RPlog:Guest of the Empire, part 5

Security Deck - ISC Broadsword ''The detention block is the Imperial standard of a well-built facility. Capable of handling the most aberrant criminals in the galaxy, the detention block is designed to intimidate and invoke fear and hopelessness in the prisoners held within its cells. A large ring of computer terminals on a raised circular dais in the center of the room hinders any attempt to move directly toward the raised detention block from the direction of the Turbolift. Numerous types of surveillance equipment descend from the ceiling and extend from the walls to alert the bridge in the event that trouble arises. In addition to the two stormtroopers and the detention officer manning the security stations, several more armed stormtroopers line the walls at regular intervals. The block of cells itself extend down a pentagonal corridor. Steel grate floors with red lights underneath them traverse the black walled block. The doors to the cells are magna-locked to prevent blasters from opening them, and are recessed into the walls. Small view-ports allow observers to peek into the cells and an oblong tray door allows meals to be served, without opening the doors.'' => Kyrin

Korynn had kept Kyrin sedated for a couple of days, while he treated her wounds with expert medical care. He wanted her to be able to walk away without any scars, for he has a goal in mind. She could be turned into a spy for the Empire, if she were successfully re-educated. With her wounds now healed, he has prepared to awaken her from her medicated slumber. All torture devices have been removed from the cell, and the holo-projectors along the wall have patched in a live feed from a sensor satellite orbiting Chylene... the planet is safe and secure. Also, a more comfortable cot and table have been brought in, the table carrying a variety of foodstuffs imported from Chylene itself by undercover ISB agents. After injecting a solvent into Kyrin's arm that should negate the effects of the sedatives in her veins, the ISB agent stands back and waits for her to stir.

None of the nice amenities have been touched. The only reason Kyrin is even on the cot is because she was drugged and had little choice in the matter. When her gray eyes muzzily open, she's severely disoriented. That sharp unique smell of Chyleni food. A smell she doesn't even get to experience much in the New Republic... they're not gonna import non-essentials for a single member of the military, not of her rank. Stirring, she promptly folds her wings around herself, trying to reassure herself that they're still there and intact. No pain. The tendons are whole. And the picture on the wall... her eyes widen. And she immediately takes in the safety of her people. Lowering her gaze, she fairly slinks off the cot, almost moving on all fours, until she can find a corner, huddling up in it, her face turned away, her tail curled tightly around her feet.

"Everything is going to be alright, now." Korynn speaks from across the room. Traces of his anger, rage, and malice are gone, and he even seems gentle. A smile creeps across his face, but it is a sad smile. "I... am sorry for what was done to you, Kyrin, but it was necessary. For your health."

Kyrin shivers as she hears Korynn's hated voice. Sugar instead of vinegar. Bad cop, good cop. It's clear from how she cringes even from his gentle tone that she's expecting some sort of violence against her again, pulling her wings even tighter against her body.

Slowly, Korynn strides across the room toward her, and kneels down at a close distance, so close she could reach out and strike him if she so desired. "Kyrin... you have to trust me. The threat against Chylene was staged... the threat to remove your wings was as well. We are here to help you, to heal you, from the lies." His dark eyes contain a genuine care inside them, for he knows that she could be turned to the glorious servanthood beholding of an Imperial citizen. She has this chance to live, and he hopes she should take it... it shows in his eyes.

Kyrin can't stop shivering. It's a trembling that goes deep into her soul. This honey-sweet voice whispering that he staged things. Somewhere in her terrorized self, she recognizes that staging things equals lying. He lied to her then. Yes. Her gray eyes open slowly, but the quaking continues. Her breathing slows down. She relaxes only a little bit... not enough to really be considered 'relaxed', but it's better than wound up like a clock about ready to explode.

Fleming knows better than to reach out and touch the alien. There may come a time for that, but for now, he knows that he must gain her trust. His smile turns from sad to honest as she starts to turn, and he stifles the slightest of chuckles deep inside his throaght. "I know, I know." His Coruscanti accent is at ease, and he shakes his head slightly. "A lie to combat lies. But I had to speak the language you understand, Kyrin. I had to speak that language... so that I could get through to the real you. The innocent Chyleni inside, the Exile, who so desperately is searching for the truth. The life she wants to live." He nods his head and says, "I understand."

Kyrin doesn't say anything. The words 'I understand' seems to have reached her somehow, and she slowly turns her head to look at her tormentor. "I..." she aspirates. "I challenge you," she manages sibilantly. "Although I die for it, I must..."

Korynn's eyelids twitch and try not to clench down, as he meets the prisoner's gray gaze. There is lingering silence in the room, until he draws in a breath. "If you wish to challenge me, then rise to your feet. You will find more strength." He rises himself, and takes a couple of steps back, folding his arms over each other. "Rise, Kyrin Sh'vani, and your challenge will be met." He watches intently, waiting for her to rise to her feet... the cue that he still has a part of her wrapped around his fingers.

Kyrin breathes silently for a few seconds as she marshals what strength she has left. Then, slowly, she pushes herself upright, or as upright as she can get. Her gray eyes on her tormentor. "Two blasters each. Your hangar bay. No interference from your people. A fight to the death, of honor. If you have any." Days ago, the words might have been spoken cuttingly. Now they're just a weary monotone. Almost businesslike.

She had called his bluff, and he had to act fast. This would be the deciding moment. Korynn Fleming, in approximately three standard hours, would become a war hero of the Empire, when information gleaned from Sh'vani would provide Task Force Hammer the means to shut down Operation Shado Kolpo. Could he push further? Could he turn this alien monstrosity into a loyal servant of the Emperor, a Bureau spy inside the ranks of the rebellion? Or would he fail, by the lightest ways of course, and be forced to sign off on her execution? It all lies in how she responds to this... yet Korynn knows oh-so-well that he should not take her on the offer. He has been burned in the past by comrades frelling up a situation... he'd lost his officers rank and suffered the humiliation of demotion and re-education due to some IGF idiot's fear. He wouldn't suffer that again by being shot and injured or nearly killed by a lucky shot. Those rebels always did have luck on their side. His face snarls into a look of pity mixed with disgust. "Fool!" he hisses. "You would throw away your life for such a foolish attempt at dignity?" His voice rises to a thunderous ramore. "I am trying to heal you!"

"It is not throwing my life away if I kill you. That is the measure of your evil, that I would have to fight you to heal your sickness from the galaxy," Kyrin manages, finding the shreds of her dignity once more. "That I would have to sully my hands on an alien threat to all that is good and honest and pure in the world. So, what is your answer?" she asks intently, staring at Korynn intently, eerily. "Fight with honor or live without it? Or are you afraid of me, even now... when it might not even be a fair fight in my favor? How much of a coward are you?" That last sentence is whispered very softly, almost sadly.

Korynn shakes his head from side to side, a frown enveloping his face. "You are a guest of the Empire, Kyrin. You don't make demands. You will learn your place, and when you have, if you still wish to challenge me in this way... you will get that chance... and it will be a fair chance. Today is not that day." Let her think he is a coward. After he has become a war hero, after she has been forced to watch her comrades die, he can then determine if her re-education as a loyalist is indeed a lost cause. Leaving her free to be, he turns on his heel and walks for the door, signaling for it to be opened with his left hand.

Kyrin doesn't need blasters to attack someone. Muttering a dire curse in her native tongue, a beautiful malediction in her liquid dialect, she leaps at Korynn, her sharp talons... well, not so sharp compared to someone such as, say, Snarl, but suitable to the occasion... reaching for his throat. To rip, to kill, to save... funny how saving and death go hand in hand sometimes. You have to cut a cancer out to save the patient.

Hearing the curse, Fleming swings about just as the doors are opened. He brings up his hands and catches Kyrin's arms at the wrists, exposing his own wrists to a bit of scratching from her talons, but he quickly overpowers her. Snarling, he wrenches one of her arms free, throws the other to the side, and throws his shoulder into her torso much as a shockball player might try to take down a running back.

Kyrin struggles against the Imperial for a few seconds, but he's been eating and she hasn't. It's no contest, and it basically gives Korynn a very good idea how their actual death-duel would have gone. Winded by the shoulder against her sternum, she's cast back across the cell, clattering to the floor in an undignified heap. That spark of rebellion fades until it is nothing more than the merest ember, so close to extinction.

With his lower lip pressed against his upper in bottled up feral rage, Korynn watches as his prisoner goes down, through a set of eyes tuned to sheer evil. Without another word, he turns again and strides out of the cell, raising his left hand with a harsh signal for the door to be closed. Down it goes, with a clang of metal, and seals itself shut with the muffled sounds of multiple locking mechanisms.

When she's locked in again, Kyrin eases a bruised muscle slightly. Slowly, hopelessly, she slinks over to the cot that was provided... and crawls under it, pulling her knees to her chin, her wings around her, rocking back and forth. There are no songs. There is only utter defeat and despair.