The Rookie

As they approached the entrance to the Stockades, Beckyann paused, taking a moment to look herself and her escort over. She was wearing her typical black and silver dress, a long cloak of the 1113th on her back and her rank insignia pin and comm keeping it in place at her throat. As she always did when dressing as a 'living' person, she wore thick sunglasses that obscured her glowing eyes. Behind her were two fully armored and armed initiate Death Knights, clearly displaying their loyalty to the Ebon Blade and making her look more important than she was. This was a key part of her strategy, and she nodded in satisfaction after deciding the group looked as good as a bunch of dead people was going to look.

She turned and proceeded into the entrance, her footsteps masked by the flowing hem of her dress such that she almost seemed to float towards the entrance, the heavy thud of her escort behind her a contrast to her own look. The guards at the entrance looked the group over warily, but cleared the path when Beckyann tapped her rank insignia with one black lacquered nail, giving them a smile.

The inside of the Stockades was about one would expect from a prison, with dark stone walls and a variety of unidentifiable stains on the floor. Although Beckyann had no sense of smell, she imagined the stench of unwashed prisoners mixing in the air with the moans and shouts of angry men trapped in little cages. It almost felt like home.

She and her escort waited within the main entrance hall, Stormwind Guards keeping an eye on them for any unexpected moves. She spent the time idly staring at the guards from behind her sunglasses, watching them shift uncomfortably as they tried to determine if she was looking at them or not. Her escort had been ordered to behave in a very specific fashion, and neither of the Death Knights so much as twitched a muscle. Their utter stillness was also unnerving to the living humans around them.

After a few minutes of waiting, a guard captain approached and looked them over. He nodded to Beckyann, speaking in a stern voice, "You the one who made the request?"

Beckyann offered him what would have been a charming smile on a living girl, "Yes sir. I'm Sergeant Beckyann Eastberg of the 1113th. I submitted the request. I would like to thank you for admitting me."

The captain grunted and turned, gesturing for her to follow, "Not sure why you'd even want to do this, but it's no skin off my teeth. Your men have to stay here though; we don't allow weapons in the interrogation rooms."

Beckyann gestured with one hand, her escorting Knights coming to attention and remaining motionless behind them in the main hall. She was sure the living guards in the room would simply adore having to spend up to an hour with the Death Knights so close. She grinned to herself as she followed the captain down a long hallway to a door that was bolted from the outside.

He turned to her, looking her over one last time and giving her a few words of advice, "Remember, we'd like him to be alive when you're done. Also keep in mind that he's going to try to get a rise out of you. It's just the way these people are, especially once they've been caught. Take everything he says with a grain of salt, especially if he's being helpful."

Beckyann nodded once, suddenly feeling ill at ease with the venture. She knew she had to proceed though; if she was going to make any headway into the investigation, she had to learn how to investigate first. The captain unlocked the bolt on the door and held it open for her. As she slipped into the adjoining room, he closed the door behind her. She could hear the sound of the lock falling into place as he secured her in the room.

The room itself was a small stone chamber, just big enough for a table with two chairs. The light in the room came from one flickering torch on the wall, the soot of its smoke having stained the stones long ago. One of the two chairs was bolted to the floor, and upon that chair sat a disheveled looking man whose hands were chained together and whose ankles were chained to the chair. Beckyann took a moment to appraise him before gliding over to the second chair, pulling it out and seating herself comfortably. She took a small notepad and pencil out of a pouch and opened it to a blank sheet before looking at the man.

"So, you are a Cult of the Damned member," she said, her pencil beginning to scribble notes on the blank page.

The prisoner shifted in his chair, his lank brown hair falling around his face. His arms were heavily tattooed and covered in filth, and Beckyann noted a few old scars as he placed his hands on the table. He leaned over and spit on the floor before grinning at her, "Well ain't you fine. You want me to answer questions, honey, you're gonna hafta loose a couple of the top buttons from that dress."

Beckyann blinked once, surprised by the response. She'd never interrogated a prisoner like this before, and her objective was simply to learn how it was done and possibly glean some insight into how a cultist's mind worked. It seemed she was in for more than she'd bargained for, "Just answer the question okay? This doesn't have to take all day."

He laughed at her, leering at her, "But it could, honey, it could. Anyways, don't see why I should tell you a damn thing. Just another military type trying to figure out what we're doing. You think I can't tell? Got a rank badge on you, honey. Kinda make it obvious, yeah?"

One of Beckyann's eyebrows rose as she began to take notes, nodding to herself. She looked up at the man again, her voice flat, "I'll take that as a yes. You say 'we', which I take implies that there are more of you. The Cult was pretty heavily decimated over the past few years, but you've got supporters still?"

The man glared at her, his demeanor changing slightly and his voice getting angry, "Of course we do! Why wouldn't we? We're going to change the world! This, all of this is just temporary, it's all just a brief passing of time before the end. And once the end comes, everything changes, everything is better. Why can't you military people understand that? We're trying to help you."

Beckyann took a few more notes, trying to make sense of the response. Clearly the man had some delusions in his mind. She decided to press him on them, "Everything is better you say? Can you elaborate on that please?"

He laughed at her, shaking his head, "I don't know why they would send someone so stupid to ask these questions. Of course everything's better! You got any brains under that blonde hair? Think about it. Everyone suffers all the time. People go hungry and get sick and the world is a terrible place. Not too hard to make that better, dumbass."

Beckyann felt a twinge of annoyance at the way the man was addressing her, but she managed to choke it down as she took more notes. She felt her natural hatred of the Cult of the Damned stirring within her as he spoke; she could guess what he was going to say next. She knew that if she ever wanted to truly find and capture her real targets that she'd have to get used to understanding minds like this however. "And you think you've got the answer to that then? The report I've got here says you...ah yes here...it says you tried to poison a large group of people with tainted meat. Tried to start a little plague of your own."

The man slammed his hands on the table, making Beckyann jump in surprise. Believing he had scared her, he leaned over, his voice a growl, "Damn right we did. Don't know why you're even asking since you know all about it and all. Would have worked too if we'd gotten the formula right for the poison. Next time's gonna work much better, honey. And maybe you'll be lucky enough to join them!"

Beckyann shook her head, writing furiously, "J-join them? Lucky? You believe that the people you poisoned were lucky?"

The man grinned. He flexed his chains, as if trying to reach her. She subconsciously scooted back in her chair, which only made him more aggressive, "Yeah, that's the way of it. Death is just the beginning. You die and all the pain and suffering ends. You move on to the next state, the true state of being. Then with a little magic, you can come back here. You have everything then, all the riches of the world. You can't starve, you can't suffer, you just live on and on, enjoying all of the wonders of the world, a world that you rule over in your better, perfected state of undeath. It's a dream come true. I know it sounds crazy, but it's the truth. I can show you, I can show everyone if you just help me get away from here, get free."

Beckyann frowned deeply, seething under her exterior calm. She took a few more notes, the realization that the man was deeply insane and indoctrinated in the cult's teachings coming to her. She came to understand that it was likely that her own targets had equally deranged, confused thoughts about reality. As she wrote, she muttered aloud, "I have a feeling that you've no clue about what undeath is really like, or how terrible your goals are."

It was the worst thing to say to a cultist. A more experienced interviewer wouldn't have made a personal comment like that, knowing the effect it could have on a deranged mind. Beckyann had no such experience though, and she learned the hard way as the man lurched from his seat in a vain attempt to reach her, his voice echoing through the room, "You stupid little bitch! You have no idea what you're talking about! Look at you sitting there with your pretty clothes and your shiny rank badge. You've got the good life, standing around bossing people about and eating whatever food you want while people suffer. I bet you haven't suffered a single day in your whole life. I'm going to make the world a better place, and if stupid little wenches like you have to die and be reborn as mindless ghouls to make it so, that's fine by me!"

The prisoner didn't know that this was, of course, the absolute worst thing to say to Beckyann. Fury blazed up in her and she trembled with seething hate. The man sitting across from her was exactly the type of person that had lead to her undoing. He was exactly the type of person who had betrayed her nation, slaughtered countless innocents, and tortured her to death. With hatred flowing through her, she brought her hands up and pushed her sunglasses up into her hair, affixing her baleful glowing gaze on him, her voice dripping with bile, "You should shut your mouth. Now."

The man slumped back in his chair, his eyes wide, "Y-you....you stupid filthy zombie! You're one of them! One of the Lich King's own who betrayed his armies. It is your fault he fell, your fault that he doesn't reign over the world now! You had all of the power, all of his glory in your hands and you let it all slip away like a fool. Like a petulant child! I can't believe how blind you are!"

Beckyann was in no mood to hear it any longer. The interview was concluded as far as she was concerned. She understood now that even when imprisoned for some time, men like this thought their way was the right way, and they clung to their petty delusions even at the cost of other people's lives. She rose from her chair, circling the table and approaching him. He tried to grab her and she clamped her icy cold grip down on his arm, twisting it into an uncomfortable position. His eyes widened as he realized just what it was he was locked in a room with, the natural fear of a living person taking over instinctively.

 Beckyann leaned over the man, her blonde hair falling around her face and around one side of his head as she brought her lips to within an inch of his ear. Her voice was almost a sensual whisper, like a lover saying sweet nothings into the ear of her beloved, the echoing quality of her voice making it all the worse, "A day will come when you will die. It will not be today, not tomorrow, but that day is coming. You will be executed for your crimes of course, for how could you not be? How could the living not loathe and fear what you've done?"

She paused, taking great pleasure in feeling the trembling fear in the arm she held. She wrenched it a bit, making him gasp in pain, leaning forward and biting his ear almost playfully once before continuing, "After that day comes and goes, your body will be left somewhere. A pauper's cemetery perhaps? A hole in the ground? A pit that no one will care to visit. But I will. I will come and get you. I will come and raise you as a mindless undead ghoul. A slave for all eternity. You will feel your body rotting, you will feel the agony of having your soul ripped from the hereafter and chained to flesh that decays around you. Unable to recall your life fully, you will feel the dull ache of longing for it, even when you can't understand it. The suffering, the pure, sweet suffering will be more than you can possibly imagine. And it will never. Ever. End."

The man wet himself, whimpering in his chair. It made Beckyann grin, and for a brief moment she allowed herself the indulgence of making him suffer more. She wrench his arm again and then grabbed his chair with her free hand, tearing the bolts from the floor and flinging him sideways onto his face. He lay sprawled on the floor, chains all around him on the stone, and she stood over him, placing a boot on his neck.

"I could make that day come today of course," she purred. "But then you wouldn't have the joy of anticipating it, of coming to understand the terrible terrible mistake you made when you chose to interfere in the natural course of life and death. Think about it, friend. Think about it for a long long time. When the noose is around your neck, remember that this...what was it, filthy undead zombie bitch will be waiting for you. I'll be smiling at you from the crowd."

She took her foot from his neck and gave him a firm kick to the ribcage before stepping over him and heading to the door. She knocked once and the captain opened the door, looking in.

"I'm done questioning the prisoner now, Captain," Beckyann said sweetly. The man mewled on the floor behind her once and she shook her head sadly. "He simply wasn't very helpful I fear. I thank you for the opportunity however."

The captain nodded and let Beckyann leave before closing the door behind her. As Beckyann proceeded to the main hall and retrieved her escort, her mind pondered what she'd just learned. The fact that the man had so obtusely clung to his beliefs meant that the 1113th was not free of danger; the cultists that had attacked them would do so again and again until they were stamped out.

Beckyann smiled as her guards fell into step behind her; she liked stamping out nests of pests. This was going to be fun.