Warning: Warning for: slavery, assault and torture.

Seriously, folks.

oOoOo

Platinum Pearl

The moment Pearl regenerated, she was met with pain.

Immediately, somebody grabbed her, strong hands around her thin neck. Twisted it around; it was all she could do not to yelp. She tried to see who it was, but it was dark, there was no light, her new eyes hadn't adjusted yet to see. They dropped her, heavily. She landed in a stone cold seat. She felt metal bindings spring up, locking her arms and legs in place. She struggled, but could not move, just as she had known she wouldn't.

In the darkness, a voice said, "Are you Achroite Facet-24g9k Cut-12rp's pearl?"

Pearl did not answer.

Again, the voice said, "Are you Achroite Facet-24g9k Cut-12rp's pearl?"

The voice was angry now. "Tell me. Are you the pearl which belongs to Achroite Facet-24g9k Cut-12rp?"

"I belong to no one."

Something moved behind her. She could feel the other Gem right besides her, huge and hulking, smelling sharp and chemical. "Don't give me that shale. Tell me: Are you Achroite Facet-24g9k Cut-12rp's pearl?"

Pearl turned her head as much as she could, to try and look where she estimated her interrogator's eyes to be. "You know who I am."

"Yes." Pearl felt the other Gem step away. "A traitor."

Despite everything, Pearl smiled.

"Or rather," the interrogator continued. Pearl wondered what kind of Gem she was; she'd never been very good with voices. A moldavite, perhaps? "A little pearl, playing at being traitor. But that ends today. For you, and your fellow conspirators."

Pearl said nothing.

"How many are there?"

Pearl said nothing.

"How many are there?"

Pearl said nothing.

The interrogator growled in frustration. "Give me their identities."

Pearl said nothing. The interrogator repeated the question several more times— still, she did not answer. Neither did she answer the next question asked, nor the next.

"Fine then," the interrogator grumbled. Pearl heard heavy footsteps retreating away. "I will make you tell me, then.

"It's a shame, having to do this to such a pretty thing." More bindings sprung up, holding Pearl's neck, her head, even fingers, in place. The background fear she'd been pushing down welled up, suddenly threatening to overwhelm her. Again, she kicked and fought at her bindings, trying to escape. "If you tell us quickly, maybe I'll stop before I mar your good looks permanently."

Perhaps some dim light had been lit behind her, or perhaps her eyes had finally begun adjusting to the darkness. Regardless, Pearl could see better now. She saw the blade flash in the interrogator's hand a moment before it bit into her shoulder's flesh.

Pearl bit back a scream. This wasn't so bad. Wasn't so bad. It was just a shallow cut, just shallow, not so bad—

"How many traitors are there?"

Pearl said nothing.

Another cut, on the other side of her neck. Then down the length of her forearms. Then, on the soles of her feet. Pearl tried to kick, but she couldn't, she couldn't.

The interrogator was good at her job. She knew exactly how to maximise the pain, without forcing her prisoner's body to dissolve.

"I can make this stop," she crooned in Pearl's ears. "Just give me the answers I need, and the pain will stop. We'll let you regenerate, even find you a nice home-"

Pearl said nothing. If she opened her mouth, she would scream.

Hands wrapped around one of her fingers. Held it tight— then snap.

Pearl screamed.

Time passed. There was pain. Pain pain pain. There were orders, demands. Pearl screamed, her throat raw. She tried not to say anything, didn't think she said anything. Didn't think she answered. Didn't think she gave away her fellows, her friends—

She must not have, because finally, the interrogator said, "Clods like you deserve to be shattered."

(Pearl wished she could be shattered, if that would make this pain stop).

"But that's not an option. Unfortunately," the unseen Gem said. "Because we still need information from you. I could crack your Gem, but that might leave your mind too broken to answer." Pearl still couldn't seen the interrogator's face, but she could hear the smile in her voice. "So we'll need to go slower."

She dangled something in front of her eyes. It took Pearl a while to focus. It was… paper?

Rough paper. Sand paper. An antique, from the time before great factories and production lines, used to polish sculptures and weapons—

— and—

Oh.

Understanding dropped onto Pearl with a crushing weight. She clenched her eyes shut. She did not see when when the interrogator gripped her gemstone, placed the sand paper against its smooth surface, and began to rub.

Pearl bit down. Hard. Right through her tongue. Now, she could scream, but she would not speak. She would not.

They did not own her.

oOoOo

Author's Note: Brought to you by: my old fear of the sanding blades back in my high school woodworking lab.