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Bix can't bear the screaming. There is something incomprehensible, ethereal to it. Perhaps if they hadn't told her what it was, the brutal death of thousands. Her hands clench and unclench. Her limbs pull at her restraints whether she wants them to or not. The screaming goes on.
At some point, it cuts out. She has gone limp. She has soiled herself, she realizes. She's unshackled and half-carried, not unkindly, to a shower cubicle, where she sits on the floor and weeps. They come for her again scant minutes later, pick her up in her unwashed state, drag her back to the chair, tie her to it again. The headphones are forced back over her head even as she screams and moves her head side to side, anything to delay the torture for even a second. In the end, one of the guards clamps his arms in a headlock around her, holding her still so the other can shove the headphones on.
The tech in charge of the sounds looks at her. Is there pity in his eyes? No, only a mild, detached interest. He touches the controls and the screaming resumes.
The next break, they carry her to the cubicle again, and she scrambles to turn on the shower. She strips and washes herself, then tries to wash her clothes too. Halfway through, the guards re-enter the cubicle.
"Get dressed."
They have not brought any fresh clothes. Shivering with cold and loathing, she puts her wet, stained clothes back on. The guards watch with a sneer of disgust.
In the corridor, she tries to run away. A few steps and a sudden, overwhelming pain in her left leg makes her jack-knife and black out. She comes to to the screaming of dying children. Have they turned up the volume in punishment? Increasingly detached, she feels her body writhing with horror, her mind curdling into nothingness.
After a very long time, they bring her to a small hotel room, stripped of all its furniture. It's dark outside. She lies there, not bothering to move even when her back begins to ache from how she's sprawled on the floor. Why bother? She has found herself in a universe where the screaming exists, and in such a place, why bother doing anything? Her body will kick and spasm and breathe anyway, and refuse to die.
She knows that this is an interrogation technique, and that it's working - that it's doing something to her, certainly - but what is she meant to do with that information? The screaming exists, the empire exists, looming so large, so absolutely brutal and powerful, that she cannot possibly resist it. It would be absurd - funny - to try. And without that, everything she could do, everything she is - flattened to nothing.
In the morning they get her up. It's a different pair of guards, a man and a woman. They drag her to the cubicle. Together they strip her, then the man shackles her to the showerhead and they turn on the water. It runs down her, and the woman grins at her partner. She picks up the soap and begins rubbing it all over Bix. The man watches. She glances at him and then begins rubbing the soap into Bix's breasts, then between her legs. Bix can see the male guard's erection, and they look at her expectantly. Is she meant to react? What reaction do they want? Bix stares into the distance, and the guards look disappointed. They rinse her down, untie her, and toss a towel on the floor. She dries herself. They indicate her rank clothes lying on the floor, and she slowly starts putting them on. She's about to close her shirt when the guards lose patience and grab ahold of her, dragging her into the corridor, breasts still exposed, and into the interrogation room.
The tech smirks at her as they shackle her to the chair and place the headphones on her. The screaming begins, and with it the tensing, twisting, grabbing at the air that she is powerless to stop. The tech watches her exposed chest with interest. He leans against his console, staring. She hardly notices. Sometimes, she will think that she's become a little bit numb to the sounds, but then they shift a little, an especially agonizing wail cutting through everything, before cutting off with a wet pop. There are other sounds, too, gristle and creaking and hissing. She has imagined in detail what each of those sounds represent.
The tech has moved from behind the console. He's standing behind her, and he grabs her breasts, not too gently, cupping them as she continues writhing. She strains against this new restriction like she did against the shackles. The screaming intensifies, and she jolts in the chair, as the tech's hands keep touching her, her breasts moving against his hands as she moves involuntarily. He moves closer and she can feel his cock pressing through his trousers against the back of her neck.
Suddenly, he stops. He hastily closes and buttons her top. He moves back behind the console just in time for an imperial officer to come in. Bix has seen this one before. She was there at the start of the interrogation, whenever that was. The officer looks at her with a steely expression that betrays absolutely nothing, then nods at the tech, and leaves.
The screaming does not cease. The tech now stays behind the console, looking at its readouts. By now she is able to anticipate each distinct agonized wail. She almost wishes that the tech's hands were back on her, so she wouldn't be so alone with the sounds.
Sometime later she finds herself back in her cell. They've given her some food, which she's ignored, and some water, which some part in her made her drink. There is a chair in the room now. She prefers to lie on the floor.
The door opens and the officer steps in. She closes the door and stands there, relaxed, gazing evenly at Bix.
"I'm Dedra."
She tries to summon hate for this Dedra, for her neatly pressed imperial uniform, for her pursed mouth and evaluating gaze, but nothing happens. Hate and hope are absurd in this place. Grain does not hate the millstone.
"You can do something for me."
Bix nods. They asked her all kinds of questions before the screaming, about some guy called "Krieger" she'd never heard of. She supposed they might want to know about Cassian, but back then she would not have told them, and now she assumes they already know. Should she make something up to satisfy them? The idea short-circuits in her head. What would be the point of that?
"Get on your knees," Dedra says softly.
She can do that. She does it.
Dedra sits down on the chair.
"Crawl towards me."
Bix feels relief. She can also do that. She gets on all fours and crawls towards Dedra, until her nose is nearly touching her knees. Dedra moves her legs apart.
"Put your head between my legs."
Bix feels no surprise at this request. Again, there is only relief. She crawls forwards and puts her face between Dedra's legs. Her cheeks touch her thighs, and her forehead rests against the warmth between them. Dedra does not speak any additional commands.
After a while, Bix can feel Dedra touch her hair. She stiffens, expects pain, but instead the touch is unexpectedly soft. Dedra strokes her hair, gently, like that of a pet or lover. Confused, Bix turns her head a bit so she can look at the other woman - who looks back at her with disappointment.
"Kneel."
Bix lowers her face and kneels in front of Dedra, not daring to look at her. She hears the door open and close.
She lies down on her side, feeling empty. Eventually, her body makes her sleep.
In the morning, a different pair of guards get her and strap her to the chair. The screaming resumes. This is how the world is. Her body is too exhausted to spasm all the time now, and often she just sits limply in the chair, listening to the fractal horror unfolding in her ears.
Back in her cell, Dedra comes back, sits on her chair, and gives her the same commands. She kneels, crawls, puts her face between Dedra's legs and stays there. Dedra gently takes ahold of her head and moves it to her satisfaction. Bix's nose and mouth are pressed against Dedra's sex. She can feel the warmth, the softness. She inhales the smells of Ferrix street dust, military laundry, boot polish - and Dedra.
They stay like that for a long time until Dedra sighs and commands her to kneel, and leaves.
From then on, the screaming alternates with Dedra and sleep. She finds herself dreaming of soft thighs, of the brief times where she's useful to Dedra.
Then, a new thing. Dedra comes into the room and undresses, methodically. Her boots, uniform jacket, trousers, bra, socks, and underpants all neatly folded into a pile. She sits down on the chair and spreads her legs. Bix understands.
"Kneel," and she does.
"Crawl," and she does.
"Eat me out," and she does, of course.
She buries her face between Dedra's thighs, her nose pushing into her bush. She sticks out her tongue and carefully laps at Dedra's lips. In response, Dedra strokes her hair. She continues obediently. Dedra's fingers now slide into her hair, clutching it at the roots, firmly holding her head, pushing it, guiding it. Bix is not entirely a stranger to pleasing women, and understands, and begins sucking at Dedra's clit. The legs begin to stiffen, to clutch her more tightly, and so she continues.
Dedra comes near-silently, with a long exhalation. She keeps Bix there between her legs for a long moment, then lets her go.
"Kneel."
Bix kneels, with her face wet and the taste of Dedra in her mouth. She knows not to look. She can hear Dedra getting dressed, and the door opening and closing.
The headphone sessions become shorter. There is a sense of greater activity with the imperials, but Bix doesn't care. Dedra returns frequently, at random times. Sometimes in the middle of the night. Bix services her faithfully, learning how to please her, how she likes her clit gently sucked, how she likes to sometimes just press Bix's face into her with all her strength, near-suffocating her, leaving her there as she dutifully does not struggle, until she is released, breathing deep gulps of air, keeping her eyes down.
It occurs to her that she's been turned, that she's now part of the empire, and this somehow fills her with elation. In the next headphone session, there's another new feeling: Disdain at those screaming voices. She thinks of Dedra and feels herself getting wet.
Then Dedra vanishes, and the sessions stop, and she's locked into her cell. She can hear bustling activity through the door. At least a day passes. Has something happened to Dedra? There might be a chance to escape. She giggles at this idea.
At some point it's dark and Dedra returns. Bix kneels and looks at her. Dedra looks tired. She takes off her boots, her trousers, her pants, but nothing else, and sits on the chair.
"Eat me out," she says, quietly.
Bix crawls and nestles her face in her lap. She kisses Dedra's pussy, and then begins licking and sucking. Dedra does not need to guide her head, as she knows how to please her now, and soon enough, she bucks against her. This time, her orgasm is loud, a moan, nearly a scream. Now she finally takes Bix's head in her hands and tilts it - upwards. Bix's eyes meet hers. Her gaze is cool - but there is a glimmer of something else, something desparate.
Dedra kisses her.
"Kneel."
Nearly crying, Bix kneels and lowers her eyes. Dedra struggles into her clothes and leaves.
In the morning, the guards lead her into an office with a junior officer she hasn't seen before, who explains her mission: the rebels will be allowed to get at her, and she is to go with them. She is given a tracker and comms key to report back in when she's found their base.
When Cassian finds her, she's looking out of the window slit in her new cell, dreaming of Dedra. She stammers, she tries to remember how she's meant to behave, and Andor looks at her with concern, frees her, helps her escape. She finds herself in a shuttle with people she knows and will now betray, rising through the atmosphere of Ferrix.
--
From: Dedra Meero
To: Bevat Gorst
I believe your new protocol for subverting enemy agents through traumatic emotional re-connection and rebuild has merit. Our initial test run on low-priority asset Bix Caleen looks promising. Keep refining the protocol.