Cretan Persuasion

Dietrich looked over the list. They started fairly simple, keeping the prisoner well-contained. Several escape attempts suggested superior strength, so steel binders were brought in to restrain his arms and legs. Interrogation started off pretty standard. Blasting loud music into the individual’s cell, to keep them awake as well as break them down with… Well, shitty Cretan music. Some roughhousing, suggested to be particularly unsuccessful, preceded mild sedation to calm the subject, in an attempt to move him to a proper interrogation room. Multiple attempts were required.

Roughhousing attempted again. Interrogator suffered from broken hand shortly after starting. Subject left in interrogation room while replacement was being found. Skipped preliminary roughhousing, skipped to other tests. Xingese water drop torture, more music, sleep deprivation all exhausted. Moved onto electrocution of sensitive areas, bamboo slivers inserted under the fingernails, and music tested again to continue keeping the prisoner relatively soft for a new interrogator.

Subject notes: Speaking in a foreign language (sources indicate Xingese), laughing maniacally, almost thrilled by experience as a whole.
Diagnosis: Insane, and useless.
Recommendation: execution.

Dietrich closed the dossier, passing it to Sullivan on his right. Cravetz flanked his left, while Thum took the rear, as the group made their way down the bare hallways of the complex, deep underground.

”This better not be a complete waste of my time,” he mutters under his breath. Members of the 5th Kamahen Royal Task Force stood at attention and saluted their leader, which Dietrich and his Royal Guards quietly blew past. ”Possibly insane, most likely a sadist. Just my favorite.” Pondering for a few moments, the group rounds yet another corner, blowing through a security checkpoint.

”Sullivan, I want my blades brought in. I’d like to have fun with this one, before he dies. At least his death will come of some use.”

”Yes, m’lord,” Sullivan says, quickly turning around and heading back the way they came.

”Thum, clear the viewing room and turn the recording devices off. I’ll be handling this myself.”

”Of course, sir.”

”Cravetz, guard the door. Shoot anyone that isn’t a Royal Guard who attempts to enter.”

”Understood, Prime Minister.”

Standing before the door to the interrogation room, Dietrich waits until the RTF officers are kicked out of the viewing room. Nodding at Cravetz, the Royal Guard flips the safety switch on his rifle, standing alert next to the door. With a smug grin, Dietrich strides elegantly into the room, closing the door behind him.

”So, you speak Xingese?” He looks over at the prisoner to confirm before continuing. ”You destroyed my property, you know. Not Cretan property, not military property, but MY property. There are consequences for such actions. Do you understand that much?”

The sound of a muffled shot rings out, followed by the sound of a dull thump somewhere close outside the door. ”I’m Lord Dietrich von Vermont, if you don’t know that already. Now, although finding out why you caused so much trouble in my kingdom would be ideal, I’m afraid I might take my sweet time killing you instead.” As if on cue, the door unlocks, sliding open as Sullivan enters, placing an ornate wooden box on a nearby table. Standing at attention, he salutes again. ”Watch the door with Cravetz. Make sure no one disturbs me.” Looking at the prisoner, then at Dietrich, he simply nods before exiting, locking the door behind him.

”I wouldn’t call interrogation a hobby of mine, honestly,” he says, opening the box, looking at the various blades, tools, and devices within. Some serrated, some curved, but all alchemically sharpened. Each item was designed to inflict as much pain while allowing the least amount of damage, allowing for a slow, torturous death if he so wished. Pressing the first blade against the prisioner's skin, he smiles. ”Now, I have no qualms with killing you, so I’ll start with two questions: what is your name, and are you sure you don’t want to escape here with your life?”

His eyes were closed. Why? Simply because he was bored of seeing all these pitiful Cretans running around like headless chickens.

Honestly, the torture they'd tried to pull on him was just laughable, compared to what horrors he had gone through the past. Now, of course, whatever was intended to hurt still hurt, as he wasn't a man without nerves and pain receptors, but the overall effect was surely nothing close to what his hopeful interrogators were hoping for. Nope, he just spat more curses into their faces, while grinning wickedly, even laughing maniacally when they were puzzled at why their silly attempts to 'torture' him failed to even draw a reaction from him that resembled discomfort or pain.

'Well, their music was shitty enough. Might buy an album before I go home, though, since some of it's actually not all that bad . . .' a fleeting thought, while his mouth curls into another one of his trademark grins. It seems the sonic torture had only convinced him to listen more to whatever it was the Cretan culture called 'music' only due to its currently novelty value over anything else. Afterwards, he'd jam the CDs into some poor Cretan's eyes once he'd heard enough variety.

.

Something was happening. The interrogators were long gone, but now the guards were filing out too. What, had they given up on torturing them and were now planning to execute him? Pity, he wouldn't want to get killed, particularly not after they had been so kind to allow him to rest his body (if not exactly his mind, not that that really needed much rest to begin with) so he was almost back to full strength. Really, though it would be a bit of a pain and time-consuming, he could break out of here and escape with his life intact (though most likely severely wounded given the sheer volume of guards in this facility ...)

Well, perhaps now was the time to take that course of action. After all, he didn't feel like submitting to his death quite yet, and it seems these fellows had given up on any other means. The Xingman sighs a bit, still rather annoyed he had gotten caught in the first place, and was now in this situation - No matter how much fun this was, it was still a bit embarrassing to be in these circumstances. His expression of disapproval, though, seemed to summon forth another individual into this room shortly after the guards had all taken their leaves. A man who walked with an imperial air and utmost grace.

Dietrich Von Vermont. Hei knew who this man was, he was an enemy. The enemy of Drachma, of Vanity, of RIOTE. Here, standing before him, was a single man whose death would be greatly appreciated by the good many that Hei cares about . . . and yet the Xingese did not feel elation at the appearance of the King. No, his eyes maintained their dull, practically bored expression while his eyes were locked onto the face of the man, while inside he began thinking what Dietrich's presence in here could mean for him.

”So, you speak Xingese?” Oh, well this was new. Dietrich apparently could speak more than one language, and his ability in this tongue was very, very fine.

"'Bout fucking time the King shows up, thought I was going to die of boredom ..." Hei mutters aloud. He WANTS the egotistical Cretan King to hear these words, but doesn't bother addressing the man directly. No, while he speaks, Hei shuts his eyes and lowers his head while his grin widens a little. He shakes his head a little, as if it were an expression of disappointment or much differently, amusement, before raising it back up to resume gazing at the leader of Creta.

”You destroyed my property, you know. Not Cretan property, not military property, but MY property. There are consequences for such actions. Do you understand that much?” Oh. So that's why he was hounded for almost a week in this god-forsaken country. He had blown up some private property to Dietrich, nice. Still, even more amusing is Dietrich's refusal to acknowledge his commentary, so he just added one more remark before keeping quiet to simply 'observe.'

"Sorry, didn't know you wanted a new pool so badly."

Some sort of disturbance goes on outside. A gunshot, it seems. Did someone get shot? Ah, pity. That meant one less person Hei could kill later today, presuming he didn't get shot right this instant himself.

”I’m Lord Dietrich von Vermont, if you don’t know that already. Now, although finding out why you caused so much trouble in my kingdom would be ideal, I’m afraid I might take my sweet time killing you instead.” My god, this King was very much a good actor. That or he was used to this sort of thing, considering he didn't even react to whatever Hei was saying. So, the Xingman, finding no joy in just spewing out random commentary, merely keeps a slight grin on his face while his crimson eyes follow the golden King's movements. Shortly after he finishes speaking, another person enters, perhaps some aide to Dietrich, and presents some box for him.

”Watch the door with Cravetz. Make sure no one disturbs me.” And so that man left as quickly as he had come . . . Pretty sure he 'never had that problem' before in his life of carnal gratification.

”I wouldn’t call interrogation a hobby of mine, honestly." Oh, right. Interrogation. Wait, DIETRICH was interrogating him? Holy shit! This was going to be fun, time to seen what a monarch/elected leader knew of torture!

"Now, I have no qualms with killing you, so I’ll start with two questions: what is your name, and are you sure you don’t want to escape here with your life?”

The Xingman's smile falters a bit, not out of fear, but a bit out of puzzlement. This wasn't what he heard about Dietrich before, a little more restrained than he'd been expecting. More subdued. Now, Hei was certainly expecting an ambitious, callous man who carried himself with immense royal bearing, but he also heard about a sort of bloodthirsty, cruel nature . . . or something to that extent. So, really, the fact that Dietrich was asking the second question and the fact he was only pressing the knife against his flesh as opposed to already digging it in was amusing.

"Pfff . . . ha ha ha ha ha. My apologies for the laughter, I was expecting something a bit more ... fierce ... vicious. Ah well." The Xingman can't hold back a bout of chuckling, though he's quick to make amends for that little burst of humor. His voice still maintains a pleasant air, definitely not befitting his unwholesome smile composed of sharpened teeth and crimson eyes that had a longing look . . . longing to rip something apart or someone's head off. Before any action can be taken by Dietrich, though, or any words could be exchanged, he followed up on his last sentence rather quickly.

"I'm fairly certain, King, that I informed the interrogator my name from day one . . . though I may have traumatized him after almost ripping his arm out of his socket, so my apologies. He knows his stuff, so don't fire him, get him a professional shrink or two.

Ah, I digress. Apologies. My name, Dietrich Von Vermont, is simply Hei. And while I do wish to live, I was under the distinct impression you did not allow your prisoners to survive?" His words are laced with calmness, a bit of humor too, and spoken a leisurely pace (though still quick enough to avoid dragging on too much). The King may have pressed the knife a bit deeper, or perhaps was about to speak when Hei realized he had not answered either question. Upon realizing his rudeness, he emphasizes his apology with a somewhat solemn gesture of a bow ... of his head ... with his eyes closed, or something to that extent, and then proceeded to answer the questions (while expressing his befuddlement over the second one, which he needed clarification).

If this situation could be resolved without his life being in jeopardy, Hei would gladly take that option. It'd be more interesting than trying to break out, or being killed to be quite honest.

Dietrich casually observed the man before him. Hei… What this man was doing for the Drachmans wasn’t a concern, however. Inconsequential, like the man’s origins.

Though Hei did bring up good points. The mention of a name seemed to have been left out, but concerning the injury, and the foreign language, perhaps no one had cared to translate. Again, Hei was a special case, so protocol was lacking for this situation.

”I was under the distinct impression you did not allow your prisoners to survive?”

”That depends,” he says, pressing the blade into the man’s flesh, and beginning to cut along the length of his forearm. ”See, you’re not a prisoner of the Cretan government. You’re not a delinquent, nor guilty of any civil crime. In fact, you’re on Cretan soil only in a technical sense. This entire event, ever moment of it, is off-the-record. No one will know what happened, and any evidence of what has occurred will be taken care of. So, as you might imagine, I can afford to ignore the usual pleasantries right now.”

Eyeing the other tools at his disposal, he can’t help but think about exactly what he’ll do. Maybe he’ll end this in a few hours, let the wounds fester and let him die slowly, or perhaps he’d like the rock star approach this time around, something intense but ultimately resulting in the man’s death.

”I’m a civil man, however,” he says casually, continuing to make cuts, casually reaching for another “tool.” ”I’m not the type to shoot someone uninvolved for insubordination or failure. I believe in personal responsibility. And, from what I know, you destroyed my property. Several million pound’s worth. So, if you were to provide me several million pound’s worth in information, then I’m confident I could overlook certain… discrepancies.”

Corkscrew? No. That’d be last, give him a slow death before shredding the man’s heart. Or maybe he could use it on his stomach, give him more to worry about. Or maybe he should start hacking away at the tendons, make his hands useless. ”The very simple truth of the matter, Hei, is that if I kill you, I’ll simply go home and rest peacefully, and will soon forget you even existed. I’ll use the series of unfortunate events as all the more reason to increase hostilities against Drachma, and I’m certain I can do worse than the pathetic Amestrians had managed. That’s because, right now, seeing you alive isn’t worth it. It’s easier to take the loss and kill you. I won’t get my investments back.” Of course, that was a lie, as he’d be filing an insurance claim soon enough, but still, it was the principle of the matter. ”But, as they say, there might be a silver lining to this dark cloud. For me, at least. So, really, it boils down to something simple…”

Placing a blade against Hei’s Achilles’ Heel, he begins to press against the flesh.”If hope to have any chance of seeing daylight again, then you better start talking.”

The pain was ... annoying to say the least. Though, that was primarily due to the unexpected amount of pain these things gave, since they didn't seem all that sharp. Or perhaps there was something else about them, that gave them this quality to draw so much pain out without leaving too much a wound?

No, wait. Focus. The good King is speaking. His face still remains impassive, with the hints of a slight grin as opposed to the normal grimace or squirming a regular person would have. It was amusing the King had started cutting into his right arm, but ... that wasn't the concern. He was cycling about his tools, it seems, debating on which one to use all the while talking on and on. And then at the end of the long monologue, with a blade at his Achilles's tendon ... he heard this:

”If hope to have any chance of seeing daylight again, then you better start talking.”

"After all the shit I've been through, I wouldn't mind dying ..." he mutters, closing his eyes a bit as the blade cuts in deeper. But then his eyes snap open and he forces his head forward, pulling and even distorting the restraints meant to keep him still. At least, this was with the intent to draw his head a bit closer at Dietrich and allow him to stare directly into the King's eyes.

"But you're such an interesting man. So much, much more interesting than I was told!" A maniacal grin, this time, as opposed to a blank or neutral expression. He's grinning wildly along with gazing with his crimson orbs ever so intently.

"Millions of pounds, right? I'll be honest, King Dietrich, I wouldn't know how valuable you'd regard the information I have at the moment. But I think, if I make an initial payment now, that if you let me live, I can eventually pay back all the costs ... plus interest, of course." His words couldn't possibly be misinterpreted, the intent was just lathered all over it, and not simply because he wanted to live. Oh no, simply because he wanted to see what could happen.

"Tell me, King. What would you like to know, now?

The names and identities of each titleholder in RIOTE, along with their occupations and nationalities?

The sniveling few cowards who declare themselves loyal to you, but still have survived despite being Drachman informants?

The impending multi-front invasion of Drachman and RIOTE forces at Fort Briggs, and within twenty-four hours, the border of Creta and Drachma in three weeks time?

Your pick, I'll talk. Because I think you can do something ... interesting with this information. And I want to see what that'll be." A brief pause each time he switches languages. His Drachman and Xingese are, as usual, flawless. His Amestrian was a bit shaky due to lack of practice, but nonetheless firm. And the Cretan was passable, but one could tell it was the least used and last-learnt language for him.

"Millions of pounds, right? I'll be honest, King Dietrich, I wouldn't know how valuable you'd regard the information I have at the moment. But I think, if I make an initial payment now, that if you let me live, I can eventually pay back all the costs ... plus interest, of course."

Dietrich pauses, glaring at Hei now.

”Tell me, King. What would you like to know, now?

The names and identities of each titleholder in RIOTE, along with their occupations and nationalities?

The sniveling few cowards who declare themselves loyal to you, but still have survived despite being Drachman informants?

The impending multi-front invasion of Drachman and RIOTE forces at Fort Briggs, and within twenty-four hours, the border of Creta and Drachma in three weeks time?

Your pick, I'll talk. Because I think you can do something ... interesting with this information. And I want to see what that'll be."

Withdrawing the blade from the man’s ankle, he pulls a chair from the corner of the room, and sets it up next to Hei. ”I could care less about what happens to Briggs. If it falls, then all the better for me. In exchange for excluding that information, I’d like to know who these traitors are. After you tell me this, we’ll talk about how you’ll make up the rest of your debt.”

Dietrich shifts, getting comfortable. He knew some of the leaders of RIOTE, and was aware of others. But perhaps some questions were best left unasked and unanswered. What was important was his country, and purging the ranks and populous of these ungrateful traitors. ”I’d suggest you go into detail with the attack. The more lives and property you save, the less you’ll owe me.”

"You are indeed most fascinating, King. I thought you'd be willing to go after the first option, but no ..."

A brief chuckle from Hei, who was a bit glad that the Cretan hadn't decided to dig that knife into his legs ... otherwise, how would he walk if anything down there was damaged?

"Obviously I don't think you want the small fry, so the big names of our Cretan informants are ... Rear Admiral Maxwell, age forty-seven. The man's been keeping us informed about the status of your Navy bar the obviously classified stuff above his pay grade and rank for the past year or so. Along with him, we have the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Funny man, tries to make light of the fact he's betraying his country, pity it's not gonna save him from you. Kept us informed on all the spending for those military secrets and other stuff. Oh, and the last of our biggest three informant is some sort of businessman. Ah, CEO. David Rattfeld, think you should know him. Heads one of arms industry corporations ... uhm ... Don ... Din ... Dia ... Ah! Dynamis Defense Industries. Relatively new suppliers for you guys, did you know they've been leaking some of the designs for Cretan equipment to Drachma? Well, they have."

A pause, while the Xingman lets the names just sit there, he's now rummaging his brain for all that he knew about the coming nonsensical events that he had managed to piece together over days. Really, he had essentially condemned those three men, but that was fine. They were getting to be pricks anyway, and their intel was starting to be less and less useful. So, it was just spring-cleaning time.

"The war's pretty random, if you ask me. Not sure who's leading that front of it all, since Drachman troops will be split into three directions when the day comes. But, there's rumors of multiple insertions across the border, serving as diversions, until the main force will march into Creta. The battle plans are not set in stone, but the intent is a straight march to your capital ... so it'd have to be the shortest route from the border. But that's not the worrisome part.

The worrisome part, my good King Dietrich ... is not the Drachman forces. No, they don't stand too much a chance against your Cretan military. What's troublesome is that RIOTE is putting substantial resources into this front of the war. No less than four Homunculi, yes ... Homunculi, plural, along with their trained operatives are mixed in, each one behaves as, from certain points of view, . . . a formidable threat."

Another pause ... and then a twisted smile, here were weeks of planning and now he was tossing them into the air. But, just because the plans were exposed didn't mean they were compromised. Oh no, nothing was certain, after all, this was just to sate his own boredom.

"Would you like to know ... King ... which of your own Sin's 'siblings' will be coming to try to raze your country?"