Disclaimer: DS9 does not belong to me, this is just a cracky little thing a friend inspired me to write. Reviews much appreciated, hope you enjoy.


Gallaf, son of Dargok, writhed in his chains. This was intolerable- no true Klingon should be captured by the enemy! He glared wildly at his foe.
The Cardassian tsked lightly. "Now, now, we wouldn't want you hurting yourself, we have questions for you."
The Klingon would have shouted his defiance, were it not for the gag in his mouth. Instead, he grunted as menacingly as he could, given that he was tied to a chair and utterly helpless. He stared in horror as the little needle approached, a tiny prick of pain sending him to sleep.
When Gallaf woke, he was in an entirely different location. Still, alas, bound to a chair, but it did appear to be a different chair. Ahead of him was a mirror. He stared into it, suddenly realising what had happened. With his gag gone, he could see what they had done to him. His beard had been shaved, and his manly eyebrows trimmed into neat forms more suited to a human.
A female Cardassian entered with a tray, and deposited dollops of some strange substance onto Gallaf's head.
"What is this?" he demanded.
His earlier captor stepped from the shadows. "In all your years of fighting us, did you never notice the quality of our appearance? No? Unsurprising. No doubt barbarians are unable to appreciate the value of cleanliness. You have been bathed- by a fellow prisoner, as no Cardassian wished to sully their hands in doing so, and now we shall complete the experiment."
The Klingon stared in horror as the Cardassian woman combing the gelatinous substance through his hair raised a pair of scissors. No. Surely, she wouldn't. She couldn't. Surely.
...She did.
When the dreadful deed was complete, Gallaf stared at himself in shock. Who was that strange figure, with the short, straightened, slicked-back hair resembling the ubiquitous Cardassian style? Who was that sorry figure whose facial hair had been stolen? His clothes were...tidy. There was no protection to them, crisp and neat upon his hulking figure.
The next few weeks were torment. Kept partly sedated, he barely noticed that he was answering the questions put to him. Instead, his attention was held by what Prekir, his captor, referred to as 'training'; constant pressure to move, speak and act as the Cardassians did.
On the final day, he was returned to his fellow Klingons. They did not welcome him home. They merely stared.

Gallaf sat up, breathing heavily, patting wildly at his face. Thankfully, just a dream. Still, when he went back to sleep, he kept a hand over his beard, as though protecting it from some terrible evil.