Captured Commander, I

[Cptn Corizon 0]

After the muzzle firmly affixed to Corizon’s face, his conscious mind drifted away, as if the entire experience confronted it with more than it could reasonably assimilate. When it finally did manage to piece together the torrent events, Corizon found himself cold and alone along a dark wall in the basement of a massive structure.

 

Blinking his eyes, he glanced from side to side getting his bearings. His arms were bound, and so were his feet. Rather primitive, he thought at first, but after a few minutes of stuggling in vain, he saw the genius and the technological advancement in his restraints.

 

On either wrist, black organic chains limited his range of motion, and the harder he pulled against them, the harder they pulled him back. And being organic, meant they were able to contract with ease unlike metallic restraints, and provided less free motion than a Federation brig cell. His legs were similarly bound, with the addition—from what he could tell by trial and error—that if you pulled to far on your leg restraints, they zapped you hard enough to knock you back to your knees.

 

It appeared that escape was not an option. Sighing to himself, he leaned back against the cold walls of the basement…or for lack of a better term…dungeon. He’d been isolated from the other prisoners. Two guards set across the room, closer to the others, monitoring them for any signs of resistance and occasionally heckling the others, but him…they’d kept their distance from…perhaps because he’d been to out of it to be worthy sport, he presumed.

 

“Look at that one,” Tyxen, one of the Guards said lowly, pointing off handedly towards Corizon. “Victria brought him in about three hours ago. Hasn’t said a word since.”

 

The other guard took a few glanced at him and smirked, “Look at him, rather punny for a Lucam…must be some sort of half-breed.”

 

Tyxen scoffed, “His tags say he’s a slave of the Imperial Court, of Laheir.”

 

“Perhaps they shaved his body to make him look more appeasing?” They glanced at each and laughed heartily.

 

“If you’re going to talk about me,” Corizon’s gruff voice, though pained by the muzzle, echoed against the hard, cold walls. “Come over here and say it to my face.”

 

The two guards glanced between each other again, bemused. “The mutt can talk!”

 

“I am not mutt!”

 

“Certainly fooled me,” Tyxen said as he approached Corizon with an air of superiority. “Let’s see how tough you are, doggy.”

 

The hair on Corizon’s neck stood straight up, and though it pained him, he growled deeply at the approaching Tyxen, who had taken a small remote, much like Victria’s from his pocket. He smiled and pressed a button, almost immediately, the restraints restricted pulling Corizon flush against the wall. He thrashed wildly against them, but the more he did, the tighter their grip against him strengthened.

 

“Why do you fight?”

 

All Corizon could do was growl.

 

“I’ll tell you why, mutt…it’s because your too stupid to know better. That’s why you are slaves and we are your masters. You act only on impulse and instinct, you disgust me. Your not even a pureblood, or was it that you were so vile and hairy they shaved you?”

 

Corizon stopped resisting, the man was correct…at least about resisting.

 

“I see you can teach them tricks after all,” Tyxen said with a positively vile grin, as he tapped the button loosening the restraints. “Now if you’re a good boy, I’ll think about taking off that muzzle of yours.”

 

A glimmer of hope shot through him, if he could get them to listen him, he could explain how this entire mess was a misunderstanding. Obviously they could see he wasn’t a “Lucam” or what ever it was he was supposed to be. Tyxen, satisfied with himself, walked away leaving Corizon alone once more.