapsed lung. All of this was dictating a desperate personal want to just abandon the fight and surrender this proverbial game of chess to General Gorka. The thing is, he was more than aware that in his profession, to surrender this early would certainly lead to the aforementioned elevation of interrogation techniques, and therein lied the real battle that Fisher had yet to wage, and which he had serious doubts about. It was rare when circumstances and conditions were right for someone like him to forge an effective defense in the face advance interrogation, and as such, Fisher knew he had to stall for as long as he could. He knew that he needed to keep moving his King, and whatever pawns were left on his side in a mostly futile effort to stave off Gorka’s eventual checkmate; maybe even push for stalemate. Winning was little more than a fool's gambit at this point since any pieces of value had long since been lost when Fisher had been captured.

Or he could try and shove Gorka to a breaking point and elicit that slit throat that would keep his friends and secrets safe from exposure. Maybe instead of trying to goad Gorka into a stalemate, a thought once more occurred that he should be trying to lead him into a hasty checkmate.

Of course, that hinged entirely on the colossal prick’s temper getting the best of him.

“Martok... Martok the traitor!?” Fisher derisively spat out the moniker that Gorka tried to ascribe to Martok, an incredulousness and impetuousness clearly evident in the mocking tone he used to echo the General’s words. Even if he hadn’t now been trying to push Gorka over the edge, he might have reacted in such a manner, as he had held Martok to high esteem. The Klingons had fought with such ferocity and bravery alongside the Federation and it’s allies during the Dominion war, and Fisher had born personal witness to the ways Martok had inspired them. He was a war legend in every way and had more than earned his reputation and status as a leader of the Klingon Empire during the War; a position he eventually won. It boggled Fisher’s mind that anyone could legitimately challenge the Chancellor’s loyalty to the Empire, and to it’s Alliance with the Federation. “Martok... he, emb-- emboldened the spirit of your people!” It still hurt Fisher to try and speak aloud, an effort which was costing him even more precious oxygen as with each passing minute the capacity of his lung lessened.

It dawned on him as Gorka continued, the hilarity of debating the finer details of Klingon culture in a moment like this, and he grinned ever so slightly, his crimson bloodstained teeth baring themselves between smirking swollen lips.

“Things... things are not so... so simple... Gorka.” He added when the General mentioned Romulans testing the sovereignty of Klingon space, knowing more than Gorka did, but also knowing that it wasn’t his place to expand on the matter. He wouldn’t offer anything substantive during this exchange, instead he would try to lead him down an avenue which would either eat up some time, or which would cause him to lose control and act impulsively at Fisher’s expense. “The council had grown... gr-- grown weak... grown stagnant by.... by infighting, and petty quarrels which split the Empire. Like... like what you’re doing now.” Swallowing hard, Fisher almost gave into an instinctual need to vomit as he gulped a thick globule of coagulated blood down his throat, it slithering all the way down his gullet until it settled into the pit of his stomach. “He... he focused your people. Brought them into the... into the war, where they won glory in battle.” Gritting his teeth now, he felt a sharp internal pang in the left side of his abdomen that nearly toppled him over. “Made... made the alliance between the Federation and Empire stronger than... nngh... than ever before.”

Fisher wasn’t even sure if anything he was saying made any sense or not, as his recollection of post-war politics was hazy at best given how his head ached, and how the world seemed to keep spinning round him. For all he knew in the moment, he could’ve imagined the Dominion War in its entirety.

Still, the verbal repartee continued, which was a shade better than being foisted of unto the real interrogators, and whatever bags of tricks they had in store.

Or at least, it had appeared it would continue, until a strong vicelike hand wrapped itself around Fisher’s neck, stifling any further retort from him as his windpipe was clenched down upon. Eyelids opening wide to reveal the sage green orbs behind them, the spy glared at his tormentor with defiance as he was forced back against the bulkhead behind him. Gorka’s words soon resumed, and Fisher imagined they might be the last he’d ever hear; a tragedy in it’s own right as this big bastard would have been very near the bottom of any lists of people he’d want to see or hear from as he passed over into the Final Frontier. It felt like a betrayal of fate in some respects, but Fisher could understand how his life as a spy might have justly landed him in the here and now. All the same, he remained resolute in his insistence to look death in the eyes, and not shirk or hide. Even as the edges around his vision began to blur, and color drained to shades of gray, he would not surrender to the innately human instinct to clench shut his eyelids and welcome the abject absolution of darkness.

‘I’m sorry.’ Fisher thought to himself as he approached the very precipice, wanting his last thought to at least be one of personal condolence to any and all the people he’d loved in life.

Grunting hard, it took a second for Fisher to realize that instead of plunging into the eternal abyss of peace and finality, he had landed on his side, having been thrown down by Gorka just prior to completely wavering. Instinctively he, he gasped deeply, desperately for air as his lungs burned, and his body yearned for precious oxygen. On exhale, he coughed up harshly again, spitting more blood out onto the steel decking beneath him as his neck strained and he searched the room for something to focus on, finding Gorka standing near the doorway which led out of his cell. The game. Fisher needed to extend the game. His attempts at toying around with the General hadn’t won him as much time as he’d hope, and even worse, he hadn’t been relieved of the battle to be waged next. But try as he might, Fisher couldn’t find the will or the right set of words which might elicit a preferable outcome. He could only gaze up at Gorka, and for the first time in a long time, he had no witty or snarky response ready to go at the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he could only resign himself to the fate of further interrogation, and clench shut his eyes.

Re: CH06: S [D03|1452] “No one will claim you!”

Reply #7 –
[ Captain Gorka, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai | Deck 13 | Holding Cell | IKC Ta'rom | En-Route to Qo'noS ]
[Show/Hide]
The infiltrator had no answer. No willingness to indulge Gorka's questions, and perhaps that ought to have been expected.

It was unfortunate, but perhaps also inevitable. Gorka had no means to tell whether or not his claims had gotten through to the injured human, but did it even matter? He was no Klingon, and had no inkling about the harsh yet complicated machinations of his Empire's rule, so wherein was the merit in convincing him that history would see his claim as the legitimate one in hindsight. Treason wasn't so easily dismissed, regardless what merits the traitor may have held once. What Martok had done, in aligning himself with the Romulans and with the treacherous renegades aboard the Theurgy ship, was unforgivable.

Silence would have to be the answer, and the human's fate was sealed.

"So be it," was all he said, the declaration loud and final.

And then Gorka left the holding cell, and switched off the light completely after the door closed, so that the prisoner would be left in complete darkness. The infrared feed would keep track of his movements, whereas he wouldn't even be able to find the door. In the pitch black cell, he'd wait for the arrival to Qo'noS, and the House Mo'Kai facility that would tear everything he knew out of his throat.

- FIN

 
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