Methods of Torture

There he stood, in a suit that looked much more impenetrable than the one that he had used to attempt to kill Ratchet in during the last three tries. It gleamed in the dark like razor-sharp chrome. The tank on his head was protected by solid carbonium. There wasn't a chance that anything could get through it.

"Well, Lombax," He said, in the usual deep and broken voice. "You have managed to get onto my 'List of Pitiful Good Guys Who Actually Think They Can Defeat Me' list."

"WHY WON'T YOU DIE?!" Ratchet screamed.

"You don't get it do you?! The only thing that can kill me is burning me in a fire that is 5000 degrees or more. You won't be able to get a fire to that heat in a million years of burning. Not even Quantos' three suns' heat all added up would be that heat. Ha HA! This will be pleasant."

Ratchet saw him reach into a front pouch and draw out a long syringe. It had a needle on the end that Ratchet guessed was four inches long. Vorselon walked forward, stuck the needle into Ratchet's chest, (Ratchet winced in pain as if he had been shot by his own RYNO." And pushed in the contents. Then, he returned the needle back to his pocket, and then came up with a remote. There was a large red button in the center of it.

"There is now a large amount of electrified liquid Uralian Talcstone rushing through your veins. I am going to ask you a question. And I expect to be answered IMMEDIATELY. If not, or you disobey, I will push the button." He paused to wave the remote with his wrist. "And you will receive a deadly shock. The more you disobey, I will turn the dial higher, and the deadly shock will get far worse. Is that something we can do? Hm?"

"No promises."

"It seems you're reluctant. Before we begin your shock therapy, I will make you an offer." He snapped his fingers. A Cazar that he hadn't seen before walked into the torture chamber, and set a brand new manifestor on a table ten feet away. Ratchet stared, his mouth almost open. Vorselon continued. "If you agree, and tell me, we will give you a brand new manifestor. Everything inside is exactly as the previous one was before we… took it. In addition to this, you will receive antibiotics for your pain and suffering…" Uh oh. Not good. "…food, water, new clothes, we'll even pay you 1,000,000 bolts. All you have to do is answer me."

"I'm all ears." With that, Vorselon put his thumb over the button.

"Good. Now, please tell me: What planet are the Lombaxes living on?" Ratchet's eyes went wide. He planned to kill his race. This was bad. So very bad. No, he wouldn't fight. He'd die for the survival of his kind. He braced himself for the shock he'd receive, and said, "You might as well push the button." After this, he smiled cockily. Vorselon gritted his teeth, and the smile faded. Vorselon brought his thumb down atop the red button.

What happened next, Ratchet will not talk about at all. An absolutely agonizing electrocuting shock purged his body in all parts. What he wouldn't give to be a rubber balloon right now?

When it all ended, and Ratchet finally stopped screaming, he looked down at the ground. It seemed miles below him off of a cliff that he was about to cast himself off of.

"I hope that now, you realize what I am talking about here," Vorselon said after releasing the button. "And, it takes a lot of pain to equal too much pain that a person can possibly enjoy." He pushed the button again. At the same level though, as he had not asked a question. But, Ratchet still screamed. When he released it again, he walked up and smacked Ratchet on the side of the face. "Now," He continued. "I will ask you again. And, Miss Talwyn will give me the planet name, so all I need from you is the coordinates."

Ratchet merely gave a laugh as if he thought that Vorselon wasn't serious. Then, he looked him in the eye and said, "They're all dead. I went to that planet myself,* and found nothing more than a planet covered in slag. You'll waste your time killing me, and then waste your time trying to find them."

*Read Paul G's first story for the full scoop!

All Vorselon did was turn up the dial halfway, and let fly another round of the shocks. Ratchet gritted his teeth. He kicked and thrashed. But the shocks went straight through his body like a demon cobra slithering through his veins and biting his insides every inch of the way. Ratchet just wanted to curl up and die. Wait a second… curl up and die? That's IT!! He waited for him to take his thumb off the button, screaming for effect, until he finally did. When he did, the shock stopped instantly. Ratchet drooped his head and ears and breathed very heavily. He was on his last leg of life. He knew this, but he had to play it cool to throw Vorselon off track for a second.

"Now," Vorselon said, breathing in between every phrase. "Tell me where the Lombax's planet is, or I will shock you at the highest possible level, and you will die in ten seconds.

"You know, everyone is going to know that you stripped me naked, and sat me on this chair, and shocked me repeatedly," Ratchet said, having a plan formed. "Everyone will know that you died torturing the universe's savior."

"Died?" Vorselon said, surprised. "Me? No. YOU will die tonight. And no one will ever know what is happening."

"You'd be surprised."

"You think people will find out? Who's to tell them?"

"YES! I DO think people will find out, and you're clients, the Cazars that brought me here will tell. Because you can slauther me until I'm reduced to just a pile of blood and guts, but I'll never give you the coordinates, and since the Cazars are paying you to get them to the Lombaxes, and kill them for being 'so perfect,' that means that they are going to find you through the thickest of the space clouds, and tear your limbs apart from your body while you're still alive. Because if you kill me, there will no way to hide from them. Because you'll never give them what they want, because you won't have the one creature in the universe who knows where they actually are who will never tell you anyway."

This only angered Lord Vorselon further than he had been angered before in his life. He was right, and wrong. He had to point that out.

"But you are WRONG!!! YOU PITIFUL CREATURE!!!!! Even after I kill you beyond your personal belief, along with your mate upstairs, my clients will not kill me, but worship me. Because I will have killed the one thing that creates the race's will to live. You. And they will turn in like a bear before hibernation. My clients will pay me millions. Too bad you won't be there." With that, he extended to his full height, towering over Ratchet, and turned the dial on the button so hard it almost shattered altogether, and pressed it.

I'm SO hosed.

It was a peaceful morning on the planet that the Lombaxes had dubbed 'New Fastoon.' The creatures walked in the sun, in the large park across the countryside, and the little kits played games in the grass, from pretending to be an Agorian to Ratchet. Everyone was happy, but probably the busiest place of all was the Museum of Lombax History. Everyone poured in to see the new exhibits. They were in a room labeled 'Unusual Exhibits.' There were categories such as "Fastest Flown,' 'Longest Ran for Mayor,' and, wait, did that just change? I think the 'Worst Tortured' holo-gram just changed from Cognito Slim to Ratchet. Just Ratchet. Everyone gathered around it to see. A security officer touched his earphone to activate it, and said, "Mr. Mayor, we have a situation in the Museum."

Mayor Riggard got to the museum in his special limousine in about five minutes. When he stepped out, he was accompanied by two armed guards, ensuring that no one assassinated him along the way to the exhibit. Cameras flashed faster than any finger could possibly snap them off. He looked over to the Museum manager as he started to walk with him. "Talk to me."

"It was just a usual day," The manager began. "When, the 'Worst Tortured' exhibit turned from Cognito Slim, to…"

He was cut off by the Mayor's pushing open the exhibit doors. When he saw what Slim had been replaced by, he removed his glasses to ensure that he was seeing this right. When the vision cleared slightly, he gasped to find that he was seeing right. A few Lombaxes from the other exhibits came to see what the commotion was. They gasped too. I fact, everyone who hadn't gasped already did. The holo-gram statue of the person who was the Worst Tortured changed to Ratchet. It showed him bound and tied in a chair, and he was staring straight up with gritted teeth and tightly shut eyes. There were a few electro bolts that were visible on the outside of his fur. They were frozen in time, but clearly seeable. Ratchet was being tortured. Badly. They had to save him. Like right then.

"Alright," The Mayor said, raising his hand. "I want the five most elite of the Army Lombaxes to accompany me to…" He paused and looked to see where his location was. "…Yaetalis. We're gonna save a dying friend." Everyone cheered.

They all raced outside just as the elite Task Strike Force of Lombaxes arrived. They were all armed with Plasma Strikers for long range missions, Combustors for light ops, and Judicators for Special ops heavy missions. They all piled into the limousine, which was not only safe for the Mayor, but the fastest thing from that planet.

"Light Speed. If we don't get there quick, Vorselon will finally find us."

The shocks went through Ratchet. He was going to die. That was all that was on his mind. He would die. There was no hope. No one was coming to save him. He screamed into the night that was shielded of from him five feet above by a thing called a ceiling. He was in more pain than he could possibly imagine he'd ever be in. The shock went through his veins so far that it penetrated right through them. Not only that, but the shocks also traveled far enough to get to his heart and lungs, he had no hands at his disposal to put on his chest in a feeble attempt to make it stop. Vorselon held it on for a full minute or two. When he finally released it as abruptly as possible, everything, including his fur drooped toward the floor. He felt as if he was being sucked into the center of the earth by gravitational pull.

"This all can end," said Vorselon. "My deal is still in effect. By telling me where the Lombaxes are, you can become rich. But, now, it is too late. You will die. And I will watch you die slowly as the shocks overcome your strength, and you will die. He pulled up a chair. "I will sit here, and watch you perish. Too bad too. For the race of Lombaxes, I mean. A-hm-hm."

Ratchet waited for death. It was only a matter of minutes… any time now… any moment now… any… you know what? He just wasn't dying. He didn't know why or how, but he wasn't dying. And Vorselon appeared to notice this. He got up out of his stool, tossed it aside; (it made a heavily audible wooden clangor that gave Ratchet a headache) stormed over to the Cazar standing next to the table, and said, "I thought you said it would kill him. YOU SAID IT WOULD KILL HIM IN THREE TRIES!" The Cazar freaked out. "I… I… know, Lord, um… it should've worked, I mean I designed it. I don't believe it!"

Vorselon pulled out his blaster and aimed it at the Cazar's face. "I don't believe your incapability." Then, to Ratchet's disbelief, he squeezed off a round. The Cazar fell to the ground like a crumpled rag doll. Vorselon threw the blaster aside, and grabbed something off of the table. It was a whip. No, it… yes, it was a whip. It was encrusted on the outside with Raritanium and a sharpened diamond at the very end of the tip. He knew what that was for. The diamond would slash through the skin and the Raritanium would get inside his bloodstream, which could be poisonous. He lightly swung the tip back and forth, back and forth, back and… he swung it, and it cracked across his chest. He didn't scream. Instead, he just mumbled. MmmMMMmm!

"Now," Vorselon said again, smacking him across the face harder than ever. "I have given you plenty of chances to redeem yourself. Now it's your turn to shape up, or be shipped out. I can use this whip to sting you in the worst possible places." Ratchet's eyes got wide. "And, if used properly, I can get enough Raritanium in your blood to AT LEAST kill you. Now, you know the question; now give me the correct answer."

Ratchet just scowled. He wouldn't tell him for the sake of the Lombaxes. He would die for them all. He had to be brave. "No," He said.

"What?" Vorselon said. "WHAT?!"

"No." Ratchet said. "I don't want to tell. Yes, I know where they are. But I won't tell for the sake of the Lombaxes. When I was four years old, and could maturely talk, I took a five word oath for the race. 'My life for the Lombaxes.' And I stand for it. I've stood for it my whole life. And that isn't about to change now."

Vorselon whipped him straight across his face. Ratchet couldn't take it. He screamed until he was out of air.

"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH! AH! AH! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

He passed out. What more could he do? But, it would not last. His body regained consciousness after hearing the loud roars of starship fusion engines. The kind they use on limos. That was odd. Why was a limo here? After the engines died down, Vorselon, who was not expecting reinforcements, let out a brief, "What?" There was the sound of some pistols firing, the screams of dying Cazars, and the thump of their bodies slamming to the ground. Then he heard voices. They were familiar somehow.

"Door's locked, sir," one says, panting.

"Well, shoot it," another says, this tone of voice being deeper.

"Yes, Colonel Romulus." There was the sound of a Judicator round slamming and exploding into the door, and it fell to the ground forwardly. A Lombax armed with the Judicator that had blown the door to the ground stepped into the room, with the three barrels where the now detonated missiles used to stay. A few more followed. Some armed with combustors, some with Mag-Net Cannons, and some with Plasma Strikers. They were all aiming them at Vorselon. He pretended to surrender. But Ratchet saw the pure lies in his eyes. It was just gross. The Lombaxes didn't care, the one with the large scar on his temple, who Ratchet guessed was the Colonel, said, "It is too late for your 'sorries,' Flint. OPEN FIRE!!!"

The bullets nearly were vaporized as they touched the suit of armor. They couldn't kill him. But they wouldn't accept it. The Colonel gave one more order, "OPEN FIRE ON THE TANK THAT HE CALLS HIS HEAD!!!" This time, they weren't vaporized, but nearly ricocheted entirely across the room. Vorselon laughed.

"Foolish creatures," he said. "This Lombax is a dead one. And there's nothing you can DO ABOUT IT!!!" He was screaming now. He stormed over to the table on which the Manifestor took its place. He scrolled through the inventory, until he pulled out Ratchet's duplicate Incinerator. Ratchet's brain hatched an idea.

Vorselon was now aiming the flamethrower at Ratchet's body. He gave a chuckle, and then said, with an evil grin, "I think that I'll BURN what you Lombaxes see of most value." Ratchet knew what that meant. That was crossing the line and barbaric. Burning a Lombax's fur was burning a Lombax's will to live, or at least the will to show himself in public ever again. The finger was on the trigger now. Ratchet did something that would be remembered throughout Lombax history. Right as Vorselon pulled the trigger, and the flames started to shoot through the barrel, he kicked the front tip of the gun, sending it flying toward Vorselon's face. The Incinerator was still in the hands of Vorselon, and the heat malfunctioned the suit. He could not take his finger off of the trigger any more. He was paralyzed from the feet up. The flames did not penetrate the carbonium tank posing as his head, but it was going a perfect job of heating the temperature of the water inside to well above five thousand degrees. The water inside boiled like mad, and Vorselon screamed as his head burned to ashes, and those ashes turned to dust, and kept going in a cycle until there was oblivion. When it reached this state, the steam and pressure became too much for the inside of the tank. It exploded, and the body fell limp to the ground. That was it. Game over. Ratchet felt happy, but it was not to last. For a strong feeling of drowsiness came over him as if he was dying, he gasped for breath, and then, he remembered, Raritanium poisoning.