Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Gunner
Star
- Joined
- Jun 3, 2012
She had been in prison for a little over three years, not that she knew that. Her cell in the black prison had no clock, no calender, not ever a day/night cycle. The closest she came was being able to count meals, although without a clock that was of little use, being as she couldn't time the intervals. Her meals cycled between trays of red glob, green glop, and grey glop with noodles, all of which were offensive to a refined palate like hers. The uniform was equally as bad; consisting solely a thin bright orange two-piece uniform similar to scrubs and a pair of cheap black shower shoes; not even allowed underwear.
Her cell was a twelve foot by twelve foot by twelve foot cube made of one-way mirrors, preventing her from seeing anything while allowing the guards to see everything. Her furniture were spartan; a bed, a shower facility, a seat & desk, and a toilet/sink combination. The bed was a thin mattress set on a concrete base that was molded into the floor and wall, with a single sheet, wool blanket and pillow. The shower facility was a grate in the wall that dropped cold water straight downward into a corner of her cell with a raised border around it to contain he water, and an indentation in the wall to hold a single bar of soap; all she was allowed for hygiene besides a stick of deodorant. The seat & desk were little more than round pedestals for her to sit on & lean on, also molded from the concrete of the floor. And the toilet/sink was the same molded stainless steel item ubiquitous to prisons and jails everywhere.
Suddenly the lights in her cells went out, plunging it into total darkness. She knew what this meant. In seconds the door to the cell, seamlessly integrated into one of the walls, slid open and eight guards swarmed in, simultaneously handcuffing her, blindfolding her, and fitting her with noise-cancelling headphones, leaving her senses completely blocked. The guards spun her around then drug her from the cell, leaving her unable to conclusively tell direction of travel or get a pace count to establish distances.
She was hauled around the facility, in a couple circles and down a few dead ends to disrupt her sense of direction further, before being pushed down into a chair. When the headphones and blindfold came off, she was seated in a blank-walled interrogation room, across a cheap metal table from a man. A man she recognized.
She had known him as Theo Kalinin, though she found out when she was charged that his true name was Eric Wright, a member of some secret government agency who's name had never been revealed to her.
He looked exactly the same as she remembered. 5'8" tall and about 170 pounds of lean muscle, his piercing hazel eyes roving over her. Ironically, while his brown hair was shorter than before, buzzed short, his facial hair was longer, a few days of stubble visible on his face. He was dressed simply as was usual for him; blue jeans, tennis shoes, a loose grey t-shirt and a light wind breaker jacket over it. He looked her over one more time before speaking.
"They weren't kidding when they said orange wasn't your color."
He was smirking as he talked, clearly enjoying his dominant position over her. In truth he didn't like the idea his superiors had foisted upon him, but they'd put him down this path despite his objections. The last thing he'd wanted was to deal with her again, especially since it meant letting her out of her cage, which for someone like her was a dangerous proposition. But she had knowledge and skills they needed, and he was the only one who'd ever made anything stick to her, so he had no choice in being her handler.
Her cell was a twelve foot by twelve foot by twelve foot cube made of one-way mirrors, preventing her from seeing anything while allowing the guards to see everything. Her furniture were spartan; a bed, a shower facility, a seat & desk, and a toilet/sink combination. The bed was a thin mattress set on a concrete base that was molded into the floor and wall, with a single sheet, wool blanket and pillow. The shower facility was a grate in the wall that dropped cold water straight downward into a corner of her cell with a raised border around it to contain he water, and an indentation in the wall to hold a single bar of soap; all she was allowed for hygiene besides a stick of deodorant. The seat & desk were little more than round pedestals for her to sit on & lean on, also molded from the concrete of the floor. And the toilet/sink was the same molded stainless steel item ubiquitous to prisons and jails everywhere.
Suddenly the lights in her cells went out, plunging it into total darkness. She knew what this meant. In seconds the door to the cell, seamlessly integrated into one of the walls, slid open and eight guards swarmed in, simultaneously handcuffing her, blindfolding her, and fitting her with noise-cancelling headphones, leaving her senses completely blocked. The guards spun her around then drug her from the cell, leaving her unable to conclusively tell direction of travel or get a pace count to establish distances.
She was hauled around the facility, in a couple circles and down a few dead ends to disrupt her sense of direction further, before being pushed down into a chair. When the headphones and blindfold came off, she was seated in a blank-walled interrogation room, across a cheap metal table from a man. A man she recognized.
She had known him as Theo Kalinin, though she found out when she was charged that his true name was Eric Wright, a member of some secret government agency who's name had never been revealed to her.
He looked exactly the same as she remembered. 5'8" tall and about 170 pounds of lean muscle, his piercing hazel eyes roving over her. Ironically, while his brown hair was shorter than before, buzzed short, his facial hair was longer, a few days of stubble visible on his face. He was dressed simply as was usual for him; blue jeans, tennis shoes, a loose grey t-shirt and a light wind breaker jacket over it. He looked her over one more time before speaking.
"They weren't kidding when they said orange wasn't your color."
He was smirking as he talked, clearly enjoying his dominant position over her. In truth he didn't like the idea his superiors had foisted upon him, but they'd put him down this path despite his objections. The last thing he'd wanted was to deal with her again, especially since it meant letting her out of her cage, which for someone like her was a dangerous proposition. But she had knowledge and skills they needed, and he was the only one who'd ever made anything stick to her, so he had no choice in being her handler.
