Missing Man Formation

[Manticore]

ID: JAMES LAMBERT

James Lambert lay on the metal slab and stared at the flickering light embedded in the metal ceiling. The flickers came in a long, steady pattern which seemed to indicate an old fault in the electrical wiring, rather than a burned out bulb. He stared and pondered this possibility for many long minutes, consumed by the eternal patience and boredom that was the prisoner'€™s curse.

Eventually, his mind found its way back to other subjects. He knew he needed to get his head on straight for what was surely to come, so he forced himself to tune out the flickering light and remember back to the events that had brought him here to this dank cell.

The fire... the explosion... and then there had been nothing but blackness. Next had been lots of movement, confusion, sounds. He had remembered his agony, the agony of powerlessness, as he hadn'€™t even known where he was, or where he was going. It had seemed to last an eternity, but logic told him it had only been perhaps twenty minutes. Then he had felt himself spinning, rolling, and falling hard onto a hard floor. Then the knife had cut through the escape pod material, revealing his captor...

It had been a little girl, in her early teens at most. She had babbled at him for a moment, incoherent words falling empty on his shell-shocked consciousness. Next thing he could remember, a couple of strong-armed toughs, the kind of Rogues he was familiar with, were dragging him through the halls of their base. What base was it, anyways? He had to assume it was Buffalo Base, the secret Badlands hideout of the Rogues that no Liberty officer had ever seen firsthand and lived to talk about it.

Lambert'€™s features hardened. Well, there'€™s a first time for everything, after all.

He thought back to the girl and what she'€™d said, both when she first cut him open and when she'€™d come to his cell later. She'€™d mentioned something about Moka. Moka, of course, was the self-proclaimed '€œLord'€ of the Rogues. Wonder if she intends to turn me over to him?

He remembered her second visit more clearly. The song she'€™d been singing on her way down the hall had taken a long time to stop echoing in his head. She would be back soon.

Wasn'€™t there something she told me to do?

He turned his head, looking back towards the cell door at the pathetic excuse for a cell. It was all plain, dull metal... save for a flash of bright pink on the floor. He lifted his head to get a better look at it, and saw it was a girl'€™s dress. Frills and lace lay spread across the floor in a slightly crumpled state of dishevelment. Water dripped from somewhere onto the hem of the dress, splattering it with an ugly brown stain.

Suddenly, he remembered the girl'€™s words. "Put this on. Unless you'd rather be dealing with the boys out there. They would rip you apart limb by limb." And then she had laughed like it was the funniest thing in the entire universe. He remembered that. The deep, almost forced sound of the laugh, and her eyes...

The thugs outside didn'€™t scare him at all '€“ the girl did. So he sat up, and reached for the dress, pulling it off the floor. He held it up with a slight wince and hesitated at the thought of the humiliation of having to wear it.

Ours not to reason why...

He slowly pulled the dress over his head, and settled it loosely over his flight suit. He sighed, and then leaned back against the wall to wait for whatever was to come next.

He wouldn'€™t have to wait long.

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