Torn and Tattered

Posted on 20 Oct 2025 @ 11:58am by Commodore Harvey Geisler & Lieutenant Commander Joey Geisler

3,528 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Imposters Among Us
Location: Confederation Command Ship
Timeline: July 8, 2390 || 0945 hours

The room was different than the last, but still possessed the same sterile walls and flickering overhead light that buzzed like a dying insect. There was a vent in the same place as the last room, but this one was different. Welded shut. A jagged seam of metal sealed any attempt at freedom that mocked them with its permanence.

Joey sat on the floor, wrists cinched behind her back, ankles bound together. The restraints were tighter this time. The guards had learned. Her body ached, but she kept her breathing steady, pretending to be unconscious for the moment. She hoped her husband could pick up on what she was trying to project to him.

Remember the plan.

"You son of a bitch!" Harvey spat. Unlike Joey, Harvey was in a chair. He was restrained, but not to it. Oddly, his biceps were bound, keeping them firmly attached to his sides, and then his wrists clasped firmly together. The bindings kept his range of movements painfully.

But nothing would keep his anger restrained against the Selamat who immediately stabbed him with the torture rod. Harvey screamed in defiance, allowing all his rage to be channeled into self-preservation.

Joey flinched at the sound of Harvey’s scream, her breath catching in her throat. The guttural cry twisted something deep inside her, but she forced herself to stay as silent as she could. Her thoughts remained focused on anger disgust and a myriad of other emotions. All focused on the Selemat and the Confederation. But now that the Selemat was focused on Harvey, his back turned and his attention consumed by the violence he'd just inflicted. That was her chance.

She shifted her weight slowly, testing the limits of her restraints. Her wrists were bound tightly behind her back, but if she could get her legs under her body, maybe—just maybe—she could maneuver her arms beneath her. She bent her knees carefully, curling inward, trying to ignore the ache in her burns. Inch by inch, she tucked her legs up, pressing her bound hands against the floor and scooting forward.

Her heart pounded. Every movement risked a sound. Every sound risked discovery.

Joey gritted her teeth and leaned back, trying to slide her arms beneath her thighs. It was awkward, painful, and slow. But she was determined. She could do this.

The bindings scraped against her skin as she twisted, her arms now halfway under her legs. She paused, listening. The Selemat hadn’t noticed. He was still focused on her husband. Joey exhaled through her nose, steadying herself. She was almost there. Almost free enough to fight back. Almost free enough to see to it that Harvey didn't endure anymore pain.

Harvey's scream disappeared the moment the rod left his chest. Several gasping breaths could be heard as Harvey fought to regain his composure. He'd had more than enough of this inhumane torture, and if dropping a few nuggets would guarantee his safety, then he was all for it.

The tip of the rod then appeared two inches from Harvey's eye, threatening to stab it or find its way to his neck like it did earlier this session. "Tell me," the Selamat hissed, "about the Bajoran wormhole."

And, because the Selamat felt that Harvey needed further incentive to talk, the rod suddenly tipped downward, and landed on Harvey's shoulder. A new scream erupted from Harvey, preventing him from answering.

Joey’s fingers trembled as she finally wriggled her bound arms beneath her legs and brought them forward. Her shoulders ached, but the surge of adrenaline dulled the pain. She crouched low, her breath shallow, eyes locked on the Selemat's back.

He hadn’t noticed her yet.

She rose slowly, carefully, her knees bent to keep her balance. The bindings still restricted her movement, but she was upright now—silent and poised.

When Harvey’s scream tore through the room again, anger and adrenaline surged through her. She watched as the Selemat leaned in, savoring the torment. Her husband didn't deserve this torture. He was a good man, and seeing him like that was all it took for her vision to bleed red. It was one thing to do it to her, but if was another to do it to him.

Joey moved.

She launched herself forward, her feet barely making a sound against the floor. In one swift motion, she wrapped her bound arms around the Selemat’s neck, locking them tight. Her knees slammed into his back, and she leaned back with every ounce of strength she had, pulling hard.

Her anger fueled her. The need to protect and take control of the situation rooted deep inside of her. She was out for blood. Perhaps not in the literal sense, but Joey wanted him to hurt as much as they did. An eye for an eye as the saying went.

Joey's grip tightened. Her knees dug deeper. And for the first time since they’d been captured, Joey felt the shift of power.

What Joey had not heard were a series of cracks along the Selamat's spine and neck. The telepathic alien chided himself for not sensing her nefarious thoughts, but such a reflection lasted only for a fleeting second. Almost instantly, his left side went numb.

The arm responsible for wielding the torture rod lost all control, and the device fell harmlessly to the ground. Grunting, the alien dropped to one knee and struggled with his one good arm to claw at Joey, only to find a fist full of hair. He did not have the air to scream, and if there were another Selamat on the ship, he likely would have been able to make telepathic contact. Instead, he yanked hard, hoping to dislodge his captor long enough to get out a scream.

Harvey leapt into action himself. The way his arms were bound made it difficult to move, but he was able to interlace his fingers to join both fists together and strike the kneeling alien's skull.

Joey snarled as the Selemat yanked her hair, the sharp pain radiating across her scalp. “You think that hurts?” she hissed through clenched teeth. “I’ve had worse done to me since your bastard leader had me captured.”

Her arms remained locked around the alien’s neck like a vice. She shifted her weight, knees digging deeper into his back, refusing to let go. His writhing did nothing to deter her, and only fueled her further.

“You could’ve done anything to me,” she growled into his ear, voice low and venomous. “But you made one fatal mistake—you hurt Harvey.”

With that, Joey adjusted her grip, her bound wrists pressing against the alien’s throat. She twisted sharply, a brutal, practiced motion born of rage and survival.

Another series of cracks were heard. The Selamat's hand loosed its grip on her hair. Yellow eyes slumped back into his head as the large cranium dipped forward. The entire body relaxed a moment later, now completely devoid of life.

"We won't have much time," Harvey said, looking around for where the torture rod fell. With the way his arms were bound, he struggled to lift it off the floor, and then keep the electrifying end away from his body. "Two guards are outside the door, and the longer it stays quiet in here, the greater the chances they'll check on us."

Joey released her grip from the Selemat’s limp body, letting it slump to the floor with a thud. Her breath came in short bursts, adrenaline still surging through her veins. She dropped to her knees and twisted her wrists, inspecting the restraints. The bindings were tight, but the alien’s body had shifted during the struggle—his belt was still intact, and on it, a small blade glinted.

She shuffled toward him, awkwardly maneuvering her bound ankles. With a grunt, she rolled the body just enough to reach the blade. Her fingers fumbled, but she managed to hook it and drag it free. The blade was short, curved—perfect for slicing through the synthetic cord around her wrists.

It took effort, and the angle was brutal, but after several tense seconds, the bindings gave way with a snap. She wasted no time cutting the ones around her ankles, then stood, flexing her sore limbs.

Harvey was still bound. Joey scanned the room, calculating. His restraints were a bit different—more complex, but had a small space where they could be cut.

“Harvey,” she said sharply, still holding the blade as crouched beside him, slicing through the restraints to free him. “Hit the trigger on the rod. You need to scream. Make it convincing. We need the guards to come to us to have the upper hand.”

She moved to stand off to the side of the door as she gripped the knife she held, already planning. If the guards came in, they’d have one shot. And this time, they weren’t bound. This time, it was about their freedom.

Harvey grimaced at her command. It wasn't really a command, but he certainly didn't cherish the idea that he was going to have to inflict pain on himself one more time. "I don't think it'll take much to do any convincing," he replied. "But getting the guards to actually come in here is a different matter. They didn't come in before already, so they're not going to come in just on my scream."

Still, without waiting for a reply, he went ahead to keep up appearances by jabbing his leg with the torture rod. A guttural scream let out for as long as he managed to hold the rod in place. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed as soon as it was no longer touching his skin. "I think I dialed up the setting on accident."

Joey blinked, stunned for a moment by the sheer intensity of Harvey’s scream. Her eyes widened, knowing an angry red welt was forming on his leg under his pants. “Are you okay?” she asked, rushing to his side to check for herself. “You didn’t have to actually hit yourself, you know. A little acting would’ve gone a long way.”

Harvey gasped for breath, trying to regain his composure enough to talk. "Acting isn't going to bring these guards inside. Help me think... in all of the last times we were tortured, when did the guards come into the cell?"

Joey’s eyes narrowed as she stared at the door, her mind racing through the fragments of memory she’d tried hard not to dwell on. “They came in,” she said slowly, “when we were being moved. That was the only time. Not during the torture. Not during the screaming.”

She turned back to Harvey, her voice low but urgent. “But, in the past, they did come in when something changed or when something was wrong.”

Her gaze dropped to the lifeless Selemat. “If we call out to them,” she said, “tell them something’s wrong with their comrade—he collapsed, he’s not responding—they’ll come in. Fast.”

She knelt beside the body, fingers already checking for other weapons. “And when they do, we’ll be ready. We’ve got the knife. The torture rod. They won’t expect us to be loose. They won’t expect a fight.”

Joey looked back at Harvey. “We use the element of surprise. We take them down. And then we get the hell off this ship.”

Harvey stood over Joey and the body, quickly evaluating the plan she presented. He personally didn't have any other ideas, and her plan absolutely seemed to be a solid option. "All right," he said. "You go back to the floor, act like you're unconscious again."

He sat back down in the chair and positioned himself like he was still bound, concealing the torture rod off to the side, blocking it with his leg. "I'll call out to them, and when they move to check the Selamat, that's when we strike."

Joey gave a sharp nod, her expression hardening with resolve. “We each take the one closest to us,” she whispered as she moved back to her original spot on the floor. “No hesitation. We strike at the same time.”

She lowered herself carefully, positioning her body just as it had been before—limp, vulnerable, unthreatening. With a subtle motion, she slid the knife beneath her thigh, angling it so the blade was hidden but ready. Her fingers brushed the hilt once, memorizing its location.

Then she let her head drop forward, her knotted hair falling like a curtain across her face. Her breathing slowed, shallow and rhythmic, mimicking unconsciousness with practiced ease. “I’m ready,” she murmured, barely audible.

And then she went still.

Harvey paused for a moment, his eyes staring at his wife. It equally shocked and amazed him how easily she could slip into such a role and consider viable tactical alternatives. It was only when he thought about it that he recalled her career as a close protection officer and security. This was the woman, after all, who single handedly overwhelmed an Intrepid-class starship during the height of the Consortium Crisis.

Such a reflection made him think of his crew, from the brilliant Camila Di Pasquale, the loyal Terry Walsh, and even faces that had come and gone throughout the years. Finally, his mind settled on two little ones, and a face he hadn't seen in more than a decade.

"This is for all of you," he muttered. Then he slammed his feet on the ground. "Hey!" he shouted. "Can we get some help in here!?"

The door opened.

Two guards stepped in, weapons slung casually at their sides, their expressions shifting from boredom to confusion as they took in the scene. The Selemat lay crumpled on the floor, unmoving. Joey was slumped on the floor, breathing shallow.

The guard closest to Harvey crouched down, reaching for the Selemat’s pulse. The other raised his weapon, eyes scanning the room. “What the hell happened in here?” he barked.

Joey’s head snapped up. “The same thing that’s about to happen to you,” she growled.

In one fluid motion, she twisted her body and swept her leg across the floor. The crouching guard yelped as his feet were knocked out from under him, his weapon clattering across the room. He hit the ground hard, dazed.

Before he could react, Joey was on him—knees pinning his arms, the concealed blade flashing from behind her. She drove it down with precision, her face a mask of fury and focus.

The second guard blinked and fumbled for his weapon, trying to raise it toward Joey.

Harvey leapt from his seat, removing any question that he appeared bound to it, and jabbed the torture rod into the guard's side. The guard didn't scream, but his body instead began to quake as it was entirely overwhelmed by the electrical current. Harvey held the rod in place for a moment longer than he needed to before he finally withdrew the weapon.

He tightened his grip, raised his hand, and repurposed the rod as a blunt object by bringing it down on the guard's skull. The oppressor from a different universe went limp, collapsing in an unconscious heap.

Joey stood over the crumpled body, her chest heaving, blood smeared across her hands and splattered on her clothes. The blade still trembled in her grip, slick and warm. Her eyes flicked to Harvey, then back to the unconscious guard.

Her jaw clenched.

He was breathing. Barely. But he was alive.

And that was the problem.

She crouched beside him, the blade hovering just inches from his throat. Her fingers twitched. Her mind screamed. He could wake up. He could call for help. He could ruin everything. But another voice whispered back—He’s helpless now. Just like you were. Just like Harvey was.

Joey’s hand trembled.

She’d been tortured. Starved. Humiliated. She’d watched Harvey suffer, scream, bleed. And this guard—this cog in the machine—had stood by and let it happen. Maybe even enjoyed it. Her fury surged, hot and blinding. Her breath came in ragged bursts.

“I should end him,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “He wouldn’t hesitate if it were me.”

Harvey knelt beside her, and gently reached forward to place his hand on top of the knife. He shared her anguish and conflict. This had not been an easy path, and the last thing he was going to allow would be the theft of everything she believed in.

His eyes met hers, and he did his best to project a sense of calm and understanding. "He's not going anywhere any time soon," he reminded her. "The Confederation will come looking for these three soon enough, especially when they realize these guards aren't at their post. Don't let them take the last parts of you away."

Joey looked over to him and blinked. Harvey was right, but did they already accomplish that? Two of the three were dead, and maybe at some point in the future, she might feel remorse, but right now there was none. She felt nothing but rage where they were concerned. Still, she needed to focus. "Then we should get moving," she said as she wiped the blade of the knife on the guard's clothes, then tucked it into the waistband of her pants.

She rose to her feet and looked to him. "We're closer to our freedom now. This has to work."

Harvey couldn't agree more. And, even though time was of the essence, Harvey remained kneeling. He frisked the fallen guard to locate attentional binding material, only to luck out with what appeared to be a set of handcuffs. Harvey attached one of the cuffs to the guard's left wrist, and then dragged the guard over to the welded vent to secure the other half of the cuffs to it.

"There," he declared, removing the guard's disruptor. "Now he won't be going anywhere." He knelt beside the dead guard and retrieved his disruptor as well, which he extended to Joey. "These will come in handy."

Joey took the disruptor from Harvey’s outstretched hand, her fingers closing around the grip with practiced ease. She stepped back, letting herself breathe—just for a moment. Her blood-slick hands trembled slightly, but she steadied them, forcing her mind to clear.

She checked the weapon over quickly, flipping it in her palm, inspecting the charge indicator and the safety toggle. It was fully loaded. Good. She tucked it under her arm, the weight familiar, almost comforting, then her eyes met Harvey’s. “That buys us a few extra minutes.” she said, nodding toward the cuffed guard.

Then, Joey squared her shoulders, the fire in her eyes reigniting. “So,” she said, voice low and sharp, “you ready to get the hell out of here?”

Because she was. And anyone who got in their way wouldn't be for long.

Harvey pressed himself against the wall beside the door, readying himself for what was about to happen. In his efforts to center himself, he was reminded of the last few times he had escaped captivity and the madness that had been associated with each of those attempts. Once this door opened, and the moment the first weapon was fired, there was no turning back.

Only two outcomes remained... death or life. Even now, his mind stung him with the infamous Jem'hadar axiom, Victory is life.

"Ready," he confirmed, holding the guard's remote that would open the door.

Joey stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the cold floor. Her grip tightened around the disruptor, the blade still tucked at her side. She glanced at Harvey—her husband, her partner, her commanding officer—and felt the weight of everything she'd endured alone until his surprise appearance a couple weeks later pressing against her chest.

She was trained for this. She’d led security teams through many missions, breached enemy ships, and walked out of what she might consider hell more than once. But this was different. This was personal.

She moved beside him, her eyes scanning the door, then the corridor beyond in her mind’s eye. She had to go first. Not just because she was the one best suited to clear the way—but because she couldn’t bear the thought of him taking a hit meant for her.

He wasn’t just the man she loved. He was the Black Hawk’s heart. And when they got out—when, not if—he needed to be the one standing tall.

Joey turned to him, her expression softening for just a moment. She leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, grounding herself in that fleeting touch. “We’re going to make it,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her breath.

She stepped back, squared her shoulders, and took one final inhale to center herself. “Open the door."

And just like that, the storm was about to begin.

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