An enemy deathworlder, a xenophobe, constantly making life hell for the havenworlders around them. A general, proud, fierce, having suffered many tortures and never once broke, always escaped. But now, they were being held by humans. Pain meant nothing to them. When asked about the movements of new weaponry, the answer was always a snark and the spitting or words "Do your worst, I'll never say a word, you'll have to kill me."
The humans bring in what they call the 3rd degree. Several gasping, saying that's far too inhumane. How could they do that to any cognisant?? The humans reply they are running out of time and lives are at stake. The alien smirks, he'll never break, ever, no matter how much they strike at him, surely that simple brown box holds sharp blades and poisons, right? Then, as the box opens to reveal a simple doll, a puppet caricature of a lamb, and it's set right by the speaker leading into his prison, a song begins... "This is the song that never ends...it goes on and on my friends, some people started singing it not knowing what it was, but they will keep on singing it forever just because... this is the song that never ends... it goes on and on....." -- Anon Guest
[AN: Thanks, Nonny, for the Youtube link to ten hours of that nonsense. I only watched one loop for curiosity's sake so ner]
Good news, they captured a Vorax Ur-king. Great news, they potentially knew everything about his horde's movements and plans. Bad news, the Ur-king wasn't talking. They were closed-mouthed and arrogant with it. "I'll never talk," said the Ur-king, who wouldn't even give their name. "You will not get any information about my horde or myself out of me. Waste all your resources. Try subjecting me to pain. Waste every minute of every day. Deprive me of anything you can think of. It would be faster to kill me."
The attending Humans seemed unimpressed. The Havenworlders sighed and said, "Very well. Please remember that we did give you this chance." Then they left the Ur-king alone in a room with two Humans, who started to smirk.
"Well, well, well, Mx Jones... They said they weren't going to talk. We might as well skip ahead and subject them to Lambchop."