Star Wars
Roleplaying
Cut Scene 3
After ducking around the doorway, he crept to a nearby desk and hid underneath it. His ragged breathing and pounding heart raged in his ears. He tried to calm himself so that he could hear the troopers coming, but to no avail. He would just have to hope that they didn't look here.
Brek Jinsin continued to hide under the desk for nearly an hour. His breath came back to him, but his heart still pounded. He took a small look around to discern his whereabouts, but couldn't tell other than he was on the executive level. He silently admonished himself for not knowing. After all, he had worked at this company for nearly a year, but still didn't know all 96 levels of the primary building. Let alone the four warehouses and six factories. He thought that he was in the public service office, but it could have been the waste disposal/reclamation center office. He just wasn't sure.
Just as his reverie was about to take him out of alertness, he heard the familiar sound of boot steps and comlink traffic. The sound got closer as he listened and he felt his heart pound even faster. He gripped the small pistol that he held in his right hand and prepared to scramble away again. The sounds seemed to come from the door in which he had entered, but he wasn't sure if that was the only way in. He decieded to take off in the opposite direction and hope for the best. He tried to stand straight up and whacked his head on the bottom of the desk. Trying to ignore the pain, he bolted off in the direction he thought was away from the trooper noises and closer to the nearest exit. He was half right. He could hear the sounds of the troopers getting farther away but as he rounded the corner office he slammed straight into a wall. After clearing the bells from his head he looked around. There was no other way out. Then the noises got louder and he turned around. A thought crossed his mind as the blue ripples of stun fire wrapped around him, this just wasn't his day.
* * * * * *
Brek awoke later to a pounding in his head, not his chest this time. As he reached to massage it he realized that his hands were bound. In fact, he couldn't move at all. He opened his eyes fully to scan his surroundings. He was in a starch white room with only a few covered surgical tables and a couple of computer banks nearby. He noticed the chair he was in was not at all pleasing to the eye. It had gears, gizmos, and sharp looking protrusions all over it. He was strapped at the head and wrists and ankles. He began to panic and wished he had never done what he had done.
After all, how was a junior assisstant clerk supposed to get the data on the new ground assault designs his company was working on. Heck the security checks alone were 20 years more seniority out of his reach. And the background checks were murder. If they found he was at all involved in the Rebel uprising on Brenor a few months ago, he would be immediately executed. His company had strong ties to the Empire and they took those ties very seriously. They also took the huge sums of money the Emperor kept pooring into their coffers for the designs. But he had been told he was to try everything in his power to get any info he could. And he had succeeded. Magnificently. He had always been pretty good with a computer. He had been slicing all his life. But just to get into the files the Rebels wanted, took him two weeks of secret hacking to get to. Then downloading them and leaving the system with no traces was even tougher. Apparently the info had been flagged in ways he didn't know of, because when he left the system he got all sorts of alarms to go off. He had fled instantly and hid the special high density data crystal away. Unfortunately there was no place for himself to hide. And now they had him.
The thick metal door slid up to reveal a tall thin man standing behind it. He strode into the room wearing an Imperial govenor's uniform. His hair was cropped short and he had a thin black mustache. His eyebrows came together with the slightest twitch of his face. And his eyes were molten gray. Behind him two gleaming white Imperial stormtroopers took up defense positions out in front of the door. The man proceeded to a small panel on the nearest comp station and pressed a button.
Brek's world instantly turned into a broiling hot bath of pain. His nerves were so accosted that half of his body went numb. While the other half screamed pain to his brain in ways he never thought possible. Luckily for him he always was a bit of a feinter.
When he awoke again the tall thin man was bent over him yelling questions in his face. Most of which jumbled together with all the sensations his brain was trying to keep track of. He heard bits and pieces of "Where did you........how could you possibly......tell me now or.....designs....computer breach....talk...talk damn you" and that was about it. He tried to form words but his mouth and throat were extremely sore. He couldn't figure out why until he realized he had been screaming at the top of his lungs. Once he realized this, he resigned himself to not talking. After all, if he did, he wasn't sure he could keep himself from telling them what they wanted to know. So he guessed he would probably die in this chair. Just as that realization came to him along with another jolt of pain, one single thought crossed his mind. This just really wasn't his day.
Roleplaying
Cut Scene 3
After ducking around the doorway, he crept to a nearby desk and hid underneath it. His ragged breathing and pounding heart raged in his ears. He tried to calm himself so that he could hear the troopers coming, but to no avail. He would just have to hope that they didn't look here.
Brek Jinsin continued to hide under the desk for nearly an hour. His breath came back to him, but his heart still pounded. He took a small look around to discern his whereabouts, but couldn't tell other than he was on the executive level. He silently admonished himself for not knowing. After all, he had worked at this company for nearly a year, but still didn't know all 96 levels of the primary building. Let alone the four warehouses and six factories. He thought that he was in the public service office, but it could have been the waste disposal/reclamation center office. He just wasn't sure.
Just as his reverie was about to take him out of alertness, he heard the familiar sound of boot steps and comlink traffic. The sound got closer as he listened and he felt his heart pound even faster. He gripped the small pistol that he held in his right hand and prepared to scramble away again. The sounds seemed to come from the door in which he had entered, but he wasn't sure if that was the only way in. He decieded to take off in the opposite direction and hope for the best. He tried to stand straight up and whacked his head on the bottom of the desk. Trying to ignore the pain, he bolted off in the direction he thought was away from the trooper noises and closer to the nearest exit. He was half right. He could hear the sounds of the troopers getting farther away but as he rounded the corner office he slammed straight into a wall. After clearing the bells from his head he looked around. There was no other way out. Then the noises got louder and he turned around. A thought crossed his mind as the blue ripples of stun fire wrapped around him, this just wasn't his day.
* * * * * *
Brek awoke later to a pounding in his head, not his chest this time. As he reached to massage it he realized that his hands were bound. In fact, he couldn't move at all. He opened his eyes fully to scan his surroundings. He was in a starch white room with only a few covered surgical tables and a couple of computer banks nearby. He noticed the chair he was in was not at all pleasing to the eye. It had gears, gizmos, and sharp looking protrusions all over it. He was strapped at the head and wrists and ankles. He began to panic and wished he had never done what he had done.
After all, how was a junior assisstant clerk supposed to get the data on the new ground assault designs his company was working on. Heck the security checks alone were 20 years more seniority out of his reach. And the background checks were murder. If they found he was at all involved in the Rebel uprising on Brenor a few months ago, he would be immediately executed. His company had strong ties to the Empire and they took those ties very seriously. They also took the huge sums of money the Emperor kept pooring into their coffers for the designs. But he had been told he was to try everything in his power to get any info he could. And he had succeeded. Magnificently. He had always been pretty good with a computer. He had been slicing all his life. But just to get into the files the Rebels wanted, took him two weeks of secret hacking to get to. Then downloading them and leaving the system with no traces was even tougher. Apparently the info had been flagged in ways he didn't know of, because when he left the system he got all sorts of alarms to go off. He had fled instantly and hid the special high density data crystal away. Unfortunately there was no place for himself to hide. And now they had him.
The thick metal door slid up to reveal a tall thin man standing behind it. He strode into the room wearing an Imperial govenor's uniform. His hair was cropped short and he had a thin black mustache. His eyebrows came together with the slightest twitch of his face. And his eyes were molten gray. Behind him two gleaming white Imperial stormtroopers took up defense positions out in front of the door. The man proceeded to a small panel on the nearest comp station and pressed a button.
Brek's world instantly turned into a broiling hot bath of pain. His nerves were so accosted that half of his body went numb. While the other half screamed pain to his brain in ways he never thought possible. Luckily for him he always was a bit of a feinter.
When he awoke again the tall thin man was bent over him yelling questions in his face. Most of which jumbled together with all the sensations his brain was trying to keep track of. He heard bits and pieces of "Where did you........how could you possibly......tell me now or.....designs....computer breach....talk...talk damn you" and that was about it. He tried to form words but his mouth and throat were extremely sore. He couldn't figure out why until he realized he had been screaming at the top of his lungs. Once he realized this, he resigned himself to not talking. After all, if he did, he wasn't sure he could keep himself from telling them what they wanted to know. So he guessed he would probably die in this chair. Just as that realization came to him along with another jolt of pain, one single thought crossed his mind. This just really wasn't his day.