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Finding Dustil
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| Gemmell | Date: Sunday, 25 Oct 2009, 6:39 PM | Message # 1 |
 Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 116
Status: Offline
| All was calm on Grand Moff Gemmell's palatial estate, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the servants were working at their crops in the distance and everything was at ease. A perfect sunday afternoon. Grand Moff Gemmell was having a nice afternoon tea with Mr Gemmell as they sat having a cup of tea and chortling at the latest affairs in the broadsheets. The couple were indeed heartily in love and as they sat making small-talk, there was a burning intensity of passion in eaches eyes, far more intense than any man and woman could ever know. Suddenly there was a bang across the fields, sounding like a small explosion, Grand Moff Gemmell jumped up, knocking his tea over, thankfully it was just a small agricultural gas store exploding and killing a few peasents, nothing significant. 'Oh damn and blast, I really will have to clear this up, and I sent the servants home for an afternoon off, curses, let me go and see if I can find a broom, I will be back soon.' He moved through the house, finally seeing a door which said 'Broom closet, do not open' with a DNA scan on the lock, he shrugged and opened it, there was a dank metal staircase spiralling down into gloom. He walked down, presuming this is where the brooms were kept. Walking through a few dozen meters of corridor at the bottom he saw another door, this time a paint flecked metal door. He pulled it open with some effort, it having rusted closed over the years. Inside was a disgusting sight, the floor lead to a gantry over a room, in the center of which there was a man being fed directly into his stomach, with another pipe proceding from his rectum. He was tied naked, but the long hair and beard he had grown obscured much of it. There was an eerie laughing sound in the dungeon, which after a while Gemmell realised was him, a 3 second loop was playing to the man. Suddenly the memories came back "Dustil Sushere! thats where he had forgotten him" he spotted a broom and headed down the stairs to where dustil was, turning off the loop, causing the bearded man to turn his wild eyes on Gemmell as he picked up the broom, the man gave a warbling wail. Grand Moff Gemmell leant on the broom 'Dustil melad, how are you after all this time?'
Lord Gregorious Gemmell
Advisor to the Emperor
Imperial Ruling Council
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| Dustil_Sushere | Date: Tuesday, 27 Oct 2009, 1:52 PM | Message # 2 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 63
Status: Offline
| For a long time, he wasn't able to make himself comfortable sitting naked along with the pipes being put in his mouth and rectum. Of course, he still isn't. But after sooo long, he was rather getting used to it. Yeah, it's scary when that happens. When someone's stayed in a room being treated like he was for nine years, it would be logical to feel that way. Nine years indeed did pass, and in such a condition the room is for him. It would would be pretty obvious for someone to notice that he was a man in his fifties, with all the gray going all over him. Nobody had bothered to clean him up, thus his beard would be pretty long along with his hair. The man would open his eyes when he heard the familiar voice, only too familiar. Except this time, there was no laughing this time. Of course, it had made him really angry when there's a 3 second loop going over and over again. It had been sooo long that he had to force himself to cut off from the reality until just now. It was Gemmell himself, Dustil would stare at the man for a few moments. He didn't respond, it isn't because he refused to but because he cannot speak due to the pipe being stuck in his mouth after all.
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| Gemmell | Date: Tuesday, 27 Oct 2009, 2:10 PM | Message # 3 |
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Lieutenant colonel
Group: Users
Messages: 116
Status: Offline
| Grand Moff Gemmell stood there for a couple of minutes.. toying with the idea of reconnecting the colostomy bag with his feeding tube and thus mercifully ending his existance within a week or so. 'Did you know that the food you have been eating this nine years is made of your own liquidised crew? Fun fact I thought. Anyway, it is time for us to part my sweet one, I am going to let you go. Il send some engineers down later to unbolt your chair from the floor' He headed back upstairs and had tea, chuckling to himself all the time, before promptly forgetting Dustil again for another 2 weeks. Eventually realising his mistake and chuckling again as he sent engineers and a doctor to remove him from the chair. He was placed in an escape pod from one of his capital ships, with the feeding tubes removed, with the food and water rations not packed (with the communicator also disabled by a nicely placed blaster round (the blaster then left in the pod)) three weeks outside of the Coruscant sytem. Inside the pod was also a dozen of his dead asphixiated crew members, having been kept on ice for almost a decade and now strapped into the seats. If he ate their flesh, and sluiced their blood to eat.. he could survive for the three weeks journey to coruscant.
Lord Gregorious Gemmell
Advisor to the Emperor
Imperial Ruling Council
Message edited by Gemmell - Tuesday, 27 Oct 2009, 2:13 PM |
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| Dustil_Sushere | Date: Saturday, 31 Oct 2009, 5:10 AM | Message # 4 |
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Lieutenant
Group: Users
Messages: 63
Status: Offline
| Once Dustil was finally released, he breath out a sigh of relief. He thought it was all over, but it wasn't. He was dumped into an escape pod that looked familiar. It was a pod from Justice with all the dead bodies inside it. That wasn't the worst of it all. The worst part was still struggling to recover his muscle movements from sitting on the chair for nine years. Why is it the worst part? Because he could not do anything but to lay among his dead friends inside the pod. There were a communicator and a blaster within the pod as well. He had no doubt it was another test made by Gemmell. Only this time, Dustil believed it to be the parting gift. He looked out the window, and recognized the system he was in. Even though he was far away from it. "Well, at least it's Coruscant...or Nar Shaddaa for all that matter." That was thinking to himself. He figured that both planets were heavy on ship traffic. The recently-released officer would look at the communicator, appearing to be disabled deliberately. For now, he could move his head without any difficulty. On the other hand, his arms and legs had some difficulty moving. It would take him little longer than usual to get himself sitting up against the wall. Dustil would refuse to eat his own men. He refuses to eat for two reasons: they were his friends and that they could be evidences for the Republic...or anyone else, for that matter. Dustil knew he would have to think up of something to call for help. His thinking's tad bit rusty after all those years. The only thing he wanted to do is to get off this escape pod, and hope help will arrive in time.
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| Captain_Milo_Prosper | Date: Tuesday, 08 Dec 2009, 6:36 PM | Message # 5 |
 Private
Group: Users
Messages: 4
Status: Offline
| "Well," the Captain said contemplatively as he attempted to stifle a yawn (unsuccessfully, as it happened). He blinked the moisture out of his eyes as he went on, regarding his sensors officer as he did so, "Can we raise it on the comm?" "No, Sir. It doesn't seem to be on any frequency that I'm detecting." Milo Prosper glanced out the bridge viewport of the Belafonte at the emptiness of space outside of it, as if the escape pod they had just detected at the edge of the system was near enough to see. He thought to himself a moment, his expression tired. It had been a long and uneventful flight all the way from Bandomeer, this is true, but there was more to it than that; the Captain had aged, and begun to feel it. He was old enough to retire, in fact, but refused to do so since the fleet was the only life he'd known (and he abhorred the thought of being "useless"). Still, one couldn't help but feel that the entire fleet had become "useless" to a certain extent, since the Bastion Accords. Prosper didn't like war, and he was pleased to see some measure of peace in his lifetime, but still he bemoaned the lengthy, dull missions the Belafonte had been assigned lately; patrol this, deliver this there, proceed here. It had become rather tedious. In a way, he was thankful to finally encounter something unexpected in the form of this lone escape pod listing ever closer to Coruscant. "Mr. Duval, how much longer until we have clearance to proceed?" "Control says anywhere from 10 to 90 minutes..." the navigations officer's voice faded as he, too, yawned quite in spite of himself. It was said, afterall, that yawns were contagious. "Excuse me," he went on, "But if we change course we'll be out of the queue and they'll prioritize the Wanderer ahead of us. It's an MC80, Captain, it'll take all night to provision her." A collective groan went up from the bridge crew. They had been waiting in line for an hour already for clearance to proceed to Centax-1, the first moon of Coruscant which was also home to a supply depot for the fleet. There, the Belafonte would replenish its consumables and take delivery of long requested components (and, according to the manifest, some luxury items including a bottle of brandy from Contruum that Prosper had requested months ago). Once loaded, it was planetside for some rest and relaxation. He also had an old flame from years ago who resided on Coruscant, and who he was eager to look up. "Can the Wanderer pick up the escape pod?" he asked. "No, Sir. Captain Jil'nar says she doesn't want to lose her place in line either." Prosper sagged in his command chair and sighed. "Ten to ninety minutes," he mused aloud, "then another hour or so to provision. I know we're all eager to be planetside, but assuming this escape pod can wait for a couple of hours, I say we swing by and pick it up once we're done at Centax-1." Another groan from the bridge crew. "It won't take long," he assured them, "Consider it a good deed we've done to earn our leave. Certainly haven't done anything else worthwhile on this voyage." There was a murmur of reluctant agreement. Prosper nodded, and the Belafonte went back to waiting. * * * One month later, Dustil Sushere would be released from the Orowood Medical Center, finally a free man. He was nearly dead when Prosper and his crew had found him and, once reported to command, there was no time wasted rushing the poor man into recovery. It took weeks of treatment to reconstruct his atrophied muscles, and another week of physical training for him to walk again. Even now, as he walked on the duracrete sidewalks of Coruscant, his stride would be an unsteady one; it would take another month, at least, of continuous use (and then a regimen of exercise, as the doctors had recommended) to return to healthy conditions. For now, he was thin, gaunt, and undoubtedly traumatized from his horrendous ordeal. New Republic Intelligence had questioned him about his torture, about Gemmell, and about the battle all those years ago at the space station NL-1 that started it all. They also informed him of the destruction of his base on Ahlenn, and the death of most of his troops there. Sushere was no longer considered a threat, however, since the remnants of his vigilante organization had long ago been bought out and corporatized. Thus, the case against him remained sealed. The dozen, dead crew members with Dustil in the escape pod were identified by the authorities and sent back to their homeworlds for proper burial. Now, the task fell to Dustil and Dustil alone to rebuild his shattered life—if, in fact, he decided that it was worth doing so.
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