STF

Meet Rogan...When the past doesn't match the present...or the future

Posted Nov. 24, 2021, 10:18 p.m. by Fleet Captain Kelly Bordeaux (Commanding Officer) (Kate O'Neill)

Posted by Lieutenant Commander Gravel Mardusk (Chief of Security) in Meet Rogan…When the past doesn’t match the present…or the future

Posted by Fleet Captain Kelly Bordeaux (Commanding Officer) in Meet Rogan…When the past doesn’t match the present…or the future

Posted by Fleet Captain Kelly Bordeaux (Commanding Officer) in Meet Rogan…When the past doesn’t match the present…or the future
Posted by… suppressed (2) by the Post Ghost! 👻
As the lights came on in Rogan’s cell, he sat up casually as if this was his assigned quarters and someone was stopping by for a visit. It had been close to thirty-six hours since they had arrived on the USS Atlantis by his best guess. It had gone reasonably to plan however the security chief was going to be formidable. The green man was following the standard playbook: Keep the insurgents separated, use soundproof cells, keep lights dimmed so low it was almost black, no contact with anyone. All of these procedures were meant to increase anxiety, stress, and make those under the conditions disoriented. With no lights, it was hard to tell day from night hampering an individual’s ability to mark the passage of time. With no ability to hear even idle chit-chat, it was hard to glean any information, no matter how trivial about your captors or situation. Unfortunately for the crew of the Atlantis, what they did not do told Rogan and the others one piece of valuable information. These people had compassion and were bound by some sort of ethical rules.

They had not cut the atmosphere or allowed it to leak out so that Rogan and the others felt suffocation. They had not cut climate controls forcing the individuals in the cells to pass out from heat exhaustion or slide into hypothermia. They also had not cut food and water. Thirst and hunger broke people faster than anything except torture. The only hostile act perpetrated by this crew was shooting the Elders but even Rogan could not fault them for that. The only difference in their reaction from that of Rogan and his companions in the same situation was no one would have walked away if the Elders had been on the offensive. Feeling his stomach growl, Rogan avoided the smile begging to cross his face. Like clockwork, food and water had been shoved through a small slit in the forcefield three times. It was not the best thing Rogan had ever eaten but far from unpalatable. What did surprise him was that the lights had come on in his cell for this round of sustenance.

Looking around the room, Rogan took in every detail he could burn into his memory seeing past the dark shield that had always been in place since he arrived. Where the exit was, how many people were in the room, where possible weapons were located on the walls to prevent escape, and where climate control vents were located was however the casing of the room was halted as he saw a woman wearing a blue shirt approaching his cell carrying a tray. Her arrival was unexpected by the reaction of the men in the security control room. Looking behind her, Rogan saw what appeared to be the men arguing. Presumably about whether or not she should be allowed access to the prisoner. So there is someone giving orders above the man running the security, Rogan thought. He did not ponder this any further however the second the woman stopped in front of his room. There would be time to figure out who this was at a later time.

“Hello I,” the woman said, setting down the tray. Rogan waited just long enough before reaching out with his hand and pulling the woman’s arm in the incredibly small slit as far as he could. He relished the look of shock and fear in the woman’s eyes. He could hear her screams and the threats of the security men leveling their weapons at the forcefield as two other men desperately tried to pull her back, not sure how the man had a hold of the woman and was still two feet physically from her. Rogan ignored the pleas and cries of the woman. She was inconsequential. This was a lesson for those in charge about who really had the power. Turning his hand he locked eyes with the men behind the forcefield and clenched his hand into a fist. This action elicited screams of agony as the woman’s arm began to snap and break into weird angles. The cracking of bones, ligaments, and flesh continued until he had worked up her arm, to her shoulder and ending at her neck. A quick flick and all her screams were silenced as Della’s neck snapped and her face settled into the glassy expression of death.

“Hello I am Della Marx,” the woman said, setting down the tray. “I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

Rogan easily hid his anger with the woman, breaking him out of his fantasy of how the encounter should have progressed with her writhing in pain showing these people what was possible. Instead, Rogan continued within the mission parameters and came back to reality. Watching the woman set his tray down, Rogan made sure he did not make a move off the small ledge the cell had for both seat and bed. He did not want to give the impression of hostility or aggression. “Hello, Della Marx. I see you brought me my meal. May I,” he said charmingly gesturing to the tray that had now been placed inside his cell with the forcefield securely in place behind it.

“Of course,” she gestured back, taking a seat in front of his cell. Della Marx had no idea why she was here although she would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious about the man behind the energy wall. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the skills to do the job. She was a counselor just like every other counselor in the department. What made it odd was the blanket order that only senior staff and security personnel had access to the visitors as the crew was calling them. Cara or Rinker should be here as head of the department and yet neither of these two individuals had ordered her here. Instead, it was some Captain Primrose with two security officers she did not recognize appearing at the door to her quarters wielding the rank to order her to security now or be transferred off the ship. Della had tried to contact her counseling department heads in the turbo while on route only Primrose ended that attempt before she could actually activate her comm badge. So here she was about to provide counseling support to the man that only a day and a half earlier had tried to kill the captain. Later she would debrief anyone that requested it but for now, she had a job to do. Della watched as Rogan moved towards the paper tray on the floor of his cell, noting man’s movements were relaxed and calm as if his incarceration was a normal situation.

Picking up the brown slice of bread, Rogan smiled, taking a bite of the same thing he had eaten now for his fourth meal straight. “You know this isn’t bad,” he said, chewing it. “What do you call this?”

“Nutrient loaf,” she replied politely, “and you are lying.” Nutrient loaf was one of those brig meals saved for only the most naughty of prisoners. Originating in the early nineteenth century, the loaf was made by combining foods that could include milk, rice, potatoes, carrots, cabbage, oatmeal, beans, tomatoes, fruits, scraps of beef or chicken, and margarine. While galactically accepted as disgusting, it was also dietarily sound providing the inmate with all the vitamins, minerals, and nutrients an individual needed to survive. Della had no idea who ordered this for the prisoners. Everyone was angry over the recent events including herself. It could have been the dietary officer, security chief, or even a disgruntled engineer. The point was no one really cared how tasty the prisoners’ food tasted. They had other things to worry about.

“Awww come one let’s not start that way,” he let his laugh ring out in the room. His side glance and smile was familiar. It was the same look a lover or husband gave a wife when her cooking was terrible but he was still eating it. “No it’s just,” he made an exaggerated swallowing motion pointing to his throat, “a bit thick.” His mannerisms and smile in a different circumstance might have made Della laugh. Instead, she just watched him as he slowly ate, already formulating a psychological profile. Rogan was a psychopath. Under the charismatic charm lay a man adept at using manipulation and aggression to achieve what he wanted.

“I will inform the chef you despise his cooking Mr,” she let her voice trail off waiting for the man to fill in the blank or not. She had been informed the fourth member of this group in sick bay had named all three of her companions but it was better for the man to label himself.

“Rogan,” he said, popping the last bite into his mouth before brushing the crumbs from his hand as he approached the force field. “I’d shake your hand but there is this pesky energy field that I am pretty sure would shock me into next week if I touched it,” he made a swirling motion with his finger at the invisible shield before leaning on the wall just out of reach of the shield. His positioning showed that Rogan knew just how far to stay away from it but just close enough to exude bravado. “So are you feeding this to Jessa ‘cause I can tell you she is picky as hell? I made her a tarf steak….”

Della had expected the conversation to move towards the person in sickbay only not so soon. She let the sound of his voice melt into white noise as Rogan shared a tale that was laced with just enough personal elements to make one feel there was a connection between him and the child. In truth, it was all just a carefully orchestrated ruse to make Della look at him differently than the others. In the first few minutes she had met Rogan, aside from making his diagnosis, Della deduced two things. The first was that the man felt in control. This meant he had expected to be here or in a situation like this. The second was the man had no intention of remaining where he was. Leaning back Della changed how she planned the session to progress. “So any chance you are going to save me from useless small talk and just tell me why you are here,” Della completely ignored his question. She may not have the experience of Cara but this was not her first mandated counseling session. If Rogan was going to play the charmer, she would play the cold, calculating heartless one.

I am here to get what I want and for fun I will slaughter anyone in my way. You however will be the exception. Don’t think you can just sit there and interrogate me without consequences. I will make it my mission to find you and gut you like a fish leaving your body for display, Rogan seethed mentally. He felt his fingers tingling, wanting to reach out and choke the life from her eyes. The only thing stopping Rogan was the shimmering shield between them. Sighing let him expel the anger quelling inside. There would be time to let it out later. Right now everyone had a part to play, even Della, even if they did not know it. “About the same as you telling me anything about Jessa,” Rogan laughed casually, acting like they were old friends. Picking up the paper glass of water that accompanied his ration Rogan placed his shoulders blades against the wall and crossed his feet sipping his drink. His tone was friendly as was his expression. If he had been picked up and placed anywhere else on the ship, his tone and actions would blend as seamlessly as any other member of the crew.

“Why your interest in her specifically and not for any of your other companions?” Della attempted to avoid the cat and mouse game Rogan was trying to pull her into. She knew her cold demeanor was eating away at him. Rogan did not just want her to fall for his false persona. His dip into the psychotic needed for Della to succumb to his narcissism.

“Because she is just a kid and last I saw her she was bleeding out on the floor.” His answer was fast and sharp letting enough anger slip through. Crushing the paper cup he threw it with exact precision back on the tray in the exact spot it had arrived on. The hot rush of anger cooled some as Rogan thought about Jessa. He almost felt bad for the kid because once they got the Prism Jessa would wish she had died on the cold floor of this alien ship. It would be far quicker and less painful than anything Zala Tsu had planned.

You are not angry about the event as one who cared about another human should be Mr Rogan. You are enraged that things have not gone according to plan. Part of you knows we don’t have her in the same conditions as you and it is eating you up alive. With no other toys to play with Della turned to the security officers. Ignoring the man behind the shield, she asked for coffee and a chair flaunting her ability to control something which Rogan could not. Taking time to adjust herself in the seat and after taking a sip of coffee she continued. “So you have some concern for her,”

Rogan’s dark eyes followed her movements like a bird of prey. He knew what she was doing but did not have the ability to strike. His blood boiled and he bit down hard on his teeth as a monologue to her question ran in his mind. Only that the little trifing vos won’t do the job she was assigned. This response would not serve his purpose so Rogan adjusted it. “More than those other two vapeholes I can triffing tell you that,” Rogan let his voice show his sincere emotions on the subject. It was not a lie which was why it was so believable. Rogan was concerned and angry. If the kid did not perform as they expected this mission was not going to be as simple as they planned. Even worse was if Jessa trifed up the mission bad enough they would all be stuck here and this backwash section of space was not where Rogan planned to spend his days. The more he thought about Jessa the angrier he became. Only years of training prevented him from showing this and allowed the emotions he wanted to project to be seen. “Look think of me as a monster. I don’t care but I do care about the kid. She was too young to be here but that wasn’t my call.”

“Whose call was it?” Della pressed.

“Don’t play stupid Della,” his voice was razor sharp. Rogan’s eyes bore into hers making sure Della heard and understood every word he said. “You are way too smart for that and you know the answer to that already,” Rogan replied letting a bit of exasperated anger surface. “You and I also know that this little chat session is not going to last for much longer. At some point the large green man is going to throw me back into isolation so why don’t we stop the useless small talk and get to the point like you suggested at the start. I will go first. Provide me with access to Jessa and I will share everything you want to know. I will tell you who in the Galactic Union authorized the mission. Why does your Federation need the package? How does Captain Ian Bordeaux factor into the equation and what is in the darn package?” Rogan’s voice was taunting. He knew every answer they didn’t. He also knew someone somewhere would eventually give them what they needed to complete the task they were assigned. Unfortunately, Rogan was losing patience with the waiting game. Bringing them Jessa would speed things up considerably so that is what he would leverage.

“I don’t believe that she is safe. I need proof of life. I don’t care if she is where you are and I am still in this cell. I don’t care if you bring her in handcuffs with fifty guards. Hell I don’t care if you send her in here alone for a little one on one time with me. I just gotta have more than your word or some video feed you could clearly forge as the proof. Let’s call a trump a trump,” he referenced the classic sight of hand card game where your only way to win was to lie and cheat the others at the table.

“You don’t trust us for obvious reasons but I am going to need physical confirmation that Jessa is okay before I share any more information with you. You don’t have to believe that her welfare is of importance to me although it is the utmost thing on my mind. What you have to do is tottle on back to your keepers and let them know the terms of the negotiation. Tick-tock Della Marx. Wait too long and you will lose Jessa and the advantage. Now I have asked nicely. I won’t do it again.” His tone was cold and menacing. Moving from the wall he returned to the small wall protrusion and laid back down. He needed to center his mind and his emotions for what was to come. Closing his eyes, he envisioned his mark…Della Marxs and how he was going to eventually kill her for her arrogance in the last hour.

Whatever advantage Rogan thought he had in this situation, was strong enough for him to drop the charade and show his true character. Of all the things that happened in this interview, that scared Della Marx more than anything.

Ensign Della Marx, junior counseling officer (NE)

The door to the brig slid open and Mardusk came through. He looked at the counselor and said “OUT. NOW” in a tone that said there was no discussion to be had. The big Orion touched some controls and the cell went dark again, save for one spot even with the height of the massive Security Chief. That Security Chief’s face appeared in the opening and said “You seem to forget one thing. We don’t anything about a package, or why its important. Or anything. This could be a bomb meant to blow up the universe, and we wouldn’t know. And you know what? At this point, we don’t care. Blow it up. We’ll never know and nothing we could do. So I’ll tell you what I told the girl before she lost her shit and tried to take me out because I wouldn’t let her see her Elders… which was comical, by the way, but she has heart. I’ll give her that. You want something from us? We want answers. YOU give us those, you get things. Until then? Rot in there.” and the cell went dark and quiet.

Rogan moved off his cot and paced his cell like a caged animal. He was not mad that the large man took away with the counselor. He was finished with her for now. He also was not mad at the man for not pressing about the package. These people were too stupid to even comprehend what it was and it was not like they were going to give it to them anyway. It was not theirs to own however one day Rogan silently swore to show the man the power it held. What Rogan was incensed over was Jessa. She had one thing to do in this mission and it wasn’t making demands from anyone. It was to take orders. He could feel his body shake with uncontrolled anger. Part of him wished these cretins would bring her down here. Rogan would set her straight and it would not be a joking matter about her heart. Rogan would rip Jessa’s heart out and force-feed it back to her. When they were all reunited again, Rogan would show Jessa what happens when one disobeyed orders. A shattered jaw would remind her that one did not give orders simply because they were able.

Moving to the wall of the cell, Rogan stared out as if he could see and hear what was occurring in the next room. His chest heaved as he clenched his jaw and fist. He imagined though. He imagined a face in the blackness, fueling his rage. All his anger and hate focused with pin point accuracy on the curve of her face. That was his target. Pulling back he smashed his fist into the invisible black wall. The contact he met with was not soft flesh and bone but a jolt of electricity that coursed up his arm and into his body. The pain was excruciating but helped to dispell the emotion quelling up in him. Shaking his hand out he crawled back on his bunk and closed his eyes creating the scene he wanted to play out. His body tingled from the shock but pain helped one focus and right now he needed something to help him focus on anything but Jessa Novar.

Mardusk looked at the Counselor and said “Who the hell are you. Why are you in my brig. And why are you still here?”

Mardusk, COS

“Because Captain Primrose ordered me here to evaluate the man in the brig,” she said calmly. Looking at the wall she felt a chill run through her. “I would need more time with him but you can’t let I’m out,” she said almost as a request but also a statement of affirmation. “He is a psychopath and has no regard for anyone. Your problem is he wants to be in here. I don’t know why but if you want to set him on edge or off-balance let him out of the cell. He wants to be in there. He needs to be in there. I am glad I do not have your job but I am sleeping safer tonight knowing you have him locked up and have thrown away the key,” Della said moving towards the security door. She did not need to be told to leave. She wanted to be as far away as possible from the man behind the wall. After her report to Captain Niles, Della was going to find someone in her department to debrief how to get a psychopath out of her mind.

Della Marx


Posts on USS Atlantis

In topic

Posted since


© 1991-2022 STF. Terms of Service

Version 1.12.5