Drell opened the door to the interrogation chamber to find the chained and shackled human sitting…idly? It looked almost comfortable. Drell was confused, as any other creature would have been screaming after five microcycles shut in the room. The human had been there for nearly eight full cycles. This was concerning to say the least.

“Well, human,” he spat, “You are about to endure the worst torture this galaxy has ever known. I hope you have made peace with whatever backward god your species has.” The human merely cocked its head and let out a deep, rhythmic, throaty growl. Drell seized up momentarily as the human showed its fangs, and the moment passed just as swiftly. “You cannot intimidate the High Inquisitor, scum! Cease your braying!” The human wiped its eyes, shaking. Good. It was afraid! Drell sat across from the shackled specimen, and unrolled his sleeve of implements. Made of the finest materials, this display had usually set the subject to quivering and begging for the procedure to stop before it began. They would usually spill whatever state secrets the Inquisition desired, but Drell relished in the torture.

The human, however, simply bared its fangs again, producing that odd growl once more. It set its shackled hands upon the table, and drummed its fingers. “Well? Go ahead. I’ve not got all day. I have deliveries to make, you know.”

Drell resisted the urge to simply kill the creature, and instead picked up the simplest tool he had: The mallet. The human raised an eyebrow, and simply huffed. Drell shook his head, raised the mallet above his head, and smashed it down on the fine manipulators that drummed disrespectfully on his table. Drell panted, waiting for the inevitable cry of pain…but there was none.

Instead, the human simply huffed and shook its head. Drell looked at the manipulators, expecting to see one smashed to a pulp, but instead saw nothing. Nothing was amiss in either the mallet, or the manipulator. Drell blinked his six eyes, and put the mallet away. Perhaps after the creature’s outer shell had been breached.

Drell retrieved the next implement; a simple spike. Turning on the force field to hold the manipulators still, Drell placed the tip of the spike against the end of the smallest manipulator, and pushed. The human sighed and opened its massive maw wide, inhaling loudly. Drell fought an impulse to do the same thing. Fine. He shook a bit, and replaced the spike, withdrawing a wickedly sharp knife. Removing flesh always worked.

Drell laid the edge of the blade against the human’s face, and sliced down. He stared in shock as a patch of fur fell away, leaving pristine skin beneath. “W-what? What are you?”

Greg sighed as the Inquisitor neatly removed an inch of beard. He’d been intentionally growing that for months, dammit! “Are you done, yet? I told you, I have deliveries to make. I don’t have time to be playing with you guys.” He drummed his fingers on the table again, growing more irritated by the minute. They’d already delayed him by eight hours, stuffing him in this office room, piping what sounded like old-timey music inside.

Drell puffed himself up, and pointed a digit at the creature. “Not until you tell me what I need to know! Movements! Strategies! Troop counts! I want your military in the center of my grasper, and I want it NOW!” Drell began panting, this had never happened before.

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Greg sighed and scooted his chair back. “Let me tell you something, Inquisitor. You’ve made a huge mistake, because” Greg paused and pulled his arms apart, sending shards of metal across the room, one slicing across the Inquisitor’s face, leaving a thin trail of blood. “I’m not military. I’m a courier. I transport goods and messages to anywhere, from anywhere.” He reached down and yanked the chains off his legs, then stood, raising himself to his full height. “And you’ve delayed me by about eight hours, now.” He leaned down, and put his face inches away from the Inquisitor’s. “I’m not happy.” He turned and took the chair in his hands, then yanked a leg off of it, tossing the rest behind him. Rounding on the Inquisitor, he tapped the makeshift club against his palm. “Do I make myself clear, Inquisitor?”

Drell shrank back from the impressive display of power. He had never seen any creature like this. “Y-y-yes, human. I think you’ve made your, ah, position very clear here.” Drell stood there, wringing his graspers. “I would assume that you’ll be wanting to return to your ship?”

Greg rolled his shoulders and nodded. “You would assume correctly. Take me. Now.” Drell made a very un-Inquisitorial sound, and swiftly opened the door, leading the human down the corridors to its ship. Greg followed behind, a menacing scowl on his face.

In a few short microcycles they’d made it to the ship; an ungainly looking monstrosity of angles, points and seams. “Your ship, human. I trust this is sufficient?”

Greg walked around his small cargo ship, inspecting every millimeter of its surface. The damn aliens had attempted to install a tracker on its port side. Greg reached up, and gripped the thing til his knuckles whitened, and with a screeching sound of metal being stretched past its limit, yanked it off the skin of his ship. He walked back over and dropped the ruined transponder at the alien’s feet. “You can have your little toy back, Inquisitor. In the future, leave humans alone. Or, if you simply must, attempt to make peaceful contact. I can tell you with utmost certainty that a military vessel would simply destroy you. Remember: I’m only a courier. Good-bye, inquisitor. Oh, and open the doors unless you want a new hole in your station.” Greg laughed again as he boarded his ship, initiating the departure protocols.

Drell rushed to the control room and hurriedly opened the bay doors, not caring that the rest of the cargo was sucked out of the station. He had to get that monster out of his station as fast as possible. And this was only a civilian? He shuddered to imagine the military of this species. He watched as the human left, becoming a tiny speck, before he shut the cargo bay again.

As he turned to leave, a message pinged on his personal dataslate from an unknown sender. He opened it, revealing an image of the human, baring its fangs. The message read simply:

High Inquisitor Drell,

We now know where this station is, and through it, we know where your cradle is. The next time you wish to “abduct” one of us, please allow me to give you some friendly advice: Don’t. It won’t end well for your species.

With Love,

Greg

Drell shook with fear, and began drafting a message to High Command, stating that in no uncertain terms were the Humans to ever be taken again, and urging peaceful talks, instead. He gingerly touched his cheek, fingering the cut that he would allow to scar in remembrance of this lesson.