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shadow_vector2010-12-17 08:59 am
Interrogationverse: Springer
Bayverse: Interrogationverse AU
Vortex, Barricade, Springer
oh the usual mindfuckery. :D
Yeah I haven't written in this for a while. In interrogation, truth goes out the window The interrogators have no obligation to tell the truth, even under Geneva Conventions. You'll see this technique used in a lot of police interrogations, where it's called 'rolling'--you tell the subject that one of his partners or accomplices has 'rolled' on him and fingered him for the crime. This leads to a lot of counteraccusations, etc. In this case, it's combined with a sort of 'fallen idol' trope. Some people don't want to believe their idols/friends would do that and...when that cracks, it breaks hard.
Police interrogators have a large body of background information--they have gang unit experts, neighborhood gossip, etc, to set a backdrop. In war, the military interrogator will only have the notes on an EPW tag and possibly some anecdotes from guards. It's a lot...trickier.
“You said you were going to teach me something,” Barricade muttered, swiping the cleansing rag over his throat again.
“I am always teaching you something,” Vortex retorted. “Problem is you not learning.” He was sitting on the berth, watching Barricade scrub at his face and neck with the damp cloth, his expression unreadable behind the mask. Barricade envied him that mask so often it was becoming a mental tic. “But I’ll try to talk down to your level.”
Barricade steeled his face against the insult, feeling a small rise that he did it so easily, so well. If he had let anything slip, Vortex would have let him know. Painfully so. He said nothing, scrubbing harder under the edge of one of his chrome facial spires. Let Vortex try to read something into that.
Vortex sighed, heavily, his discontent unable to find traction. “Fine. Let’s teach you how to read a biofile.”
“I can read,” Barricade dared a retort. He knew that Vortex’s jovial moods never lasted. Trying to placate him to prolong them always backfired. Better to get it over with: happy Vortex was more dangerous than any other variety.
Vortex snorted. “You can read WORDS,” he said, as though that were somehow a profound insult. “A good interrogator can read the spaces between them.”
Barricade stopped himself—barely—from rolling his optics. Vortex’s rhetoric always tried to cast what he did as some sort of immanently rational. Probably as a defense, Barricade thought. Then stopped himself. That…was almost a Vortex-worthy leap of alleged-insight. He grew aware of Vortex’s pause, waiting for a response. “Yes,” he said, blandly. Yes was almost always the right thing to say to Vortex. Almost. Nothing was 100% effective. That was, of course, the point—he had no control. Unless knowing that gave him a kind of control. Another Vortex-esque thought. He found himself mildly disturbed that Vortex was colonizing his cortex.
The capture tag had flashsnaps of others captured with the prisoner, linking to their EPW tags. A handful of mechs, the ship, name, a hundred trivial details.
Vortex had tensed up while waiting. He subsided now, as if Barricade’s answer were exactly what he wanted. “We have a new subject,” he said. “Who considers himself fairly hot slag.”
Barricade shrugged, tossing the filthy cleansing cloth in the autoclave. “Pride/ego down,” he said, calmly. “Even I can figure that out.”
Vortex’s voice chilled. Barricade felt almost soothed by the sound. He could brace himself against Vortex’s tempers, when he could feel them coming. “You need another approach,” he said. “If all you have is a gun, everything looks like a target.”
Right. Barricade wasn’t so far gone that THAT made any fraggin’ sense. Still, he was learning when Vortex wanted surrender. “So, what am I not getting?”
“Backstory. EPW intake tells you about capture. You also need to know how he’s been acting since.”
Barricade waited, trying to deny Vortex the pleasure of asking.
Vortex sighed as if Barricade were leaching all of the fun out of this—as if this were even supposed to be fun. “In this case,” he began, pointedly, “and it happens with his type, but not all the time, he’s really…unable to take solitude.” Vortex gave a giggle.
“So, what? Threaten him with it?”
Vortex’s laugh faded. “Simplistic, Barricade. You always think so…bluntly.” He sighed, disappointed. Barricade grated his lip plates, frustrated. He was fraggin’ trying, and that felt enough like surrender.
“So.” Barricade’s optics focused into a tight glare. By now he could immobilize all trace of emotion from his face—he just didn’t want to.
“Instead of threatening him with what he doesn’t want—threats don’t work on egos of a certain size if they have an audience to perform to—consider what he does want.” Vortex reached over and tweaked one of Barricade’s forehead spires.
Barricade’s mouth twisted. He barely knew what he wanted at this point, other than to get away from Vortex and his special ‘tutelage’ forever. “Wants…attention?” A blind guess. He’d have done better if Vortex hadn’t kept him up all night.
Vortex nodded.
“Any kind?”
“Any kind. Good or bad. If he’s not the best, he wants to be the worst.” Vortex nodded, and Barricade suddenly wondered how much of his analysis might be applicable to himself.
[***]
The Autobot was green. Barricade would never get used to their gaudy colors, but this one was the first time he thought the colors were too drab to match the personality. Because this…Springer had enough of that to plaster on the walls.
And…three and a half cycles into the interrogation, that’s about what Barricade wanted to do to him. He had no idea how the Autobots put up with him. And all he and Vortex had gotten out of him so far was that he was part of a group known as the Wreckers. Which did not seem to endear him to Vortex.
Vortex had seized one of Springer’s wrist rotors, wrenching it in its teeterhinge. Barricade saw the flash of pain cross Springer’s face before he mastered it, biting down on a hiss. “All you got?” Springer snapped.
“No,” Vortex said, flatly, dropping the rotor. “I like to end my conversations with clear punctuation.”
“It’s over? Huh. Not impressed.”
Vortex laughed. “You’ll know when it’s over, Autobot. But right now, I have something better to do.” His rotors flicked as he turned his back on the wrist-bound Autobot, and approached Barricade.
Barricade did not let the tension show, even when Vortex slid an arm around his back, for all the world like they were best friends. Right. Maybe Springer had finally unhinged Vortex. He hadn’t been, you know, too tightly hinged to begin with.
With his other hand, Vortex reached for the datapad Barricade had been holding. “Let me see,” Vortex said, his voice loud enough to be overheard. Barricade handed it over, blank. Vortex tapped on the datapad. ‘Pretend we’re having a good conversation.’
Barricade blinked. What? The hand tightened over his pauldron, just to the point of pain, just enough to remind Barricade that Vortex was still in charge. “Um, what do you think of this?” he said, haltingly.
Vortex pretended to study the pad. “Nice!” Vortex said. “Excellent job.”
Right. “Th-thank you.” The words sounded entirely alien to Barricade, like stumbling in an unfamiliar language, but the hand released some of its pressure on his shoulder.
“So what else do you have for me?” Vortex asked.
“I—this.” Barricade scrolled ahead randomly on the datapad, winging it entirely. Behind him, Barricade heard scuffing—an impatient Springer. Just like Vortex had predicted. And Barricade hated that Vortex was always right.
“Ah,” Vortex said. “Very interesting. And very fast.” He shot a look over his shoulder at Springer, making it seem that whatever they were talking about was about him. “So. We don’t need him, then, do we?”
Barricade had become convinced that he was stupid, but even he could pick up his cue. “No, sir,” he said. “Guess not.”
Vortex’s optics glowed at the title, and Barricade had another of those random, ephemeral flashes of an almost alternate Vortex. Barricade was stupid, but not quite stupid enough to put much stock in that, though.
Vortex turned back to Springer. “I was wrong—I guess it is over.”
Barricade could see the hundred different thoughts race over Springer’s face—some sort of side effect of being able to mask his own emotions so clearly—he’d become attuned to the speed and flow of emotions in others. And right now, Springer looked…upset. Angry.
“Yeah?” He jerked his chin up, like a slashing weapon. “Guess I was too hard for you to break, wasn’t I?”
Vortex shrugged. “Why waste my time when I have a better source?”
“Better source!” Springer scoffed, but even Barricade could hear the bluster. Insulted? Ridiculous. “I don’t believe it.”
Vortex tipped his head. “Do I care if you believe it? As I’ve been telling you for, oh, cycles now, your opinions don’t matter. Just the facts.” A lie, of course. Vortex devoured everything, insisting that it was only a matter of time and opportunity before even the most miniscule scraplet of opinion could turn into the hammer with which he could crack open another mech.
“Frag. You’re bluffing.” Springer’s optics narrowed.
“Am I?” Vortex’s false innocence, possibly one of his most irritating fake moods. The kind that even Springer might think was a fake of a fake.
“You’re just trying to fake me out.”
Barricade locked himself down before he could react. So much for the winning strategy, there, Vortex. What was worse: Barricade knew that a thwarted Vortex was a violent Vortex. Tonight…would be rough. Unless. His optics flicked down to the datatpad, lighting on the scree. “The other green one,” he blurted, enduring Vortex’s furious glare—he wasn’t sure if that was real or not. Games within games.
“Kup? Never. He wouldn’t!” Even Springer seemed to hear the doubt in his voice.
“Wouldn’t he?” Barricade pushed, fighting the tremor of fear in his tanks. He’d committed—he had to stay with it.
“He wouldn’t. No slaggin’ way.”
Barricade let the disdainful sneer cross his face, disregarding—or trying to—Vortex’s glare. But they both sensed Springer’s vulnerability. The two said nothing, simply giving Springer what he wanted: their undivided attention.
Springer sneered. “He singlehandedly rescued Arcee from you incompetent monsters. No way you’d break him.”
“Well,” Vortex said. “Not all of us are incompetent. Unlike my…partner who runs his mouth at the stupidest times.” Barricade could feel the transfer of authority—if this worked, Vortex would give him credit for it…but Primus help him if he fouled this up. Vortex waited a beat, and then said. “You know. Some mechs just…can’t help but brag.”
If Springer’s face could have paled, it would have, the jaw going slack, optics spiraling wide in alarm. Something Barricade didn’t get. “That stupid fragger.”
Vortex shrugged. “It appears we Decepticons don’t have a monopoly on that, doesn’t it?” He oozed sarcasm.
“Shut it,” Springer snapped, but it came out as reflex—Springer’s processor was somewhere else entirely.
[***]
Vortex waited until the guards took Springer away, before turning to Barricade. “Risk, back there.”
Barricade held his ground, tensing. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Not the point.”
“What, then?” Barricade snapped. “What’s the point? You’re the only one allowed to take risks?” If he was going to face Vortex’s temper, he was damn well going to deserve it.
Vortex frowned. “Lucky guess, that’s all. Luck runs out.”
Yes, Barricade thought, but not here, not yet. “Wasn’t luck.”
Vortex cocked his head, demanding explanation.
Barricade shrugged, less casually than he wanted it to come across. “Was on the EPW tag. What you told me to look at.” He straightened. Bring it on.
Vortex twitched, his rotors rigid for a klik. A bark of laughter burst from his vocalizer. “Well, who the frag knew you could actually learn something?” he said. But he didn’t sound surprised.
And Barricade felt his anger melt into something he hesitated to name.
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