Red Dragon Spaceship Awakening: I Gain Alien Abilities on Mars-Chapter 233: The Interrogation

Bjorn leaned forward, his face inches from the commander’s, and his voice exploded into the silence like a gunshot.

"TELL ME! DO YOU BLEED?!"

The battle commander did not reply. He just stared, his expression unchanged, his breathing steady.

Bjorn’s eyes narrowed, and his voice dropped into something lower and more dangerous. "Because you will if you don’t start talking."

Still nothing. The man sat there, silent, defiant, his gaze locked on some point in the distance, refusing to acknowledge Bjorn’s presence.

Bjorn straightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, and then, without warning, he swung.

The slap was brutal. The sound of his palm connecting with the side of the battle commander’s face echoed through the room like a thunderclap, and the man’s head snapped to the side, his body jerking against the restraints. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and a tooth: one of his molars, flew out and clattered onto the floor, skittering across the smooth white surface.

The battle commander’s head hung to the side for a moment, his breathing ragged, and then slowly and deliberately, he turned his face back to center. Blood dripped from his split lip, staining his chin, but his expression had not changed. He still said nothing.

Bjorn roared, his voice rising to a manic pitch that filled the entire room. "WHO IS THE OBSCURON?! WHAT DOES HE LOOK LIKE?! WHAT ARE HIS PLANS?! SPEAK, DAMN YOU!"

He grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, hauling him forward as far as the restraints would allow, and shook him violently. "You think I won’t tear you apart?! You think I won’t make you wish you were dead?! TALK!"

But the battle commander did not talk. He just stared, his eyes glassy, his lips trembling slightly from the force of the slap, but his voice remained silent.

Bjorn released him with a shove, sending the chair rocking backward before it settled, and he turned away, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He paced the room, his boots heavy against the floor, and then he spun back around and drove his fist into the man’s gut.

The battle commander doubled over as much as the restraints would allow, his breath leaving him in a choked gasp, and he coughed, blood and spit dribbling from his mouth.

Bjorn leaned in close again, his voice low and venomous. "You’re going to die here. You know that, right? Whether you talk or not, you’re not leaving this room alive. But if you talk, I’ll make it..., yunno what? I’ll give you a chance to survive. But if you don’t..." He let the threat hang in the air, unfinished but unmistakable, obviously laced with brutal death.

The battle commander lifted his head slowly, his eyes meeting Bjorn’s for the first time, and his voice came out hoarse and broken, but still defiant.

"I don’t know anything. I’ll rather die than betray the mighty Obscuron, my revered leader."

Bjorn stared at him, his expression twisting into something between rage and disbelief, and then he stepped back, shaking his head.

Tatehan had been watching all of this from the corner of the room, his armor covering his entire body, his visor glowing faintly in the dim light. He stood perfectly still, like a statue, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed but his attention focused entirely on the scene unfolding in front of him.

He had not moved. He had not spoken either. He had just watched as Bjorn shouted, slapped, punched, and threatened, and as the battle commander refused to break.

Seven minutes had passed since the interrogation began, and the man had given them nothing. Nothing except that one line, repeated over and over like a mantra.

"I don’t know anything. I’ll rather die than betray the mighty Obscuron, my revered leader."

Bjorn turned away from the battle commander, his breathing heavy, his fists still clenched, and he looked at Tatehan. He nodded his head sideways, repeatedly, a gesture of frustration and resignation, and then he gestured with one hand, motioning Tatehan forward.

Help.

Tatehan tilted his head slightly, his visor tracking Bjorn’s movements, and then he pushed off from the wall and stepped forward. His armored boots made no sound as he crossed the room, and he stopped a few feet from the battle commander, staring down at the man with that unreadable, glowing visor.

He reached up and cracked his neck to the side, the sound sharp and deliberate, he wanted them to notice the crack. And then his amplified voice cut through the silence.

"Do you have a dagger?"

Bjorn blinked, caught off guard by the question, and then he nodded. "Aye." He summoned the weapon from his inventory, the blade materializing in his hand with a faint shimmer, and he held it out toward Tatehan.

Tatehan took it, the weight settling into his grip, and then he asked, "Do you have scissors?"

Bjorn paused, his expression shifting into something between concern and curiosity. But it was the good kind of concern. The kind that came with a slow, spreading grin.

He summoned the scissors from his inventory, the tool appearing in his hand, and he held it out. "They shock while cutting," Bjorn said, his voice edged with something that sounded almost like approval. " The shock are really p... a ... i ... n... full." He grinned.

Tatehan took the scissors, the metal cool against his gauntleted fingers, and he looked down at them for a moment, testing the weight and the balance.

The battle commander, who had been staring down at the floor with grim determination, suddenly looked up. His eyes locked onto the dagger in Tatehan’s hand, then shifted to the scissors, and for the first time since the interrogation began, his expression changed.

Terror.

Fear.

Horror.

’Perfect!’

His breathing quickened, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and his hands twitched against the restraints, trying to pull free even though he knew it was useless.

Tatehan stepped closer, the dagger in his right hand, the scissors in his left, and he tilted his head slightly as he looked down at the man.