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LCMD Reed - Dead Man Hanging

Oliver Weston

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((Warehouse District))
::Sakorra knew the precise moment something broke through her consciousness as being completely wrong that Solok wasn’t ok, and perhaps it had been seeping through before she realized this with sudden clarity. She had been such a bad wife that she had fallen back into a familiar pattern of sensing nothing or letting only a partial sense of him break through that it wasn’t until the group was deciding between the Countess and the Warehouse that a black foreboding settled in her bones, and it wasn’t until they were on their way to some address that she realized she hadn’t been feeling him because she did finally feel him. She felt a darkness, a knowledge of utter, total darkness.::
Pandora: I am detecting no life signs in the warehouse, nor any signs of active security measures.

Rogers: No security measures sounds too good to be true.
Reed: It is too good to be true in a place like this.
Pandora: Interestingly, my scans suggest that the systems currently in place have been deliberately compromised.

Rogers: Are you sure ? If that is true then either this is a trap or someone wants us to find something. In either case… Wait..
Reed: Your objective may be an unwise idea, Pandora.

Pandora: We are under a certain degree of time pressure, are we not?

:: Pandora twisted the handle before an answer could be provided, producing a loud crack of breaking metal as the lock gave way. Pushing the door open, she walked inside. Rogers chose to utter a few choice words. It was her experience that some humans generally felt better when vocally blaspheming. She might have done so herself, if such a thing were her practice. While she knew that they weren’t running as Starfleet on this mission, it seemed that the crew had welcomed the pirate personas perhaps a little too easily. And Juhani…. Sakorra had wanted to wrap her hands around that furry neck when she’d seen those two dead guards. Two lives gone. It didn’t matter for whom they were working or what they were doing. They were still two lives. Did they have families? Children? What if they had been undercover? Unlikely, but always possible. Juhani definitely had her own agenda, and whatever it was, it did not align with anything or anybody that had one counter to her own. It might be so simple as a desire to rule the roost, but Sakorra wouldn’t be a security officer if she believed only in such easy possibilities. She focused and tried to calm down, control her breathing. With Starfleet’s current practices, she could hardly blame Tomic. Shame flickered against her consciousness at that thought, but didn't intrude as far or as effectively as it should have. Rogers motioned them forward as he brought his disrupter rifle up to his shoulder and advanced to the door.::

Pandora: There appears to be little here but the remains of some sort of technical work.

::Sakorra let the discussion flow around her. There was no point to speaking or adding input. This was not her area of expertise. And Sakorra felt oddly removed suddenly, those emotions thick with annoyance and anger and despair gone. She was remarkably calm, and felt very little emotion in regards to anybody … save one.::

ROGERS: That is one of my strengths. Restating the obvious. Pandora, Sakorra and Juhani check out those offices there may be some useful information left behind.

PANDORA: One moment.

REED: Aye, sir.
::Sakorra moved to one area of offices. A gentle hum emanated from sleeping equipment. Her skin tingled with positive ions. The door to the back office opened easily, large computer equipment clashed discordantly, like a bad children’s choir. Chaos, like the group out there. Right now, she’d rather be in the dark with Solok. A prisoner. He had been imprisoned. She needed to get to him, but first, she had to report it to Rogers so he … chaos exploded. She came out of the offices to complete cacophony. Pandora had taken out someone’s kneecaps, and it sounded like some sort of animal or mutant creature had tried to take out Rogers and Krogg.::

:: Sakorra heard it perhaps at the same time Juhani did. ::

JUHANI: :: whispering :: Shiong mao niao! We've been followed.

::Normally, Sakorra would have said something sarcastic, but she felt strangely subdued. Solok’s control had wrapped her in its embrace, and she welcomed it. They headed towards a sewer grating. Krogg and Juhani had somehow taken control. This, she did not like. Normally, she would have argued with Krogg over his idea to be a diversion without deferring to someone who actually was in charge . She was the security officer here and Rogers was the captain and in charge overall. But they did need a diversion, and it would be best to have someone non-Starfleet be that diversion.::

REED: Krogg…

Krogg: No time for ranks here Reed..Go now..
::There it was, a slight bristling inside at being ordered by her prisoner, but it was almost immediately soothed. This would, of course, be sorted out later. Her own feelings aside, or lack thereof, Starfleet directives had effectively been tossed out the window. Once again, she didn’t feel like she was even in Starfleet.::
REED: Disable only, Krogg. That is an order.

::Sakorra slid easily into the sewer system and landed on her feet. Sakorra activated a light panel on her disruptor to aid the others. A question had risen in her mind. What need had a place like this for a sewer system? They were advanced enough, after all. As the light shined and bounced off of the narrow walls, she realized that the sewer system had been left in place for a very specific purpose, likely to add to the discomfort of those kept down here. They were in a prison. It was a convenient setup made to capture those who tried to use it as a means of escape. Just ahead, and hanging from the overhead ceiling, was a man in a just barely recognizable Starfleet uniform. The pips had been ripped from his uniform collar, and a noose had been tightened around his clearly broken neck. His skin had mottled and bruised. He looked uncomfortably bloated. Also around his neck hung a sign, printed in Federation standard. It read: Last stop.
Escape is Futile. ::
USS Drake
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