Jonarom’s isolation cell was little more than a closet. Bare metal walls pressed in so close he could feel the cold seep through his clothing. There was no light save for a dull strip along the ceiling, faint enough to make the edges of the walls dissolve into shadow. No sound came through except the occasional hiss of a vent, the metallic groan of the ship’s hull, and the echo of his breathing.

Time had no meaning. Minutes, hours, or days, they all blended. He had lost count of how long he had been here, and the lack of food or water made the existence of time something he couldn’t even comprehend now. Every nerve was on edge. His muscles ached from sitting, then standing, then pacing in the impossibly small space, and he shivered when he realised he had no control over anything and the fact that it was colder here by himself.

His mind drifted to Chambers. Was he okay? Was he experiencing the same thing? Furthermore, he had started to wonder where the Bellerophon was. Had Captain Reyas given up on them? Had the rest of the away team got off Hemikek Four okay? Or were they all dead? Would his time in the Delta Quadrant end here without anyone else knowing where he was?

Jonaom started to think positively. He had to, or this would kill him. Jonarom thought about the warmth of his friend’s presence, the pool back on the Bellerophon, even the silly competitions they used to have in the gym. Every memory was a lifeline, fragile and fleeting, against the oppressive quiet.

Chambers’ isolation cell was narrow and suffocating. It was pretty much a metal coffin that pressed against his skin from all sides. The Kazon were doing everything they could to make him feel uncomfortable. Maje Kerra was clever and intended to win this. The faint strip of light along the ceiling barely revealed the edges of the walls, leaving every corner in shadow. He was chilled to the bone, the rough fabric he had used to help Jonarom barely covering his chest. Hunger and thirst gnawed at him, while his muscles ached from pacing, leaning, trying to find even a fraction of comfort.

He knew he had to keep it together. Chambers thought of Jonarom, hoping he was doing the same. He closed his eyes briefly and tried to cling to their memories. From the pool races, the teasing competitions in the gym, the quiet moments after drills, and the laughter from their holodeck adventures. Those fleeting images were the only tether to sanity he had left.

Chambers wondered if they would escape all of this, as he had promised in their cell before. Nevertheless, he was determined not to give in to the Kazon. He had read the numerous reports about them. The briefings that Commander Jirani had given them all before their mission. There was no way any form of Starfleet technology could fall into their hands. Even with their hands on their damaged aeroshuttle, the lockout codes that Chambers and Jonarom possessed prevent the Kazon from being able to use and understand the Federation technology. Chambers knew they couldn’t give in, even if it meant giving their lives for it. The Prime Directive had to stand.

When the door finally clanged open and its force field was deactivated, Jonarom stiffened. The guards’ hands were rough as they yanked him upright, cuffed his hands and began dragging him across the corridor. Every step bruised his feet, every jerk of the chains sent jolts of pain through his shoulders. He had no idea where they were taking him or what they were going to do with him.

Eventually, they arrived in another room that looked like the shared cell he had been in with Jonarom. Harsh lights glared down, highlighting the shadows in every corner. The room was spacious enough for his suffering but not enough to hide in. The guards stripped away his uniform with deliberate carelessness. Rips ran through the fabric, leaving him shivering, bare-chested and humiliated.

The metal cuffs bit into his wrists as he was lifted and hung from the ceiling, legs dangling uselessly, toes scraping the floor with each sway. Jonarom’s skin burned where the cuffs bit, where the bruises had already formed from the rough handling.

A guard nudged him with the boot. Pain flared along his ribs, and he hissed through clenched teeth.

When the door eventually opened, the Kazons were brutal as they tore him from the cell before placing cuffs around his wrists. The metal bit deep into his wrists as they dragged him down the corridor. Every so often, they would drop him onto the floor and, using the ends of their rifles, would hit him as they coerced him to keep on moving. Along the way, Chambers noticed that they passed the ship’s hangar deck. For a fleeting second, he saw the aeroshuttle sitting beside a couple of other fighters. At least now he knew how close he was to it.

Chambers was taken into a room that he did not recognise. The harsh glare of the lights made it difficult to work out any shapes, any edges, anything at all.

The guards tore away the last remnants of his clothing, leaving him naked and cold. The rough strip of fabric he had clutched was gone, and his body shivered under the unrelenting lights. They lifted him until his feet dangled above the floor, the cuffs still digging into his wrists, every sway sending fire through his arms. A punch jabbed his side, forcing a hiss of pain from him. Chambers bit his bottom, cracked lip to endure the pain.

Maje Kerra stepped forward, the shadows of the room framing his immense form. “So vulnerable,” he said, voice smooth, deliberate. “So easily broken. Tell me, Lieutenant Jonarom, how long before you beg for relief? How long before you betray him?”

Jonarom’s chest heaved, voice raw. “I won’t give you anything. Of that I am certain of.”
Kerra’s smile widened. “Ah, stubborn. Admirable, but foolish. You are a man of science, correct? Surely you can see the odds are stacked against you? What is the probability of you surviving all of this? Let’s look at something else that may convince you to reconsider your position.” He gestured, and a screen flickered to life. Chambers appeared on it, bound, struggling against the guards, uniform torn, muscles straining. Jonarom’s stomach twisted violently. He was in a room similar to his own, tied up in the same manner. He could see that Kerra was treating them the same.

“Ryan,” His voice broke. “No! Leave him alone!”

Kerra leaned close, the voice soft but venomous. “See him. Every moment, suffering. Every second, pleading. And you, hanging there helpless, powerless to save him. Will you give me the code, Jonarom, or will I need to kill him to make my point? Give me the code, lieutenant.”

“No!” Jonarom rasped. “Never.”

Kerra chuckled softly, circling him. “We’ll see.” He left the screen on, letting Jonarom’s mind replay every second, every cry. Then Kerra’s voice dropped. “Oh, by the way, he is dead. Your friend is gone. You are alone, now, so it is only you and your weakness.”

The words hit harder than the chains themselves. Pain lanced through Jonarom’s chest, sharp and cold. Tears threatened to fall, but he forced them back, chewing on his lip, fingers numb from the metal cuffs. Kerra left, softly chuckling to himself as the forcefield reactivated and the door closed behind him.

Kerra emerged from the shadows, towering, calm, almost casual in his dominance. “Lieutenant Ryan Taylor Chambers,” he said, voice deliberate. “So defiant, so proud and yet so exposed. Alone, stripped bare, a man with nothing but choices left. Tell me, how long before you accept the only path to survival?”

“I won’t give you anything,” Chambers rasped, defiant despite exhaustion and pain.

Kerra circled him, slow and deliberate, voice silky with temptation. “Perhaps you will not. But consider your situation: your ship is in my hangar, your crew is far away, yet I could still use you. Your skills, your mind, your talent for command and flight. All of it is wasted here if you resist. Work with me, and you survive. Comply, and you have purpose, Lieutenant. Do you not want to live?”

Chambers’ muscles tensed, knuckles white against the cuffs. Rage and fear collided, but beneath it all was loyalty, the memory of Jonarom’s trust and the pledge they made to each other and Starfleet. “No, never,” he spat back.

Kerra chuckled softly, circling closer. “Admirable, yes. But practicality is survival. Do you truly believe your defiance matters when the world outside these walls bends to my control?”
Chambers’ chest heaved. He refused to look away from Kerra, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “I will not.”

Kerra’s grin widened, and he gestured toward a nearby screen. Jonarom appeared, bound and struggling against the guards. His uniform was torn, and his muscles strained as he was dangled by his wrists, just like Chambers.

“Jon!” Chambers’ stomach twisted violently. “Stop hurting him!”

“Watch,” Kerra said softly, venom in his tone. “Every moment, every second, pleading, and you are powerless. How long before your resolve cracks? Give me the code, and your dear friend won’t suffer anymore. You both will be free.”

Chambers’ fingers clenched in the cuffs, knuckles white. He could feel the pins and needles forming in them. His chest burned, his arms screamed, but his mind clung to Jonarom’s voice, to their promise. “No, never,” he grunted again between breaths.

Kerra let the screen play, then leaned close, voice dropping to ice. “And now, the full truth, lieutenant: he is gone. Your friend is dead. We recorded this earlier. You are now alone. It is just you. What more do you have to live for?”

Pain lanced through Chambers’ chest, sharper than the chains themselves. His muscles trembled; his breath came in ragged gasps. But even with the memory of Jonarom appearing, he forced himself to resist. There was no way Jonarom was dead. He was sure of it. Was he?

“I will leave you for now, Mister Chambers. If you have a change of heart, let one of my guards know,” Kerra quietly said before leaving the room, chuckling to himself.

It felt like hours had passed in silence. Jonarom swung slightly, muscles trembling, every breath ragged. He could feel the blood from several cuts dripping down his body. He wondered how much longer he had before his body gave in.

Eventually, Maje Kerra returned. His expression was calm, almost casual. He activated a sensor feed which showed the Bellerophon, disintegrating under heavy Kazon fire. Explosions ripped the decks apart. Jonarom’s stomach dropped, bile rising. He could feel the chains dig deeper into his wrists with every convulsion of panic. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore of his ship’s demise.

“You have nothing now, and all of this,” Kerra said, voice low and deliberate, “means nothing really. You can end it all if you give me the code. Food. Water. Treatment. Relief. All of it. You can save yourself.”

Jonarom’s throat tightened. “I… I will not,” he croaked, voice hoarse.

Kerra’s grin never faltered. “You will die here. Slowly. Alone. Hungry. Thirsty. Cold. And still you refuse?”

Jonarom ignored him. If the Bellerophon was gone and if Ryan was dead, what else did he have left? Would the rest of the Odyssey Squadron know he was missing? Would they rescue him, or would he need to find his own way out of this hellhole?

A guard approached him with a bucket. Cold water crashed over Jonarom’s head and chest, sending shockwaves through every muscle. He gasped, shivering violently.

“You stink up the room, animal,” Kerra mocked as the guard put the bucket down and pulled Jonarom off from his hanging position. The change in his tone was sudden. “Perhaps this will wash some of your pride away.” Kerra tossed Jonarom a rough, coarse garment. “Cover yourself. If you can manage it.”

Jonarom’s fingers trembled as he wrapped the fabric around himself. Though free from the ceiling, the metal cuffs were still digging into his wrists, and his muscles were still screaming.

“Food, water, a chance at survival,” Kerra hissed, voice almost gentle now, “all I ask is the code.”

“No,” Jonarom said, each word clipped, brittle with exhaustion. “Never.”

Jonarom sagged, exhausted, bruised, soaked, trembling, and humiliated.

“Well, I don’t need you now that I have the remains of the Bellerophon. You are free to go,” Kerra said in a convincing tone. His sudden change of tone came out of nowhere again. What was Kerra playing at?

“What?” Jonarom croaked out.

“You can go back to your ship,” Kerra said in a stern voice.

Guards dragged him across the ship to the hangar. There, the aeroshuttle awaited.
And then he saw him, Chambers, alive, battered, and equally miserable. Relief tore through Jonarom like a flood. He stumbled forward, almost collapsing into his friend’s arms.

“Jonny…” Chambers rasped, voice shaking. “You’re… you’re alive!”

Guards came and went, kicking, striking, forcing Chambers to swing from the ceiling. The rough, humiliating torment pressed on him from every angle. He had no idea how long he had been hanging there. Chambers wasn’t going to give up.

Maje Kerra returned. “Enough idle suffering,” he said smoothly, activating a sensor feed. The screen showed the Bellerophon, blown apart under Kazon fire, explosions ripping decks apart. The multiple enemy ships darted around the Intrepid-class as its shields failed and its phasers tried to fight back, but failed. The Bellerophon’s deflectors gave in, and the port nacelle was sheared off by more Kazon fire. Ultimately, the ship’s core exploded as escape pods tried to flee. None of them survived the exploding shockwave. Chambers’ stomach lurched violently. Every muscle tensed, chains biting deeper into his wrists.

“Your ship is gone. Your crew is dead. All of this,” Kerra said, voice low and persuasive, “could have been avoided. Relief, food, water. All of it could have been prevented if you had given me the codes. Now your ship is no more. You have nothing, lieutenant. Instead, you could serve a purpose now. A man of skill like yours is needed. Comply, and you do not die here.”

Chambers’ jaw tightened with determination. “I will not,” he snapped back, his voice raw but unwavering.

Kerra’s smile never faltered. “Very well, Mister Chambers. You will die here, slowly, alone, cold, hungry, and broken. And yet, you refuse. Your resilience is admirable but tragic.”

A guard approached with a bucket, splashing cold water over Chambers’ chest and head. He gasped, shivering violently, muscles locking in protest.

“You reek of fear,” Kerra mocked, his tone getting darker and somewhat quieter. “Perhaps this will wash some of your pride away.” He tossed a coarse garment as the guard started to lower Chambers from his hanging position. “Wrap yourself up. Your body disgusts me.”

Chambers’ hands shook as he wrapped the rough fabric around his torso. The cuffs still bit into his wrists. Every muscle throbbed, but he forced himself upright.

“Food, water, safety can be yours. All I ask is the code,” Kerra said, voice almost gentle now. It was a complete inverse of how it had been seconds ago.

“No,” Chambers said, voice brittle but defiant. “Never.”

Finally, Kerra stepped back after sighing. “Well then, I suppose I no longer need you. I have what I require; the remains of the Bellerophon are in my control. You are free to go.”

Chambers blinked, confusion crashing over him. “What?”

“You may leave,” Kerra said, tone firm, convincing.

Guards dragged Chambers across the ship to the hangar bay. His muscles screamed with every step, the humiliation, exhaustion, and cold weighing heavily.

Then he saw Jonarom. He was alive, battered, and miserable. Relief hit Chambers like a tidal wave. He stumbled forward, nearly collapsing into his friend’s arms.

“Jonny!” Chambers rasped, voice shaking. “You’re… you’re alive!”

“Ry, ” Jonarom replied, his voice trembling in pure shock and surprise. “You’re alive too! They said you were dead!”