INT. PURIFIER/INTERROGATION CENTRE
In the days of the Second Clone War, this spacious, white-panelled room served as the Purifier's rec room, a place for the non-clone officers of the ship to relax and have fun while off-duty. Since the issuing of Order 66 -- the order which placed the star destroyer firmly under the command of the Athan Directorate -- all the recliners, games' tables, and consoles have been taken away, replaced with wicked tools and devices designed to extract information from captive enemy agents in the most excruciating ways imaginable.
Standing in the centre of the chamber, legs chained to the floor and arms to the ceiling, is IAM PUSHMAN. A lean Human male of average height, with sandy brown hair and an aquiline chin and nose, his would be described as handsome features. Judging by the clothes he wears, it would appear that he is one of the Imperial researchers who were captured trying to escape Bajilon Prime.
As the doors leading into the room slide open, Pushman looks up to regard his visitor; though clad head-to-foot in white robes and a niqab which obscures her features, by body language alone we can ascertain that this is the clone captain SGW-0027. Resolving to stand firm, Pushman makes direct eye contact with the veiled woman in a show of defiance. Upon doing so, however, her eyes -- bright against the shadow beneath her niqab -- bore into him, slicing through his confidence like a white-hot laser; unable to withstand her gaze, he recoils, turning his head away.
SGW-0027: Why do you turn away?
When the man refuses to respond, the clone walks up to him. Bringing forth her gloved right hand, she gently takes hold of his chin, turning his face to face hers.
SGW-0027: Again -- why do you turn away?
Squeezing his eyes firmly shut, he violently wrenches his head out from her grasp.
SGW-0027: (angry) You're not answering my question!
Throwing all gentility to the wind, SGW seizes Pushman's throat in a choke hold and squeezes, pinching his windpipe instantly shut. She holds him there for several seconds, tightening his grasp until he starts wheezing. As soon as he begins to thrash against his bonds, though, she releases him, allowing him to breathe again.
SGW-0027: Now ... are you going to give me an answer?
IAM PUSHMAN: (coughing) I-I couldn't ... couldn't look at you. Your eyes ... your eyes ... I couldn't stand them.
Hearing this answer, the clone returns her hand to his face. Afraid that he's earned her displeasure once more, he draws his head back in a vain, straining against his bonds for escape; she merely begins running her fingers through his hair, though, stroking it as a pet owner would the fur of a beloved animal companion.
SGW-0027: What's your name?
IAM PUSHMAN: (petrified) Iam, ma'am, Iam Pushman.
SGW-0027: Iam, you're a handsome man. A handsome man with a handsome face. You know that, don't you?
When he fails to reply, she pulls his hair back, forcing a pained yelp from his lips.
SGW-0027: Don't you?
IAM PUSHMAN: (grimacing) Yes -- yes!
SGW-0027: The women back home must like it, your handsome face.
IAM PUSHMAN: Yes ...
SGW-0027 reaches under her robes with her left hand and takes hold of something secured there. Drawing the object forth, she raises it up between their faces. Black and cylindrical, it looks exactly like the hilt of a lightsaber used by the Force-adept clones of the Athan Directorate; when SGW triggers the device, though, instead of generating a cohesive blade of plasma with the characteristic corresponding snap-hiss, a small filament of white energy blossoms from the emitter. Gently moving the hilt left-and-right, the clone causes the filament to drag through the air like a smokey candle flame.
SGW-0027: Do you like your face?
Moving the hilt up close to Pushman's face, she causes the white filament to brush up against his cheek; where the filament touches, the flesh burns, causing the poor man to winch with sharp pain.
IAM PUSHMAN: (voice breaking) Yes! I like my face! I like it!
Lowering the black cylinder, SGW releases Pushman's hair, allowing his head to fall forward limp and loose.
SGW-0027: I like it, too.
The clone then seizes the front of Pushman's shirt with her free hand. With one strong pull, she tears it off him, exposing his naked torso with its sparse hair and lean musculature.
SGW-0027: (cont'd) I'm going to leave the face ...
Stepping forward, the clone captain walks around and behind Pushman. As she does so, she removes her niqab and outer robe, discarding them on the deck plating as she moves a ways back from her prisoner; all the while, though, convenient camera angles hide the features of her head and face from us.
IAM PUSHMAN: (desperate) Please! I'm just a meteorologist! I don't know anything! I don't have anything! What do you want from me?!
Turning around to gaze upon the shackled man's back, SGW removes her tunic, exposing the pale naked flesh lying beneath. Right away, we can see several scars -- some fresher than others -- marring her back.
SGW-0027: What do I want?
Raising the black hilt, she draws it back.
SGW-0027: I want to hear you whimper, I want to hear you moan ...
Violently, SGW-0027 swings the black cylinder. As she does so, the tiny filament protruding from the emitter thickens and elongates, transforming into a lash of white plasma. The lash slides across Pushman's back, cutting into it and leaving a bright red line of cauterized flesh behind. As we can judge from his scream, the agony Pushman suddenly feels is beyond excruciating.
SGW-0027: (cont'd) ... but most of all, I want to hear you scream.
SGW-0027 strikes him with the lightwhip again, cutting another red line across Pushman's back. His second scream makes the first sound like a cry of pleasure.
INT. PURIFIER/CORRIDOR
In the corridor directly outside the interrogation centre stands the clone commander UIY-2249. Reaching for the doors' controls, he opens them and steps inside.
INT. PURIFIER/INTERROGATION CENTRE
As the Mirialan clone enters the room, he finds his commanding officer there in the aftermath of her session with Iam Pushman. Pushman, shrouded in shadow, hangs limp from the ceiling, grisly in death. SGW, turned away from UIY, stands over the corpse; looking upon her back, we can see that there are five new lashes there, each identical to those cut into Pushman's.
SGW-0027: I didn't call for you.
UIY-2249: (sarcastic) Oh, I'm sorry. Should I return at a later time? Perhaps after this lovely afterglow you're sporting has faded?
Collecting her discarded clothes, the captain turns to face the commander. Even shrouded in shadow, she still radiates silent, lurking menace.
SGW-0027: My patience with you wears thin. Soon it will run out and I see to it that you are tossed in the recyclers.
UIY-2249: Your prerogative, of course. (beat) Shall I summon the cleaning staff to take care of your -- um -- latest sparring partner?
SGW-0027 merely takes her clothes and leaves. As she steps out of the chamber, UIY smirks after her.