At home... on enemy grounds

 

He was right, Freelancers weren't as bad as the rumors said. They were worse.

When the ship had docked at the orbiting base, Seth had been escorted from the ship to a holding cell. He'd stayed in the cell for about an hour before the two posted guards came to get him.

The grim faced men led him down the hall and into another room. One of the guards left while a Freelancer that had already been in the room shoved him into a chair. The other guard stayed behind and closed and locked the door. Seth's armor had been confiscated when he'd first boarded the Freelancer base. At first, he'd been worried that they'd leave him naked, but they had issued him a set of clothes.

The captured boy watched warily as one Freelancer took up a position by the locked door and the other sat across from him in another chair. There was a plain table between them. His captors didn't bother restraining him.

The Freelancer in front of him spoke. “So, you're from the UIF? Almost 70% of our missions come from officers in your old army. That doesn't mean I'll go easy on you if you disobey me, though. Tell me what I want to hear, and we'll let you off lightly. So, give me your name and rank.”

Seth was no coward. He wasn't about to betray his empire and all it stood for. Giving his name and rank couldn't hurt anything, though. “Seth Johnson. Private in the UIF 15th division.”

“Good boy. Thats a pretty low rank in the grand scheme of things. I bet you don't know anything useful. Still, tell me what you know of the UIF troop deployment in the area around your old base.”

Now they'd come to touchy subject. Seth could give his name and rank without giving away anything important. Even telling them what division he was in had little informational value, they had probably already known what division was occupying that planet. The young soldier held his silence, remembering the brave efforts of his comrades back at the base.

After his silence had stretched on for a few moments, the Freelancer sighed. “You're not making this any easier on yourself. Loyalty and bravery are all well and good, but they'll only get you killed in the long run. Smith, come help me with this.”

Both the freelancer that had been across the table and the one guarding the door, Smith, moved towards Seth. They grabbed by his upper arms and yanked him from the chair. Seth was dragged to the other side of the room and pushed through a door he hadn't noticed. The men closed the door behind him.

Seth felt like he was swimming in ink. He was surrounded by utter and complete darkness, there wasn't even a sliver of light coming from beneath the door. The boy had a pretty good idea of where he was. He hoped with all his might that he was wrong.

Quite suddenly, there was a quiet grinding sound, then a low hum started up. The poor boy only had the time to register that he had, in fact, been right before the pain started and he lost all coherent thought.

People that had survived a few rounds in a torture chamber said that the pain was completely indescribable. There were no words strong enough to put a face on that horrible agony. The poor boy was burning from head to toe. It was as if someone had dipped him in oil then thrown him into a particularly active volcano. At the same time, he felt like someone was skinning him with a viciously cold knife. As if those sensations weren't bad enough, he also had the terrible feeling of someone shoving unusually large needles into all of his joints simultaneously.

Needless to say, Seth screamed. He screamed load and long, until he was well past hoarse, and then screamed some more. The poor young soldier was beginning to black out when that awful low hum finally stopped. He slumped, exhausted to the floor, lying in an expanding puddle of his own sweat.

The door the Freelancers had shoved him through opened with a swishing sound. Seth didn't bother looking up, he didn't even move. He just continued to lay in his sweat puddle, breathing like a winded horse. Boots sounded on the floor as a Freelancer walked into the room. Someone gently slid their arms under his and lifted him up. Seth found himself face to face with Gloria in full armor, minus her helmet.

Seth saw her mouth moving. He could just barely hear something. He was having a very hard time making out what she was saying. It all sounded it like it was coming form really far away or he was hearing it through earplugs. Gloria turned him around and put one of his arms over her shoulder so she could support him. As he walked out of the torture chamber and through the interrogation room, he saw his interrogators lying on the floor bleeding heavily. It looked a very angry person had beaten them repeatedly with a large battle rifle. They were breathing, but not moving.

Gloria continued to support him as they left the room and made their slow way down the hall. Seth finally passed out after they were a few feet away from the interrogation room doorway. The vicious Freelancer woman picked him up like a large, particularly limp, bag of potatoes and threw him over her shoulder. She continued on her way murmuring death threats and extreme profanities towards her prisoner's guards with her every step.