It had to have been weeks since he'd been taken prisoner, and Julian was in bad shape. The starvation diet they kept him on had made him painfully thin. Bones jutted everywhere from his figure and he was wracked with infections from his uncared-for wounds.
They would regularly take him from his cell and bring him to a room with just a table with straps attached to it. At first he'd struggled, trying desperately not to let himself be restrained, knowing that only bad would come from it. He was right, of course, but fighting never helped.
Now even if he had the strength, he wouldn't fight. He knew better. The days he'd fought were the days he'd come out of it worse than the days when he just let it happen.
He was curled in the fetal position in the corner of his cell when the lights suddenly came on, full power, blinding him and sending him into his usual round of pleas. "I beg you, please stop this," He murmured, his voice barely audible. He knew it was an exercise in futility. He struggled to his feet, head hanging down, avoiding eye contact. "Please, I've already told you what I know."
The security field dropped and two Cardassians stepped forward. Julian felt his stomach drop and all the blood rush from his face. It had always been Jem'Hadar that had escorted him from the cell to the table. Something was wrong and something was about to make him wish he'd never been born. He groaned fearfully as he was roughly pulled from his cell.
Despite his fear, he was grateful that they held onto him. He wasn't sure his legs could still bear his weight, despite his diminished frame.
The Cardassians moved far too fast for him to keep up, and by the time they entered the turbolift, Julian was essentially being dragged. Which was just as well, he needed to save his strength. What he would face next would be worse, much worse.
They reached the room with the table, and his worst fears were confirmed. Instead of the usual crowd of five or six Cardassians, a handful of Jem'Hadar, and Weyoun, there was only one other person in the room when they entered: Gul Dukat. And he looked to be in a particularly good mood.
"No," Julian begged, "Please, don't do this." His protests fell on deaf ears, however, as he was hoisted onto the table and strapped down quicker than he could have even considered moving. Dukat moved so that he was just visible to the doctor, just in the periphery of his vision.
"Are you afraid, Dr. Bashir?" he asked, a certain melodious quality to his voice. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the setting. Julian knew there was a table with instruments on it off in the shadows somewhere. He knew it was there because his assailants always stepped off into the shadows before reappearing with some barbaric tool to hurt him with.
Julian's breath came in short, raspy gulps. "Please don't do this," he begged again, "not again, please, I swear I've already told you all I know."
He saw the blade in the gul's hand and knew that his cries meant nothing. Nothing he could do would deny the Cardassian the satisfaction of drawing blood.
"We're done questioning you, Doctor." There was something wild about Dukat's voice.