Rhetorical Questions 18+

Posted on Tue Aug 20th, 2019 @ 9:20am by Lieutenant Commander Mnhei'sahe Dox
Edited on on Tue Aug 20th, 2019 @ 9:42am

Mission: Family Detention
Location: Unknown
Timeline: 2396

"What is your name?"

The voice came from the darkness. The man sitting in a simple metal chair in the center under a bright, single light couldn't tell where it was coming from. But it was familiar. He simply couldn't place it.

It was a woman's voice. But deep and raspy. An older woman, speaking the man's native tongue. The voice spoke Rihan, the native tongue of the Romulan Star Empire. The man knew the voice, but couldn't place it.

"Where... where am I? What am I doing here?" The man asked, feebly. His voice was weak and pained. He had forgotten how long he had been there, but he knew that it was a long time and the voice was the first time anyone had said anything to him in the many long hours he must've been there. "I... I have done no wrong. I'm... I'm simply a merchant. A loyal servant of the empire."

The room was small. He knew that much. He was unrestrained and had spent much time feeling his way around the plain, blank, cold walls. He couldn't see the source of the light above him, but he knew it was bright and hot. He had been in the room for a long time.

"WHO is a loyal servant of the Empire? What is your name? The voice echoed.

Standing up, the man wobbled on weak legs as he looked around. He was disheveled and unkempt. A tall, fat Romulan man. Long, ratty grayish black hair framed a puffy, bearded face. It was the face of a weary man. "I am... I am Garan tr'Un. I am a spice merchant from..."

"NO!" The voice bellowed from the darkness. "That is who you were TOLD to be. What is your real name?"

There was a look of confusion on the weak man's face as she struggled to think. "That... that is my real name... I am Ga... Ga... Garan..."

As he spoke, a screen appeared in the air in front of him. A holographic projection of some sort with an image of a Romulan man on it. A younger, trimmer man. Clean cut with a stark, military pointed-bang haircut and wearing the uniform of a Riov. A Romulan commander. The image was life-sized and he leaned in tight to the image of the man's eyes, staring at them for a long moment before feeling a wave of panic strike him. The panic of recognition. Of the thing that he only knew was forbidden: remembering.

"WHO ARE YOU?" The voice boomed again.

The man shuddered as he stared into the image of the eyes of the younger, thinned officer. That handsome man he recognized and didn't want to. As he struggled to think, his mind felt as if it was clamping down. The most basic of thoughts seemed to fight him as he began to twitch and a stream of warm urine flowed down his legs to pool on the floor at his foot.

Falling back into the chair, the man squeaked out an answer. His voice was small, not unlike a child's now. "Dr... Dralath... My name is... Dralath tr'Rul?"

"Yes. That is who you are. Why are you here?" The voice asked, with a much calmer tone.

Meekly, Dralath whispered an answer. "I… I don't… I don't know."

"Louder." The voice replied flatly.

"I… don't know. I don't!" Dralath called out plaintiffly, his voice cracking.

There was a long moment of silence, then the image on the screen changed. It was now an image of a room.

In this room were dozens of people. All kinds of people crammed into the space that looked like the cargo hold of a freighter. In the middle of the room was a podium with several items on it that appeared to be weapons. Romulan weapons.

"Do you recognize anyone in this image?" the voice asked, almost gently now. "Look hard."

After what felt like a solid minute, Dralath shook his head weakly. "N… no… no."

The screen zoomed in on a fat, disheveled, drunken Romulan in the corner. "You didn't do as I said. You didn't pay attention. That's you, isn't it?"

Looking afraid, Dralath began to shake in his seat, his hands clutching the sides. "I… I don't… I don't know. I can't remember. It's… it hurts to try and remember."

As he spoke, a trickle of green blood leaked out of his nose, but he didn't notice it.

"I know. But I want you to try and remember anyway. What about these people? Do you recognize them?"

As the voice spoke, the image shifted focus to a trio of women near the center. The tallest of the three was a black-haired Trill woman dressed in blue and white finery. She looked like royalty. At her side was a silver-haired woman in a blue military coat wearing an eye patch.

And behind them both was a shorter woman. With a bun of messy red hair and bangs. Her ears were rounded and her skin a pale peachy color. She wore a weathered dark brown leather jacket and looked nervous. As Dralath tried to focus on the image, his eyes seemed to cross and more blood dripped from his nose.

There was a strong ringing in his ears now as he winced in pain. As he did, the voice all but whispered. "Yessss… who is she?"

Suddenly, his head began to throb, feeling as if it were set to burst open. Dralath crumpled to his knees, blood trickling from his ears now as he struggled to remember, his eyes still on the redhead on the screen.

"You don't remember her?" The voice almost cooed, a gravely, ugly sound. "Look harder. Nothing of her looks... familiar to you?"

On his knees, in the puddle of his own waste, he clutched the sides of his head as he struggled to focus on the image. The screen zoomed in on the girl's face. She looked young, but she was a woman. She had freckles and an upturned, slightly bulbous nose. But it was in her deep, brown eyes that something clicked in his mind. Something familiar that he didn't want to remember. Something painful to remember.

"Tell me who she is and the pain will stop." The voice said flatly, all hints of passion gone. "Tell me her name and you can rest."

"I... I don't... I can't... It HURTSSSSS!!" He shouted back, tears streaming down his swollen cheeks. "P... please don't make me remember!" He was in agony as his skin flushed green.

"P... Please, Mother. Please make the pain..." But as he whispered out a final plea, he was cut off with a hoarse roar.

"I HAVE NO SON!!!!"

At the sound, Dralath curled into a ball on the floor, sobbing in agony as his head continued to throb. As he did, the screen turned off and for a moment, there was only the sound of pained weeping.

Then, the voice came again. Deep and raspy, it hissed in a whisper. "I have no son. A son would have never hidden the truth from me as you once did years ago. But I know now. I have no son... but I have a granddaughter and I know where she is. She and her traitor mother. Faces you can never see without suffering. Names you can never think of without agony. That is my final gift to you for betraying me."

"Remember her, Dralath. Her name is Mnhei'sahe. And she will honor me as you never did."

As the voice spoke the name, Dralath tr'Rul screamed in agony. His mind broken and rebroken... conditioned and reprogrammed to leave him nothing but pain for the rest of his days so long as he remembered.

And she would make him remember until he died.