outsiderslogs | this isn't a good cop bad cop deal

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npc: cat6

this isn't a good cop bad cop deal

who. A group of CAT6 operatives and those that volunteered to be interrogated.
what. Interrogation. Lots of it.
where. A group of small rooms somewhere on the station.
when. Varying times since the shuttle explosion.
warnings. Interrogation, which may involve severe violence

You don't know where you are.

All you know is that you've been taken away from the comfort of your apartment, and are now in a small, square room. There are no windows, nothing but a single light overhead, and the door is locked. There are no sounds to give away where you've been taken, and thus you're left in the dark, both figuratively and nearly literally.

You've been taken by a group known as CAT6 - and they aren't interested in you as an individual. All they want is information, and as far as they're concerned, you have it. And you're going to give it to them. Oh, and if you thought you were leaving?

Sorry about that. You aren't. Not until they have what they want.

This log is for those of you that volunteered to have your characters interrogated and possibly tortured for information. While we encourage you to play these threads out as you would like - have them get as ugly as you're comfortable with - it will not go any further than what you, the players, would like. Mostly, it's all about the giving of information and ultimately, your character will be released to go on about their business.

Until then, have fun letting them be interrogated!

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They've never seen this kind of alien before, but that's nothing new. Omega gets all kinds, and that's only gotten more true ever since the relay started popping them out regularly. Good bunch of them look like humans, but there are exceptions. This seems to be one of them.

They'd kept him locked up for about a day and a half, enough to soften him up. Fed him once, same rations they'd given the others. No telling what these things ate. If they wanted that turian shit, they were outta luck.

Two mercs bring Karkat into the interrogation room and sit him down at the table. He's restrained with a pair of metal handcuffs, the chain hooked into the table when he's seated, and the operative takes a seat across from him. Waves the others out.

"I'll make this very simple. Tell me what I want to know and you'll be free to leave."

Being snatched up gave Karkat flashbacks to some of his grubhood fears of being found out for his mutation. There was nothing scarier than the thought of Imperial Drones breaking down the entrance to one's hive to be taken to the culling fields. Of course he panicked. Who wouldn't panic? That sort of panic even continued when thrown into that room. Karkat wasn't hyperventilating or anything of the sort. Maybe breathing a little heavy and, well. Jittery. If his hands had been free, he would likely have been torn between clawing someone's eyes out and begging to just be let go.

The rations? That shit was better than what he, Rose, Terezi, and Dave had all been making the last three years. What do you expect when you give the power to create just about any food combination under the sun to teenagers? It still gave him time to clear his head. If these assholes were hellbent on killing him, then they certainly wouldn't be feeding him. Karkat didn't know much about other aliens, but a proper Troll didn't waste time with all of this - unless said fool was going to be made an example of. God... He hoped that wasn't the case.

Being sat down and restrained, he pondered if he would be able to shoot the chair in his fetch modus out to hit one of the bulgebiters in the face. Likely not... Karkat didn't have John's luck nor sylladex type. His eyes wander the room, features turning back to more irritation than that of one fearful of his life. Karkat was scared, really. He didn't know what to expect. Wasn't sure what they would do to him. These guys were not Trolls. No Drones or subjuggulators would pry whatever they could from the little mutant.

Karkat was still tense even as the others left the room. There was no sense in bothering with the cuffs as there was no way to break them. Karkat wasn't a highblood. STRENGTH wasn't his thing. All Karkat could do was glare daggers at the merc in front of him. Focus and channel every other lingering emotion into anger. It wasn't hard when he realized that it was an interrogation. Of sorts.

"You kept my sorry ass in that room for over twenty-four hours just to ask me some goddamn questions? Are you out of your globetickling mind? Did it ever occur to you guys to just ask instead of grabbing some kid off of the street? Or is that a fetish of yours? I wouldn't put it passed anyone here, from what I've seen thus far. Then again maybe you're just the all brawn and no fucking brain type..."

The merc raises an eyebrow behind his helmet. He'd been picked to deal with this kid over his compatriots on account of his relatively even temperament. Given that their employers didn't want those taken to be permanently damaged, it was best not to give what could be a volatile child to an equally erratic personality.

"Don't be dramatic. We wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation. Now, then."

He tabs his omni-tool and opens up a few screens full of text, illegible from the child's position save for an image of Karkat himself.

"What lies beyond the Omega-4 relay?"

Karkat groaned. If he were able to slap his head he would. Hell, any hard surface would suffice. This asshole did not seriously believe that he knew anything about this universe or the mechanics of it. It wasn't like Karkat, and many others really, even wanted to be here. Must be some kind of joke. A twisted joke. Either that or these morons really didn't have a functioning brain. It was enough for Karkat to feel a migraine coming on.

"I already understand world-ending situations, fuck you very much. Like I oh so wanted to come into this universe's apocalypse instead of dealing with my own? Please, oh please let me witness another dying one! It's just what I always wanted!"

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "Look, I know fuck all about how your universe works. Whatever lies beyond your relay? I don't have a goddamned clue. I can't believe you're all shithive maggots enough to even bother asking at this point. Believe me when I say that if I did know, I'd say something."

If nothing else, the child seems to enjoy saying a great deal of somethings, whether or not it's what he's been asked. The operative makes an interested noise and taps his screens a few times, taking notes, disaffected so far by his carrying on.

"You had to have seen something on your journey through," the operative says. "Where were you before you boarded the shuttle?"

"On a meteor, hurtling through paradox space and about ready to crash land on some plant," Karkat snapped, rolling his head back and scratching his nails against the surface of the table.

"Of course you were." The operative drums his fingers on the table. "Let me remind you that we will only release you if you give us your full cooperation. If you want to sit here and tell stories, then we're just going to put you back in your cell. Do I make myself clear?"

"Why the fuck would I lie about that? Shit, dude, I even have every single chatlog saved on my husktop. You could check it out yourself and know I'm not making anything up. Where I'm from is so fundamentally different than this place and it's pretty crazy. I realize that," Karkat growled.

"Then elaborate." The operative gives him a flat look through his helmet and taps his omni-tool again. An empty screen appears with a blinking cursor, as if he's going to take notes, but it becomes clear a moment later that it's a transcription program. "Describe the events that led up to your passage through the relay. Facts only, if you please."

"That depends. Are you actually going to think about what I have to say or immediately dismiss it as myth? I'm not going to wait the breath in my pulmonary organs if you're not going to have an open fucking mind about it," he hissed.

In reality the Game was confusing. Explaining everything that happened would make it seem fictional. Hell, if Karkat wasn't there for it, he would likely chalk it up as a made up story for wigglers.

He was never going to get out of here.

This guy's just a member of the Blue Suns, and not even a particularly high-ranked one at that, but he's still one of them. They don't know what his deal is, or what he might be capable of. So they'd dragged him in unceremoniously, stripping him of all weapons and armor and throwing him to rot in a dark room for a day or two. Let him sweat, let him think real hard about what his cooperation might mean.

It hasn't quite been two days when a couple of their armed guys drag him none too gently into an interrogation room. They keep him blindfolded, even as they strap him down to the chair. One of them checks his restraints twice. He might only be human, but he's a big enough guy that they don't want to take any chances.

The only indication to Wash that the door has closed is the quiet click and rustle of the lock, and there are three operatives in the room now, two standing neatly behind Wash, one before him, hands neatly folded behind her back.

"I'm sure you're wondering who we are and why you're here. Well, tough shit. I'm not here to answer your questions. You're here to answer mine. So you tell me what I want to know, and we'll let you walk out of here."

Two days had been enough time for the bruises to soften up. He'd tried, of course, to get away, but they'd sent too many mercs to take him in, and he hadn't been much of a match for them. Not when they'd taken him off-guard. It's not something he's going to let happen again.

Never seen their armor before, but they've moved together. Like a team. Military or mercenary, he's not sure. Probably the latter, considering Omega, but if there's one thing he's learned here it's not to judge on appearances. Of course, being blindfolded isn't really helping with that. He'd been expecting them to get rid of it once they'd strapped him down, and when they lock the door he lets out a snort.

"Oh, is that all?" he asks, keep his tone dry. "And let me guess, I'm supposed to take your word for it."

So he thinks he's a tough guy, giving them swagger and lip. Like that's going to make a difference. If anything, he's only going to make it worse for himself. They're all tough guys in the beginning. The only difference is how long it takes them to crack. And from the looks of this guy, he won't last long.

"No, you're supposed to give us some real answers," she says crisply, sounding unfazed. "Whether you believe me is up to you. But the way I see it, you don't have much of a choice either way."

She signals briefly to the men standing behind Wash, and one of them steps forward, grabbing Wash by the back of his head. He shoves Wash's face into the table in front of him just once, just hard enough to make an audible clang. The operative calling the shots leans forward, resting her palms on the table.

"So how about you tell me how you got here, tough guy?"

Wash can't entirely bite back his groan, blinking against the blindfold. He's lucky they didn't break his damn nose with that. Whoever they are, they obviously don't care about leaving him unharmed. Better not press his luck too hard.

But it's not like he can give them much of anything anyway. Wash scowls towards the voice, idly testing his restraints. "I got here on a shuttle. Same as everyone else."

The operative in front of him clucks her tongue in disappointment. "I didn't drag you all the way here just to have you tell me shit I already know," she says, crossing her arms. "I want to know how you got on that shuttle. What you think you're doing here. The good, juicy details, you hear me? And if you won't tell me what I want to know..."

She signals silently to the two thugs behind Wash, and one of them steps forward and none too gently removes Wash's blindfold. The room is mostly dark, anyway, except for the one light over the table. The other guy undoes Wash's wrist restraints, but both of the thugs just as soon close a hand around each of his arms, preventing any thought of escape. All three of them are armed and armored. Wash is neither of those, and he's been rotting in a cell for a couple of days. Without much warning, one of the operatives pulls Wash's arm back, twisting it painfully behind him.

"Well, we'll get it out of you one way or another."

Wash grits his teeth as his arm gets yanked. They're not fucking around here. If he doesn't give them what they want, they're going to hurt him. No question about that. Problem is, what he has to give them isn't something they're going to like. Much less believe. Doesn't bode well for him.

Guess he'll have to hope luck's on his side today.

"Look. I'm not from your universe, all right? And I didn't come here on purpose. None of us did. Whoever put us on that shuttle, whatever-- that's what you're looking for. Not us." He shakes his head and shoots the woman a glare. "We're just stuck here."

The operative in front of him makes a mock-sympathetic noise, almost sounding like she's pouting behind the helmet. "Ooh, boo hoo. That's the same sob story we hear from everyone else, you know. You think we're supposed to believe that crap?"

The grip on Wash's arm tightens, pulling it back farther. The lead operative places her hands on the table, leaning forward. Her tone doesn't exactly leave room for argument.

"We already know you're not from around here. That much is obvious. And again, you're only telling me shit I've already heard. So I'm going to keep it simple for you, since you seem to be having trouble with this one. I'm just going to ask you one question, and I'll even ask nice and slow for you. Who put you on that shuttle?"

Edited 2013-06-17 02:34 (UTC)

They've seen her before. They may not have initially recognized her upon her capture, but after having held her for a couple of days, her face rings a bell.

She's one of Shepard's people. And it just makes it even more interesting, overall, to them considering the things she must know. Of all the patrons of Omega they could have chosen to apprehend, they ended up with what could potentially be the most reliable source of information they could have hoped for.

Two days, she's been kept since they'd taken her from the market. And though she's been kept in the proverbial dark about where she is, what's going on, they've fed her. Kept her reasonably comfortable.

But now, the fun starts. They cuff her upon entry, chain her to the table that will separate them. Only one operative remains behind as the door shuts, voice clear and steady. "The longer you keep information from us, the longer you'll be here. Go ahead and make this easy on yourself and tell me what I want to know."

Being kidnapped on a shopping trip wasn't something Liara had expected of Omega, but now she was beginning to think twice about just how paranoid people were becoming.

The two days had been strenuous, trying to find some method of getting a message out to no avail, but she had been through worse and survived. It seemed that the culprits, Cat6, were interested in keeping her comfortable which only made her much more wary of what they wanted from her.

Part of her mind wondered if somehow her identity as the Shadow Broker had been leaked, of course she had told no one but the Normandy crew and Feron, somehow it didn't alleviate the worry that this was going to go very badly.

Even after they had sat her down at the table, cuffed and chained, she merely watched them cool and calm before replying.

"That depends on what information you believe I have."

They had taken her in the easiest way possible, and given the fact that she often walked around on her own, it wasn't at all hard to catch her unawares.

They had had a feeling that she wasn't going to break easily, and are therefore prepared to be here for quite some time - but that doesn't mean they want to be there for longer than they have to be. She watching them, and they're watching her - and it seems they're in a tentative stalemate. Especially when she says what she does.

"This isn't a two-way street. You're going to start talking, and we'll figure out what information is actually worth a damn."

They were right in being prepared to have to sit for a while. Liara wasn't the kind to break easily and if it were information that could endanger Shepard or the crew she would take it to her grave.

Watching the operative across from her, Liara didn't show any signs that she was intimidated or going to comply with what they were asking.

"I can't give you information you believe I have unless you tell me what it is that you're after. I could tell you what I know about Cat6, dishonourable discharges from the Alliance, gone rogue, military trained operatives for hire. Your people don't scare me."

They've had that feeling. From the very moment that they'd brought her in, there had been a general feeling of knowing that they were going to be here for quite some time.

There is also that foreboding feeling of not being able to break her easily. That they're going to have to break out the big guns for this one.

"I don't need you to tell me about an operation that I'm a part of," the operative says blandly. "Why don't you tell us more about what you do. What kind of technology you came here with."

Liara wasn't stupid, albeit she didn't understand a great many conversational tactics, but with as bored as the interrogation operative seemed she was curious as to what they expected her to say.

"I'm a scientist, I study Prothean relics. I came here with the same technology as everyone else, on a Kodiak shuttle."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the entire truth. But as far as anyone could tell Liara was just as she said she was. Even her small stint as an information broker on Illium was over shadowed by her recent return to studying the relics she had previously. She doubted that was what they wanted to hear, but she was sticking to what she knew so far.

From what they knew of her, they knew she wasn't in any way stupid; her intelligence far surpasses any of that which they've already come across, and they know they're going to have to be careful with how this goes.

Because she will know how to respond, and keep them from getting the information that they want from her.

Her answer is clear enough, and the operative nods, comprehending. Leaving that bit for now, the next question is a bit more straightforward. "And what do you know about the relay? About why it isn't functioning?"

Of course this was about the relay. In all honesty Liara was just as in the dark as anyone else on the station despite her multiple connections. But she doubted that was what they wanted to hear.

Not taking her eyes off of the operative in front of her she answered as honestly as she could.

"I have no information on that, it's as much a mystery to me as it is to anyone else. There is no reason it shouldn't be functioning, nor why people are coing from the Omega-4 relay."

Yes, it's about the relay. And other things, as well, but there's more than enough time to get to that.

That Liara keeps her eyes straight, her gaze unwavering, and the operative knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that they're going to be here for a while.

"We thought you would say something like that," the operative says, voice low and disbelieving. "And we know that you know things that you aren't willing to disclose. But by the time we're finished with you? You'll be begging to tell us everything you know. Now.

"Why don't you try that again?"

"I don't know anything about the relay or what's going on with it, or why I'm on Omega," Liara repeated. She had a feeling things were going to get very ugly soon, but she honestly didn't know what was going on with either relay at the moment.

"I have no other information on them."

She'd been a good one to find. Alone, out in the open, and though she'd struggled like hell once they'd gotten their hands on her, they'd finally managed to get her into a holding room.

To them, she was just another person on Omega that might know something. They'd kept her for a day before they'd bothered coming to talk to her, and if the fact that she'd refused their rations was any indication? This wasn't going to go as smoothly as anyone wanted.

An operative sits across the table from her, eying the bruise now grazing one cheek that had come after she'd tried elbowing one of them in the side of the head. She looks more than a little angry to be where she is.

"Start talking."

You're damn right she struggled like hell, and they're likely going to continue to have trouble with her. South is never one to cooperate even when asked nicely, let alone when she's snatched against her will.

South doesn't care how angry the interrogator is. She may just be even angrier. She glares daggers at the woman, drumming her fingernails against the table. She'd cross her arms if her hands weren't cuffed together. And she doesn't say a fucking word.

Yes, well. Needless to say the operatives that had brought her in had walked away with their share of bruises, and whether they dare to admit it or not, they're going to be hurting for a few days.

And the fact that their captive doesn't say anything in response doesn't surprise them, but it does get this interrogator's voice raising a few octaves. "I'm going to say it again. Start. Talking."

Still no movement, still not a word, still no sound out of South except for that incessant drumming of her fingernails against the top of that stupid little table in this stupid little room.

Her expression doesn't even change. She's still glaring, eyes still fixed into a narrowed, cutting stare like she's going to just slice the interrogator's throat with thought alone. If only, right?

So. It's going to be like that, is it? Well, if she isn't going to talk ..

That glare doesn't earn her anything but a backhand right across her cheek. It isn't too hard - but it isn't soft, either. And it will surely bruise.

The operative sits back, arms folded on top of the table, voice still steady as anything. "If you don't talk, there will be more than that. Don't want to bruise that pretty face too much, do you?"

She was ready for it the moment she saw the operative's hand come anywhere near her. It still makes her teeth clamp down onto the side of her tongue, though, and that pain combined with the sting on her face makes her close her eyes for a second. Just so she can take a deep breath, try to deal with it. She does know better than to start lashing out immediately. But fuck if it's not really fucking tempting right now.

"You could just tell me what hell I'm supposed to talk about." She quirks an eyebrow. "The weather? Boys? Or, oh, what's your favorite color?"

"Don't get smart."

It's said as barely more than a low growl, eyes narrowing behind the safety of the visor, though South won't be able to see it. "You could just start talking and see if you give us any information that's useful." There's a pause, and the slight tilt of the operative's head to the side.

"Or, maybe I could be generous and ask you a few pointed questions. What do you know about the relay?"

There's a pause before she answers. "The relay?" What, seriously? "Nothing. Next question?"

If that's all that this is about, then this is a downright waste of everyone's time. And if she's getting beat up for that? Oh, she's gonna get even more pissed...

He’s one of the new outsiders, just a teenager. But like with the gray alien, age doesn’t matter, so they choose him, because any of them could have information about why they came through the relay. When he leaves his friends alone, they strike.

They aren’t expecting the claws and the teeth, though, or the ferocity of which he fights. He has the gall to warn them to leave him alone before they try to take him. They stun him and render him unconscious with perhaps more force than necessary. He’d looked human, after all, but something was different about him. Especially when, by the time they haul him into the holding cell, his wounds are gone.

And then when they come to get him after two days, he’s raging. Gold-eyed and seeming feral, and he leaves gouges on their armor. They retreat and leave him, not even feeding him for three days. The sixth day, he seems normal again. Seems normal, but they feed him something and leave him to marinate in his loneliness.

On the seventh, they drag him into the interrogation room. The woman sitting across from him doesn’t remove her helmet. There’s a gun sitting across her lap, and if he remembers the scratches on her left shoulder, she’s the same one that stunned him with her biotics.

She raises her head before she speaks, and when she does, her heartbeat and tone are level, voice in a rasp.

“I have no idea what the hell you are. Frankly, I don’t really care. What I do care about is you answering my questions. Tell me what you’re doing here, and how you got through that relay.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

this isn't a good cop bad cop deal

KARKAT

oh boy oh boy

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WASH

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LIARA

Re: LIARA

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SOUTH DAKOTA

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SCOTT