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7/18/2025, 8:37:59 PM
Long nails rhythmically tap against glass. The pattern reaches its conclusion and begins the sequence again. The sound oscillates through the liquid you float in and into your ears, slowly dragging you into consciousness. Long tubes drive medicinal drugs into your blood, keeping you dulled to the world and your brain overcome with fog. On your face is the mask that leads tubes down your throat and into your lungs and stomach, feeding you and providing you with oxygen. Moving slightly, you feel the resistance of the liquid bacta that surrounds you. Waking from the dreamless slumber, you fight to open your eyes to see what is disturbing your rest.
Lord Yvalok’s face riddled with deep wrinkles in his leathered skin that is aged beyond his immense years by the harsh suns of many worlds. His fingers stop playing the song against the exterior of your bacta tank. He greets you with an ugly smile from teeth yellow and crooked, “Good morning Vulfstahn, we are currently aboard the ISS Glorious Gallows, it is transporting you to the closest point between your fellow student missions. When it reaches the location, then the class will break up and be ferried by other ships. So don’t worry, you haven’t missed a thing.”
Grey metal surrounds the outside world; every surface is unpainted, military-grade durasteel. On these walls sit an endless supply of medical equipment for uses you can not fathom. There are no other beds that would imply this room is intended to treat the injured of the ship at scale; instead, this room is bespoke, just for you. Yvalok sits in an office chair, gazing into your prison of glass and bacta, only inches away. His hand no longer taps against the glass but caresses it, like a lover reunited with an old paramour.
The mask that covers your face, steals your words, all you are able to do is just glare at the man with unspoken hatred glowing in your eyes, having them speak your words while your mouth is captured by the device. “Ah, yes, you cannot talk. But, it does not matter, all you need to do is answer a question, blinks will suffice as responses. Blink for me once so I know you can understand.”
Deciding to resist him in any way you can, you continue to scowl at the old Sith. A slight chuckle escapes Yvalok’s half-smile, and he gives the tank a light tap. “Oh yes, fight me on every step, it makes this even more enjoyable. I am here to teach you how to hate, how to have that inextinguishable flame within your soul. I want your every moment spent hating me. I’m going to make you hate me more than anyone you’ve ever known. So, I have been thinking about how I can make you hate me with such overwhelming intensity. Something that will drive you to greater heights, further your desire for internal perfection. Anyway, I have been watching you and figured out how to earn your hate - your friends.”
Lord Yvalok’s face riddled with deep wrinkles in his leathered skin that is aged beyond his immense years by the harsh suns of many worlds. His fingers stop playing the song against the exterior of your bacta tank. He greets you with an ugly smile from teeth yellow and crooked, “Good morning Vulfstahn, we are currently aboard the ISS Glorious Gallows, it is transporting you to the closest point between your fellow student missions. When it reaches the location, then the class will break up and be ferried by other ships. So don’t worry, you haven’t missed a thing.”
Grey metal surrounds the outside world; every surface is unpainted, military-grade durasteel. On these walls sit an endless supply of medical equipment for uses you can not fathom. There are no other beds that would imply this room is intended to treat the injured of the ship at scale; instead, this room is bespoke, just for you. Yvalok sits in an office chair, gazing into your prison of glass and bacta, only inches away. His hand no longer taps against the glass but caresses it, like a lover reunited with an old paramour.
The mask that covers your face, steals your words, all you are able to do is just glare at the man with unspoken hatred glowing in your eyes, having them speak your words while your mouth is captured by the device. “Ah, yes, you cannot talk. But, it does not matter, all you need to do is answer a question, blinks will suffice as responses. Blink for me once so I know you can understand.”
Deciding to resist him in any way you can, you continue to scowl at the old Sith. A slight chuckle escapes Yvalok’s half-smile, and he gives the tank a light tap. “Oh yes, fight me on every step, it makes this even more enjoyable. I am here to teach you how to hate, how to have that inextinguishable flame within your soul. I want your every moment spent hating me. I’m going to make you hate me more than anyone you’ve ever known. So, I have been thinking about how I can make you hate me with such overwhelming intensity. Something that will drive you to greater heights, further your desire for internal perfection. Anyway, I have been watching you and figured out how to earn your hate - your friends.”
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