Interrogation of the prisoners from Black Market

The Third Degree, read the paper, is a method of interrogation. Actually, its more of a name than anything else. Feel free to drop it, like a bomb, while extracting information from your subjects. Remember! The mind is its owners worst enemy!

The lightbulb lit up with a flicker and pop. One man sat on a small stool in the middle of a small room. The walls, covered in a metallic substance, reflected light from the single fixture in a brain-bending manner. From a speaker on the wall a voice boomed. Modulated and distorted, the voice came from every direction in equal quantities, confusing the automatic human reaction too look for the source of sound.

"Eesto, John, mechanical engineer and ships plumber. Is this information correct?"

The crewer, an intelligence operative, knew that he had to play dumb, but he couldn't give away any information. When the lightbulb flicked on, and the glare turned to a blinding level, he half shielded his eyes, and then looked around when the voice came out.

"C-correct. Please, why are you doing this to me? I'm basicly just a civilian."

His real name was John, but the Eesto part was not real. However, he doubted that whoever was holding him would find that out, the proper records had been placed in the Galactic Coalition's computers, and computers from where his John 'Eesto' character was born, Bimmisaari.

The owner of the voice ignored his question.

"What was your mission aboard the Nebulon you were stationed aboard?"


(ooc: name the nebulon in your next post, kind of hard to describe the ship without a name)

"My mission onboard the Justice was to fix various ships and to be the plumber. Not exactly a fancy job, or one that gains a lot of prestige, but an important one. And one that pays well."

"Where did the Justice birth?"

"We were stationed at a space station, in deep space, on the. It's name is Trader's Luck. It was placed there by Teth Industries to help traders, either independant or those connected to various companies, to navigate, resupply and refuel. It's on the Perlemian Trade Route, right where you should change course to go to Teth."

The Galactic Coalition Intelligence Division had made sure that this station actually did exist, and had sliced into it's records to show the existance of the Nebulon-B2 Frigate Justice in the fleet that protected the station. Now all that was left at the station was the normal fleet, 2 Nebulon-B2 Frigates, 2 Marauder Corvettes and 4 Corellian Corvettes, plus some Uglies. Not an impressive fleet, but combined the weapons on the trader's ships, it was enough to stop most pirate fleets, especially since smugglers tended to frequent it.

"What date did the Justice leave this ... Trader's Luck?"

Inside a room not far from where the prisoner was located, screens galore littered tables, benches and even chairs. Unknown to "John", as the prisoner appeared to be named, his every move was being scanned, recorded and analyzed by an army of ASA spooks.

"We had been on patrol for a while before the space battle. So probably two weeks, give or take a few days. I'm not really concerned about the exact dates."

There were five of them, two female and three male. The largest one was holding a microphone, the other four were examining monitors and checking readouts from various printers and data-pads.

"Hear that," said a female near a monitor that was displaying heart rate information. "He isn't too concerned about the exact dates."

"Heh," muttered the large man with the microphone. "He's too suave, this one."

"Yeah, his brain activity is too high as well," mentioned a man at a computer consol. "Very active, and far to organized. No flashes of fear when the lights since he was put in the room..."

The large man nodded, and then turned his head back to the mic. "The records from aboard your ship contradict you, John. Inaccuracies and fallacies will result in un-pleasurable results."

A flash of fear had come over him, but luckily it was right after they mentioned un-pleasurable results. If they could detect his fear they would hopefully think it was him being afraid of interrogation, or some sort of punishement.

"I-I don't see how that is possible. I know I'm telling the truth. How am I still alive? The ship seemed to be blowing up around me. An-and how are their any records left?"