Holding Cell
Morino Ibiki did not know how where he was, nor, more importantly, how he had gotten there. The obvious answer would be that he had been captured during a mission, or a surprise raid upon his last where-abouts. However, Ibiki was one-hundred-percent positive he had been safe (more or less) in the Interrogation room, lounging about with Yamanaka Inoichi while they shirked their dreaded paper-work from the last interrogation. It had been relatively easy, and Ibiki was sure it was not the cause of his current predicament. No, something more sinister was at work. Something the Lady Hokage likely would have her hands full dealing with.
Questions ran through his aching head like bolts of disorganized lightening.
Was the village under attack?
How many foes did he have to contend with?
Strong, or weak? (Silly question, for of course they were strong if they had managed to capture him...)
More importantly...where was he?
His current 'residence' was a darkly lit cell, made of unwelcoming gray cobblestone. It was small, the width just enough for him to have lain down and stretched out. If he were free to do so, of course. He was not. He knew he was tied, but the horrid pain in his shoulders and wrists demanded he not test the strength of the bindings. He knew his jaw was badly broken, as well as his left shoulder. Blood seeped into his right eye, from a gash above his brow. It was still new, which suggested his captors had been beating him recently, while he lay unconscious.
Anger flared through him. Who were these bastards? Despite the fact it seemed hypocritical, Ibiki was enraged that they had beaten him. Torture for information was one thing; it was often nessesary. Torture for pleasure, while the victim lay knocked out, was disgusting. It was pointless and barbaric. Period.
Ibiki's eyes grew suddenly heavy, and his vision darkened momentarily. As much as he despised the fact, he needed sleep. He was losing consciousness fast. Better to give in voluntarily than have the dark sleep take him over of its own accord.
Hours passed, though it seemed to Morino Ibiki like only moments. When his weary eyes reopened, he realized it was brighter in the cell; day had come. He also realized that high above and behind him was a tiny window. Sun seeped through, drowning him in sweet warmth. The mix of cheery morning birds dancing in sunlight along with his bloody and dire situation was nearly laughable. There were probably people basking in the sweet warmth outside, not a care in the world, and here he was, starving and bloody.
Speaking of starving...
The delicious and torturous scent of roast lemon duck and boar-meat-pies wafted in. Someone somewhere was having a feast, and Ibiki's stomach growled in angry protest. Shifting his wearisome weight in the rough wood chair, he closed his eyes momentarily. Thus far, no one had come to give demands, nor to question him. It seemed odd to him. As a professional interrogator, Ibiki knew how these things went; the poor sod whom was being interrogated would be roughed a bit, left alone to stew in his fear and pain, and then questioned and roughed a bit more.
Only this time, he was the poor sod, and while there had been some roughing up while he lay unconscious, no one had even tried to question him or demand secret information. It just did not add up to him. This was the part where some big, bad ANBU or interrogator stormed in and attempted to make him piss his pants. So where was this part? Perhaps he was not remembering something, some very crucial detail. What was the last thing he remembered... the very last thing... last...thing...
Morino Ibiki promptly passed out.
The Exchallengra - Captain's Quarters
Josh Jhryian sat behind his expansive cherry-wood desk, deep in thought. Untouched plates of food sat before him, growing cold. Though rather young for a Startraveler Captain, at thirty-two Josh held many mighty achievements under his youthful belt:
Black-belt in karate, for one, as well as multiple fighting arts.
The unofficial title of the best and brightest Battle Strategist next to Humfric Herfpin, who was now long dead and legendary.
Best persuasion-skills in the hot-blonde-one-nightstands department; truly, he counted his ability to talk any woman into his bed as a skill. Not everyone could do it, so obviously it was safe to assume it was a rare, coveted talent.
But most importantly, Captain Josh Jhryian held the record for most completed missions this particular season, and he had no intention of giving it up just because some ass of a planet-dweller had decided to board his ship unauthorized. Truthfully, he knew it was not the man's fault; the Clovothians had finally discovered the humble little planet below, dubbed K489, and the Exchallengra had barely made it in time to stop the blasted space-barbarians from demolishing the ninja-based world and plundering it's treasures and goods. One of his best fighters, Marsha McGwynie, had taken a Jumper down to the world below in pursuit of two Clovothian Jumpers that had escaped Exchallengra's mighty fire. Josh still did not know completely what had transpired, for Marsha was out cold in the infirmary, but what he did know was she had come back badly wounded, and with a raging native of the planet K489. The man had been wild and deadly, nearly taking of Josh's own pretty blonde head with a chakra blast.
Chakra was common among the many planets, but aboard Startraveler Ships? Not so much. The energy waves needed to project chi from the body messed with the ship's wirings. or so legend liked to claim. Thusly, chakra-users were often kicked from ships, or not allowed on in the first place. This fell true to magic-users as well, along with many human and non-human beings with unusual skills.
Josh's bright blue eyes flicked to the warm brown ceiling. He certainly hoped this chakra-user did not affect the ship in any way, as legend claimed they did. They were far enough from K489 that if any malfunction befell them, they were surely perish before they found safe landing.
A sharp, brisk knock startled the captain from his musings. "Enter!" he replied gruffly.
The sleek door, wood as well, yawned open smoothly. Josh liked wood. The Startravelers had next to none, usually, so when Josh had gained the title of Captain for the Exchallengra, he had taken one look at the gleaming chrome, metal, and iron, and had demanded his personal quarters be "over-fucking-flowing" with wood. The ship-designer, Miskar Mhruru, had certainly not disappointed; The only things not wood were the carpeted floor, mattress and blankets, and clothing in the wardrobe.
A quiet cough dragged Josh from his private musings. Eldan Iarderm, his second in command, stood in the doorway. Tall and proud at six-foot-two, he looked to be pure muscle. His skin was darkened olive, his unreadable eyes even darker. With his devilishly good looks and brooding air, Josh supposed he could have serious competition in the female-department. Of course, Eldan was gay, so it was a moot point. Eldan also had an awful habit of coming across as menacing and mean. Not that he was. He was a big teddy-bear wrapped in pure muscle and dark flesh.
"Sir, the prisoner is awake again." Eldan stood in the doorway, straight as a rod, just as formal as always despite years of being friends with Josh.
Captain Josh Jhryian's lazy attention was caught. How could the planet-dweller be awake? They had hopped him up on enough tranqs to keep a damned mother yagafumi bear down. "No fucking way."
"Language, sir," Eldan respectfully reminded his captain and long-time friend. He uncrossed his arms. "I must confess, I am worried, sir. It is well-known that strange-bloods are bad luck on ships. Should we not simply drop him back off on his own planet? The Clovothians are long gone by now."
Josh shook his head in weary reply. "Nope. No can do. The planet may be young and uncivilized in space matters, but the majority of the populace is still lethal warriors and ninja. We would be assaulted the moment we tried entering any land. Not to mention how conspicuous our current mode of travel is." Josh stood, stretching his creaking young body. "No, better take him home with us, and deal with tossing him back to K489 later. Or better yet, leave it to someone else."
"And for now...?"
Josh gave a wide grin. "Give him to Gwen to deal with until he's calmed down."
Eldan gave a rare chuckle and left.
The Exchallengra - Infirmary
"OH OH OH! And the staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars!"
Music blared from speakers meant for more practical use, crackling with the effort to keep up with the techno-pop beats. It was a new, upcoming band, called The Injection Sites. A bubble-gum mix of stereo-typical steam punk (something so passe), and bumpy pop, the track currently playing was Gwen Pegily's favorite!
"Aliiiiiiiiiiiigning the stars aaaaaand BOOOOOOOM BOOOm BooooooooOOoooooom!" Gwen danced along to the beat, singing off-key and high-pitched. The music was so loud, she could scarcely hear the beeping of the infirmary monitors. Not that she needed to. The only patients there were a couple of fighters, but they were so knocked out, they likely would not wake for hours, and she did not care to sit idly about while the lazy lumps healed. She could be doing more productive things, like working on her tan in the machine she had throughly demanded be brought along on the mission, or getting some much-needed beauty sleep. Gwen was the only "strange-blood" allowed on the Exchallengra's crew due to her special healing-chakra. Well, and the fact the Cap totally had the hots for her. He claimed he was simply trying to 'end age-old beliefs', yada yada, but Gwen knew better.
Lifting a dainty hand, the healer inspected her long nails. The red lacquer was chipping already. Damn these rough space machines. Gwen sighed grumpily. She deserved soooooo much better than to be stuck on a stuffy, unfashionable Startraveler. Her dream was to be an a multi-planet actress, known among all of the stars. But no, she had to go and be born with high levels of healing chakra. Life was so unfair.
Beep, Bop, beep, bop...
The steady beeping of the machines continued, not that Gwen heard. She was too preoccupied in her own selfish thoughts of what she would eat when she was finished babysitting the bed-lumps here. It did not occur to her that the "lazy lumps" were the only reason she and the crew were still alive. No, Gwen could not understand such a concept, being from the mighty Swedremion race. Swedremions were a beautiful and selfish race of lizard-like beings. Tall and lithe, yet with contrasting curves to die for, Gwen was no exception to their foreign loveliness. With her long red curls and gleaming emerald-green skin, Gwen's faults tended to be more often over-looked than confronted.
Beep beep bop, beep beep bop...
Gwen danced over to the computer, skimming through the list of possible music choices. Metal? Eeeeww... Pop-rock? Nope. Country? SHOOT me now, please.
Beepbeepbeep, beepbeepbeep...
"OH, I know!" The lovely alieness chose a catchy pop-tune and frolicked across the room back to her comfortable perch, unaware of the angry beeping. The music started, and Gwen was lost to the world. BUMBUM da da dum BUMBUM. "Oooh, ooooh, baby!"
BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP...
Twirling in the soft wheel-bottomed chair, Gwen grabbed her Flipcom from the desk as she passed it. Dialing '4-36-79', she waited impatiently for the captain to answer.
"Officer Eldan Iarderm speaking. The Captain is unavailable ri-"
"Ooooh, Eldaaaan!" Gwen purred into the Flipcom. "Is he reeeally?"
There was a slight pause. "Gwen, what is it now. We are busy dealing with real problems."
Gwen ignored the catty tone. "I want off of hospice-duty, please! Send that fat chick. I'm leaving. What's her name? Uuum, she's human, 'bout this-tall..."
Eldan sighed audibly. "You are going to leave whether I forbid it or not..."
"Yup!" she replied cheerily. "Sure am!"
There was another pause, then:
"On my way."
Holding Cell
Ibiki was thirsty. He was also hungry, in pain, and certain his own stench could ward off enemies by smell alone. If his captors were aiming for his stewing in pain and misery before they questioned him, they were winning. Not that he would let it show. No, he would die proud and silent. Or better yet, he would find a way to escape and slaughter the bastards slowly.
His shoulder was getting worse, and his jaw had gone numb. If they were not seen to soon, serious damage would be permanent. He would be a cripple. No longer would he be the feared sadist Morino Ibiki. No, he would be the once-feared. now-crippled and sad Morino Ibiki. Colleagues would shoot him pitying glances when they felt he could not see. Even civilians would give their sympathies instead of their fear. And his enemies? Oh, how they would rejoice! The Great and Mighty Morino! handicapped by a broken arm! he would likely be murdered soon after his permanent crippling was confirmed. It was not as though he would be able to fight back with all of his mighty strength...
CREAK
Ibiki was pulled from his depressed and self-pitying thoughts by the thump and creak of the cell door. Light poured in, making his eyes ache painfully. Still, he refused to close them, willing the burning orbs to remain open in defiance. He heard a tray drop, and an accented curse. A radio buzzed. More cursing and shouting in a strange accent his frazzled mind could barely attempt to place. Had he been found? Was he to be rescued?
An odd mixture of relief and undiluted fear circulated his broken body.
"Goddess Be Damned! I told you to only leave him here 'til he'd calmed. HE'S BEEN HERE THE ENTIRE TIME! Dammit Gwen!" The man cursing into the radio was slowly coming into better view and focus. He was blonde and handsome, though clearly enraged with whoever was on the other end of the radio. Said radio looked strange to Ibiki. It was slim and compact, smooth and white. On the upper end was what appeared to be a small screen. Radios with screens? It seemed absurd and futuristic in a bad B-movie way. Ibiki's eyes fluttered as a new wave of blackness threatened to over-take him.
The blonde man cursed and ran forward, kneeling and yanking on the foreignly strong ropes holding him to the chair. "Hold on, just hold on a bit longer. C'mon, come on, c'mon." The radio spewed some more accented talk, but the man ignored it, intend on freeing Ibiki.
This would be his first mistake. Or second, if one counted putting a Swedremion in charge of someone other than itself.
Ibiki felt the ropes slack enough for him to make his move.
And move he did.
Ignoring the horrid agony that screamed through his body, he forced himself swiftly to his feet and punched the man with his good arm with as much chakra behind it as he could muster. The lights flickered, and a strange groaning sound came from the ground below. Ibiki gave the unconscious man a second glare, and quickly made his escape.
What?!
Ibiki could not believe his eyes. Could scarcely, in fact, believe he was awake. No. He must be asleep still. This was simply not possible. Outside his 'cell', to the immediate right, was a window. The light of day he fully expected to see was not present. It was huge and long, and what it showed made Ibiki finally concede to defeat. There was no way he could fight this enemy.
Not in space.