| abstract | - This is Korynn's job, his life. He studies, with every passing moment, sparing moments only for food and rest. It isn't more than twelve or fourteen hours when Korynn realizes that Kyrin's condition is not going to change. She's either been driven insane, or her will has broken, or, worst case scenario, she's shelled herself out to defend against this most basic but vile of torture techniques. So, with a fresh head after a few hours of sleep, he strides into the darkened cell, carrying a flask of water in one hand. "Turn off the projection," he says loudly, and the surveillance droid plugged in outside the cell disables the projection at his beck and call. Korynn walks over toward the prisoner, and splashes a bit of the cold water onto her face, undoubtedly getting some of the water into her pried-open eyes. Twitching with the coldness of the water on her eyes, her lids trying ever so hard to blink and clear the liquid so she can properly see, Kyrin's form is otherwise unresisting to anything further done to her. Pupils which had been unfocused now do so, and there is an awareness there as her eyes now track the movement of her interrogator. Her mouth tries to work a couple of times, simply trying to swallow or something. In a moment of what may seem like mercy but is, in fact, simply to keep the prisoner alive, Korynn sticks the mouthpiece of the flask into Kyrin's mouth and clamps his fingers harshly over her nose, forcing her to drink from the flask within. Kyrin instinctively struggles against this treatment. It's just not something most creatures can control. However, given the choice of drowning or drinking, she chooses drinking, even if this stuff might eventually turn out to be lethal. Gurgling with the amount of liquid being forced down her throat, she starts choking on it. Precisely when she starts choking, Korynn releases his grip on her nose, withdraws the flask, and very swiftly starts to loosen the devices that grip her temples and jawbones, so that she can have the freedom to move her head about and stop the choking on her own will. He turns and flings the flask aside with such force that it breaks open on the bulkhead and starts to spill the remains all over the place. "Your name," he demands loudly, closing the space in every attempt to overwhelm her by the sheer speed with which everything is happening. Kyrin's coughing makes the rest of her body struggle against her bonds, and she takes the effort to avoid accidentally spitting any of the water onto her captor. Her breathing is weakened by the night's torment, and when she's addressed, her watery eyes looking at him sadly. She's too wired down to flinch at the breaking of the flask, but there's a mild twitch. "Kyrin Sh'vani," she whispers. It's spoken with an exotic accent. While Korynn is pleased that she seems to have been affected by his procedure, he doesn't show it on his face. He is a master at controlling his facial responses, and he doesn't need to ask the other questions. No, it was a test of her response, to see how she's holding up. The accent is encouraging, even though it may disgust him to hear it. He takes a couple of quick steps around in front of her, though he makes a point to keep himself in a place where she could turn her head to see him should she wish. "Your assignment," he demands next, whittling away at her defenses to see how far she can be dug into with this initial level of therapy. Kyrin mostly follows Korynn with her eyes, trying not to turn her head if she can avoid it. Mainly because it hurts. Finally, she just settles for staring at the wall, unfocusing her eyes once more. There is no answer given verbally. While the interrogator can't see in her mind, she's simply ignoring him at this point. Wafting through her neurons is a grand majesty of a song she was composing before the mission, songs none of her fellows ever get to hear. She hasn't the skill to make them reality, but it's something to occupy her time. Fleming takes another step forward and puts his hands on either side of the prisoner's face, his fingers digging into her cheeks up until but not beyond the point where they might break the skin or offer a permanent bruise. Pain, but no damage, that is his technique, and with his skill in the medical field, it lends itself to his perfection. Knowing that Kyrin is unable to move her arms or legs, he forces her face to turn and face his eyes. "YOUR ASSIGNMENT!" he bellows, seeming enraged. Krieg comes down the security corridor. There were times that he himself did not enjoy what he had to do, but those that decided to make his life even worse for him became the bane of his existence. He comes down the hall, knowing the life of the fighter pilot world better than he knew himself at times. There were other things, such as all the pilots he had lost under his command at this point, and also the battles of no consequence time after time after time... It wore on a man, but there were times that he was able to vent such frustrations. He stands nearby the cell to their newest guest and waits, hands clasped behind his back. Kyrin's eyes shift focus for a few moments, and for those few moments, there is such sympathy and pity in them as she endures the pain of fingers trying to claw her face off without permanent damage. Some part of her mind recognizes the pain, and automatic responses are triggered, but how can mere pain compare to the serenity of music? Such beauty in the notes, entwining like lovers in a field. Naturally, no answer is given to the Imperial seeking information. Korynn releases the prisoner's face and decidedly makes to leave. "Open the door," he says, with a quiet and threatening voice, still for show, for he's not truly angry yet. The CompForce troopers out in the security control center oblige, and as Fleming passes through the open door, he gives orders to the two who were guarding the outside of the cell. "Release her restraints, bring her food and water, and leave her alone for a while." The troopers oblige, and head off to enact Korynn's orders. The ISB Interrogator, once he knows he is out of eye and earshot with the closed cell door, drops his expression of malice and suddenly seems to be nothing but inquisitive. "Lieutenant Inrokana," he says, turning to address the Starfighter pilot politely, a thin smile showing on his face. "How are you?" He clasps his gloved hands behind his back. Krieg nods to Korynn, then replies to him as his hands fall to his side. "Well, it depends on the frame mind one might assume another to have. If you would understand that many fighter pilots have lost their lives under my command for almost negligible victories, and at best are just squeaking by, then you would understand that anger would not even come close to an emotion I possess. However, if you take the point of view that we have one of them to give us the advantage and learn valuable things, then I am ecstatic. The combination of the two is the man that stands before you." A pause, then, "I have come to see what the prisoner has to say for their philosophy of battle - knowing thy enemy is the first step in defeating them." Kyrin hasn't got a damned thing to say to the Imperials at the moment. When provided with the meal per Fleming's orders, she settles on a spot on the floor, not able to cross her legs indian-style like humans do quite well. Before she eats, however, she seems to pause and wait. There is a brief movement of her lips, as if she's mouthing some invocation or blessing or grace or something, before she methodically eats and drinks what's given to her. She takes what strength she can from the prisoner's fare, since it doesn't do her any good to ignore the meal. If they're going to poison her, there are less clumsy ways of doing so. Korynn nods his head in an understanding way. "I suspect that breaking this prisoner will be a difficult process. I've just finished conducting the first phase of a de-personalization and testing procedure, and she's proven to be quite strong willed. I'll allow you to speak with her, but there are a few guidelines you will need to follow first." He motions away from the cell door and starts to walk a few paces away, knowing that the CompForce troopers will be leaving the cell within moments. The last thing he needs is for the prisoner to hear him planning out her treatment, it would break what progress he might have made so far. Krieg nods, keeping full military bearing about him as he follows Korynn, his understanding of the tactics to be limited, though it was not all that different from what they might experience in combat. He doesn't say anything, but simply clasps his hands behind his back as they proceed away from there for a little bit. Eventually he comes up with a few things he would like to say, but of those they would have to wait a few moments until he knew the operating procedures here. Once the meal is complete, Kyrin simply finds a comfortable position to rest, closing her eyes and keeping her pointed ears peeled. If her head is tilted so that one of her ears is aimed at the door, the gracefulness of her movements makes it seem ever so casual or accidental. Her hearing isn't really any better than those of a human, maybe just a shade, but any warning might help. Any clue. Turning back to face Krieg, Korynn lets out his dissertation. "I follow a doctrine of pain without damage. Once you begin physically damaging a prisoner, breaking bones, drawing blood and whatnot, you start etching away at what you have available to use in the breaking process. Living bodies can only take so much damage and a dead prisoner gives us no intelligence. However, the sentient mind can handle much more perceived pain, terror, and intimidation than the body can handle physical damage. The mind is resilient. Ask what you wish to ask, but under no circumstance should you inflict physical damage. If the prisoner tries to attack you, leave it to the CompForce troopers to detain her. Lastly, just be thoughtful as to how she reacts. Some conversations will trigger emotional reactions, and they will either strengthen or weaken her resolve. If her resolve is strengthened, it will only take more time to break her, and you and I both know that time is valuable." Krieg nods once again, taking in all the information. He wasn't there to hurt her, no, there were plenty of other ways to do such a task much like Korynn spoke of. He simply asks, "Is there anything currently known to strengthen her resolve? I would tend to believe the order of her thoughts would break down with time - as any hope of resistance is futile." They needed information, but it will be interesting to see what she has to offer. "Come here," says Korynn, who turns to motion toward a computer monitor enclosed in a wall next to where a surveillance droid is plugged into a datajack. "Play the recording on this screen only, please," instructs Korynn. The computer screen begins to show a security recording from a few weeks back. Korynn and Captain Caiton are seen, their hands, arms, and uniforms bloodied as they mutilate a curly-haired blond prisoner. "This is Kitterick Brandis Finian, the Jedi who was taken from the HIMS Malevolence some time back. These were the final moments of his stay in our custody." The gruesome video shows Korynn and Lynae cutting into the man's arm, and Korynn himself reaching into the flesh and breaking the bone with his bare hands. Korynn observes the video playback with an icy detachment, a hollowness in his voice. "The prisoner inside was part of the rebel task force who took him from the Malevolence. So, I played this recording for her, and forced her to watch it for the past..." He pauses, checking his wrist chrono. "Fourteen hours. It seems her resolve has either been unaffected or strengthened, and this is all the information I have collected." He reaches over and flips off the videoscreen, and turns to face Krieg. "So, I will have much more research to do. Your visit with her will be recorded, of course, and I can review it later. At this stage of the game, anything I can learn of her mannerisms will be useful." Krieg nods his head, the image was a bit gory, but nothing out of the norm for someone who has seen war. Fourteen hours did a lot to desensitize someone, as the prolonged exposure to something one did not wish to be a part of mentally did something to a person - they either adapted or changed their frame of reference to what was normal. It apparently is that Kyrin has adapted, somehow, but after viewing killings and such things for long enough, one did have to change their frame of reference. "Thank you, Sergeant. I should not be too long; and I do expect some results from our conversation." Korynn smiles thinly. "Well, that is what I do like to hear, Lieutenant. Have a good swing at her, I appreciate the relief." He glances toward one of the two CompForce troopers who have been assisting him. "Allow Lieutenant Inrokana to see the prisoner. Maintain standard preliminary procedures, and send the security recording to my network node." With that, he turns to depart. When the door opens again and another officer hoves into view, Kyrin opens her eyes and looks up to see someone new. There is mild curiosity in that gaze, but still not really much beyond the weary dignity she's shown so far when she's had a chance to control her expression. Going to the rank insignia, she waits patiently for Krieg to say something, anything, not really knowing what his instructions were. Krieg walks into the cell slowly, and deliberately. His arms are folded across his chest, and it appears that his blaster has been left behind outside of the room. He stands there, silent, in his uniform - a pilots uniform. It's different than a standard uniform, most notably his rank squares are on his shoulder and not his chest. They also are shades of gray that blend in somewhat with his black flightsuit - something that is very non-standard. If Kyrin can read it says Krieg Inrokana on his patch, and there are various other patches denoting the ship, squadron, and the Empire to which he serves. He still says nothing. Perhaps he is waiting for her reply? If there is one... of course, that would mean she would not be broken if she did. Kyrin silently acknowledges everything she sees, the mutual observation society going on in equal force in both directions right now. She might be a prisoner, but she's certainly not passive. She was also trained to gain intel as best she could. The plate and metal flask she was given for her meal... no flatware of course... sits next to her, untouched. Possible weapons, but she makes no move toward them. This, she observes, is someone much like her. Someone who understands the lure of the cockpit and the bright fiery death offered up to the enemy. But their choices led them to opposing sides. Once more, pity is the primary expression on her face, although she acknowledges Krieg with a faint nod. That, nothing more. Yes, I see you. I know what you are. Next? It comes out of the blue, a clear crisp military voice. "I can't imagine that the drugs they probably have you on keep you sober or awake enough not to be hallucinating." He keeps standing there, it would appear that 14 hours did have a wear on the mind, albeit just to tire. The pilot wings probably stand out the most above his name, but that was not something he really was going to dwell upon. He still stands. Knowing that this probably is just a dream world for her by now, or at least it should be. He doesn't pace, he doesn't even flinch. Though some would say his entry is rude. "Your vision, I am told, is still in good order. As such you probably have already determined who I am, but I will state my name nonetheless. I am Krieg." He pauses, then asks of her, "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" Kyrin arches one singed silver brow as Krieg speaks. When he's done, she merely changes position slightly, easing a cramp in one leg. She makes no move toward the other pilot, merely resting when she can. "Kyrin Sh'vani," she replies. He asked nothing else of her, and therefore, she doesn't offer any additional information. Her accent is exotic, definitely not Imperial norms, and her grey eyes move away from the pilot for a few moments before returning. Better than staring at a wall some more. Ahh, some progress Krieg thinks. "It is an honor to be able to meet you, though the terms are less fitting than one may hope for." He still stays put and draws in a deep breath. "You're probably wondering why I'm here and not the cold hearted hellions that are outside these doors." A pause, "I'm not an incubus, and I am not here to harm you." A slight chuckle, but not a friendly one, if that can even be said. "My intentions are to bring order to the peoples of this galaxy. A feat that has not been accomplished in a very long time to anyone's knowledge. As for why I am speaking to you; I am here to ask of your fellow pilots. To what is it they hope to accomplish, and to what do they fight?" Kyrin has never heard of something called an incubus, so other than a mild glimmer of confusion across her features at the unfamiliar term, she listens silently. When he asks of her peers, there is a slight dip of her chin and a knowing look on her face. Same question, different questioner. Of all the things that have been done to her, this is the only one she has been uncooperative about. She even let them tie her wings to those surgical trays, the weights almost cruel in how she can flex her wings to some extent, but she cannot fly as it is. Her gaze falls to the still-healing injuries on her hands and arms, and she carefully inspects them, all in silence. Krieg steps a few paces to the one side of the room and continues, knowing full well that her reason is her own, and he must provide more of his motive. "See, unlike the others, I actually am wanting to end all this mess in a peaceful manner. Though your side has made any and all negotiations impossible. In part, that is why I joined the Empire. But to that end, I also know your companions fight in a philosophical darkness. And as such, they have no understanding of the truth of things. But to even begin to show them the light - I simply need to know what they are fighting for." He pauses, then continues, "I don't wish to be an evil man; that's why I fly. There is a chivalry about it, an honor if you will." He hangs his head, then adds, "And I'm afraid to say I wasn't able to stop the warmongers from taking your beautiful human friend... I believe the said she was called, Ms Winters?" A bit of pain crosses his face. "I don't like to see women hurt, especially a woman of her bravery willing to fight in such odds. I really don't - this you'll have to take my word for. But you don't wish to talk, and if not, I will be forced back to other duties; and I will not be able to speak with you again." Good Imp, bad Imp. Kyrin has said her piece, giving Krieg just enough polite interest that might encourage him to speak further. At the mention of Shael, there's a moment of sorrow across the Chyleni's face. Nothing more. Shael knew what she was signing up for. Light, dark, those words spin through what Krieg has to say. Truth and by implication, falsity. Chivalry? Honor? A brief whiff of expression at those words. Like those words taste like ashes. Still, that pity returns, like what Krieg has to say merely inspires her to be sorry for him. She shakes her head once sympathetically, but says nothing. Krieg takes in another deep breath. He expected as much, he was truly looking for one of them to actually inspire him to be something that would become a order that did not corrupt. Such, as it was, the Empire was good at keeping order but all too many were corrupted by the power or some other force. Then there was the other side, too weak and pathetic to even mount a proper operation. Just internal squabbling and strife. Though Ms Winters was of a different breed, a true shame what the others did to her. He didn't agree with the Empire always, but there was nothing he could do for that, and besides, wasn't the Empire the lesser evil? Krieg takes out a ration, bites off the end of the bar - a good ration at that (his favorite of cinnamon) - and then sets it on the floor. I'm not allowed to be doing this, but I see nothing wrong with giving something you should be able to trust that you can eat it and it won't make you go crazy. He swallows and says, "If you can't trust the fact that it's my own and I just ate it," he has another he shows to her, "Then I guess they want you to starve. But what they do is up to them. I doubt there is much left I can say that will allow me to help a fellow pilot." He turns to leave and before he goes, "Farewell, and may we meet someday on better terms, hopefully."
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