Treblinka Prison
The drums beat on in a precise staccato, the ratta-tat-tat echoing along the concrete and cobblestone. A slight Tamoran girl, dressed in a simple shift, walked softy behind the drummers, her small footsteps lost in the beat. The final march of Dilara Haghighi. The Slavans had originally intended for her to carry her own cross, but it quickly became clear she could not lift it, let alone drag it out of the prison to the adjacent field where she would be raised up. The field, actually a parade ground, was ancient. Pounded flat by centuries of soldiers, mostly vassals of the defunct House Treblinka, the field would be where she died, though not her final resting place.
Looking back at Treblinka Prison, the former castle still bore the scars of it's fall, when Seaforth razed the castle and House Treblinka itself during the great war. Dilara wondered to herself if Seaforth would come again and burn out the Slavans. She hoped they would.
"Eyes Front!" came the harsh whisper.
Snapping her head back around she saw she had come to the cross. As the drummers pivoted to one side the guards behind her stepped up. Suddenly overcome with fear she fought now. Kicking and screaming, spitting and biting, she was no match for the implacable guards. Beat quickly into silence Dilara was slammed onto the cross, rough rope quickly looped over her wrists and ankles. For a brief moment, Dilara thought she would be spared the nails, though the cold touch of iron soon cured her of that notion. Dilara cried out again as the large iron spike were driven through her feet and forearms, just proximal to the wrist. Her limbs quickly dulled in pain as the men united her, only to scream out again as the cross was raised and the nails took her full weight.
As the cross reached it's full height, the beam was dropped into a hole dug to keep it upright. From her new height and dizzy with pain, she saw her torment was just beginning. There on a reviewing stand and staring back at her was President Vaclav Kravec himself and a variety of powerful and influential Slavans, civilian and military. As she locked eyes with Kravec the drummers started a drum roll. A slight smile crossed Kravec's face. There to her right, an ancient catapult was wheeled onto the parade ground. No, not a cataput she thought. A trebuchet. The old war machine squeeked and creaked to a stop. She saw the counterweight was already raised and into position to fire its payload....her father.
Cradled in the strap her father was bound and gagged, the glint of a wire coming from his neck. Father and daughter could only stare at each other and weep. As the drum roll reached the apex of it's crescendo it suddenly stopped. A soldier triggered the trebuchet and Dilara's father was lauched down the length of the parade ground, the shiny wire, still attacked to the trebuchet but unspooling rapidly. Mr. Haghighi continued to arc until he hit the apogee, the pre measured wire reaching the end of it's spool and snapping taught. Dilara watched as her fathers's head came clean off his body in a spray of blood, much like children pop the tops off of dandelions.
Dilara let out a truly gut wrenching wail as her father's head and body spun back down to the ground. When it did so, two Slavan guards, who had been waiting for that moment, hefted their sledgehammers and smashed them into her femurs until they broke. As her legs gave out and her body slumped, her wail was cut off as she mercifully fell into unconsciousness, never to wake again.
(https://i.imgur.com/BZy2v6t.png)
PARTIALLY INTERCEPTED COMMUNICATION
SUBJECT 1:
"...*^^%$….*ou sure?...."
SUBJECT 2:
"Yes....@#%^...in place. Test...$#$*%irmed at 30..%@)^%..."
SUBJECT 1:
"...*@$*t our frie^%&...."
SUBJECT 2:
"He..^^#@%...way."
SUBJECT 1:
"Very well, you...#$@**...n ligh%$#..."
SUBJECT 2:
"...*^@%^ be done.."
SUBJECT 1:
"...go with God."
TRANSMISSION ENDED