A/N: The third and fourth chapters are already written, but I haven't had time to proofread them yet, so they'll be up...sometime. This story is inspired by 1984, and real-life accounts of torture under Stalin's regime. Fanfic's editing function is Pure Evil. Seriously. It needs work. Changes successfully saved, my butt.

Chapter Two

The Ministry of Life

"What's the latest on inmate 0590?" asked the short, mustached elf. He was a very unremarkable-looking fairy, except for his eyes. There was something about his eyes that made you realize he wasn't someone you wanted to cross. The pixie walking on the elf's left was puffing with the effort of trying to keep up with his quick stride. The long corridor was a claustrophobic metal tube, lit with painfully bright lights that seemed to stretch on for miles in a straight line. There wasn't a single intersecting corridor or doorway anywhere along the tunnel.

"0590?" squeaked the pixie. "Same as ever, Comrade Stayl. "Still refuses to speak."

Comrade Stayl halted for a moment. "No change whatsoever?" His voice was calm and even, but his eyes were keen and fierce. Stayl could be the most ingratiating, charming individual when he chose to be, but the pixie knew him well enough to realize that such instances weren't evidence of an underlying good nature.

"No, sir," muttered the pixie. Stayl's eyes narrowed. "Comrade! Sorry, sir, comrade Stayl," the pixie corrected himself.

Stayl grunted in contempt and continued his breakneck pace down the hall. "Is that her file you've got there?"

"Yes, comrade," replied the pixie, whose name was Jules.

"Well, fork it over!"

Jules forked.

Stayl flipped through the file as he walked, his frown gradually deepening. Jules didn't dare make a comment. He walked as lightly as possible, hoping Stayl would forget his presence. He wasn't anticipating the scene that would undoubtedly follow when he and Stayl reached the end of the bloody long corridor.

Five minutes later, Stayl drew up sharply, flinging the file back at Jules. Jules caught it, but just barely. He tucked the loose papers back in the folder and stayed out of arm's reach of Stayl. They'd reached the end of the corridor – inmate 0590's cell. "Isolation" took on a whole new meaning for this particular prisoner.

Stayl tapped his foot impatiently. "Open it, Jules!" he spat.

Jules jumped to attention, fumbling wildly through his pockets for the keys. Luckily, he wouldn't be likely to choose the wrong one – his key ring held only one bright gold, beautiful, and intricately designed key. He inserted it into the lock and twisted it sharply. A loudclack sounded out, echoing in rivulets down the corridor. The cell door swung open.

At first glance, the cell appeared empty – except for a bucket, a tray, and an unidentifiable lump on the floor in the back corner.

"On!" Stayl barked the command, and the same harsh lighting from the hallway bled into the cell, revealing every speck of dust, every miniscule pock in the cement floor, painted white. The unidentifiable lump seemed to flinch slightly, and then all was still once more.

Stayl strode with unnerving calmness toward the lump, which, on closer inspection, appeared to be a pile of dirty laundry. A crooked grin filled Stayl's face, his terrible eyes fixed on the lump. He stopped in front of it, hands clasped politely behind his back.

"Jules?" he prompted expectantly, still smiling.

Jules stepped forward cautiously.

"A tad quicker, I should think, Jules," said Stayl, his voice hardening almost imperceptibly.

Jules appeared reluctant. "It's just that, she's been known to bite, you know."

Stayl turned his head toward the pixie, ever so slowly, pinning him down with his stare. "I've been known to do much worse, Jules."

"Right!" gasped Jules, darting forward. "Of course you have." He bit his lip and made a grab for the thin, scratchy blanket. He threw it back to reveal – what? It must at one time have been an elf, but it looked like nothing more than a marionette, dropped in a pile on the floor. It appeared to be female. Her face was buried in the crook of her arm, shielding her eyes from the severe light. Her hair was the only spot of colour in the room, but it was a tangled, grimy mess. As the two comrades watched, she drew her knees up to her chest, assuming a fetal position.

Jules shook her shoulder vehemently, but she didn't respond at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Jules saw Stayl's foot tapping again. He swallowed, the perspiration beginning to break out on his forehead – he was caught between two very unpleasant scenarios, but one was definitely the lesser evil of the two. He yanked the redhead up by her hair. There was a muffled gasp as the light forced its way through the elf's eyelids. She tentatively cracked open one eye a slit. There was a very fierce pair of eyes looking back at her.

"Hello, there, Captain," grinned Jules, wolfishly. He had crouched in front of her, and reaching out, he stroked a strand of tattered hair off her face with a finger. Holly jerked back so suddenly that Jules uttered a muffled shriek and leapt backward. She forced open her other eye – and instantly snapped both lids shut and covered them with her palms. But she tried again, and this time she was able to withstand the light better, well enough to manage a weak glare of noncompliance.

Stayl's jaw tightened in anger and hatred as he regarded her for a while in silence. "I don't like this," he said to Jules, pointing at her right eye. It was a brilliant and extremely unusual blue, simultaneously dark and bright, and it was a colour that shouldn't have been found in the eyes of any creature underground. "Why hasn't it been removed yet?" Stayl snapped.

"Oh!" The pixie looked startled. "Oh – well, Comrade Stayl, you said if it was kept in it would remind the KJV of her treachery, in case they started having a change of heart –"

"Yes, yes," said Stayl, dismissively. "Well, she won't be opening either of them for much longer, will she, Jules?"

Jules started. "What? But she's…" He trailed off, looking stunned.

"She's the ultimate traitor to the People, Jules," he drawled, as if daring the pixie to contradict him. "We've given her more than enough opportunity to join us, and she's proven to be ungrateful and hostile in return. If she is against neo-Frondism, she's against the People, and if she's against the People, she's for the mudmen. That's more than enough justification for the Council to approve her termination."

"Yes, sir," croaked Jules. He was perfectly aware that no Council's approval would be requested – or required. He felt a potentially traitorous thought appear unbidden in his head, and quickly quashed it, glancing fearfully at Stayl. Jules half expected that Stayl would be aware of the thought and would order his own termination, as well.

Stayl left not long after, having delivered his message to ex-Captain Short. Jules locked the door to Holly's cell with the gold key, the unwelcome thought popping into his mind once again, as he regarded her. He was aware that if he voiced the thought, he'd be joining Short in the Ministry of Life. Still, he couldn't help thinking: was torturing this girl really giving her a fair chance to come round to the neo-Frondian way of thinking?

Jules shook himself, shivering at the counter-revolutionary thought that never should have crossed his mind. He'd have to be extra cautious in future not to let his distaste for torture affect his judgment. "Off!" he shouted, and the light in Holly's cell died away.