Star Trek: Starbase 777 - interrogation-chamber

The small chamber was well lit, and ever so slightly warmer than the cell - perhaps for the sake of the comfort for the interrogator. Eicran was brought in and sat down on a rather uncomfortable chair, with his hands handcuffed to the small, one-person table.

"Leave us," he ordered to the other agents. He stood in front of Eicran, practically towering over the man due to the latter's seated position, all the while fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform. The door of the room closed just as he pulled them up, revealing color - snake coils and fire and unfamiliar, devilish figures, dancing across the skin in a depiction of some mythological story. "I've read your file," he said, glancing at the Betazoid, eyes gold in the bright light. "Quite an interesting life you've had, from what I've gathered."

While being marched through the corridor he had looked around, taking everything in. After being situated into a chair that really could have done with a cushioned back and having his hands cuffed to the table, he did the same here and took in the room. It was far better lit than the interior of the prison cell, for one. He had expected dark and dingy for the entire prison. The temperature was hardly as warm as he would have liked it to be, but it was far better than it had been in the cell... And he was appreciative of that, given that he had abandoned his blankets and only had his uniform shirt as opposed to the jacket as well. After looking around the room he turned his attention to the officer who remained standing. Black eyes flitted from one tattoo to another, and if he hadn't been face to face with a Tal Shiar officer who could cause him as much harm as he liked, Eicran might have spent time considering what they all meant. When said officer spoke, Eicran looked up to make eye contact. It was with the same method that he utilised in the field that he pushed any emotions down and remained neutral on the surface level, allowing him to face the man without fear. (Not that he really was without fear: he could still feel his heart beating far faster than usual. If only he had a 'turn off your emotion' switch completely.) "Thank you," he ended up saying in response to the statement. The shark comments from the other officer earlier were now confirmed: they did have their hands on his file. What else was he supposed to say that would help keep him out of trouble? Uhm... "I'm sure your file is very interesting too."

Likely unintentionally, but Eicran's response prompted a laugh; it was slightly raspy, and unguarded, and all sharp teeth. "Oh, you have no idea!" Derain grinned, reaching for his pocket and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Ah. That explained the smell of smoke - subtle yet rich, distinct. One of them ended up in the corner of his mouth, "Two very interesting people in a very cold room. And to think that this meeting was only possible due to a slew of coincidences..." He began to walk - slow, measured steps to Eicran's left, the agent's voice wrapping around him... "Shame we meet like this, though. Speaking of - how aware are you of just how fucked your and your friends' current situation is, hmm? You can rate it from 1-10, I've heard you doctors like to do that."

There was a blink from the medical officer when he made the interrogator laugh. Huh. Eicran had just said the first (stupid) thing that had come to mind... But maybe it was a sign that this man wasn't all walls with barbed wire on top. He didn't expect the same sort of compassion that the younger officer had provided to them, but at least if there was some sort of rapport established here, then maybe it could keep him out of trouble. It wasn't much, but a spark of hope amidst the fear was far better than nothing. He watched as the interrogator lit his cigarette and started slowly pacing. Eicran's head didn't move, but his eyes flitted further to the side with each footstep. He rubbed his hands together as well to help them warm up, taking advantage of the temperature increase in this room. If only there hadn't been the smell of cigarette smoke... "On a scale of one to ten..." Considering the temperature of the room, the moisture, the lack of sleep, all of them being mentally exhausted, "at least a seven, I suppose. ...I hope you know the contents of those cigarettes. They can do horrible damage to the lungs. I've heard that on Earth, they once put tar in them. Why would anyone want to smoke tar..?"

He breathed out some smoke, it's warmth whisping past Eicran, some of it briefly touching the side of his right arm: "Should've guessed a doctor would be having problems with my smoking. These are not that bad, promise. Here, have a taste later." The Commander could feel Derain's fingers brush against the tip of his ear, something being put behind it. Thin and cylindrical... "I saw you looking at my tattoos earlier, but I assume you don't know what they mean. They depict various khalagu - demons, would be your equivalent. While they are wandering the lands, or hiding amongst our people in plain sight, they sometimes snatch our souls, and take them away to hell." Derain came back to stand in front of Eicran, head cocked to the side. "Thieurrull is the name of this prison. Hellguard. People are brought here to either die, or disappear - as a punishment. And trust me, dear officer, the ways they can punish you or others here will be so much worse than what you're experiencing now..."

In their time as prisoners so far, Eicran hadn't considered what might be done to him individually. When told that they would likely be questioned he had figured that wouldn't apply to him. He was just a medical officer, what sort of information could he provide that would be of use to the Tal Shiar? He hadn't been sure what to anticipate - and he certainly hadn't anticipated this; listening to the description of a person's tattoos, breathing in cigarette smoke, and having one of said cigarettes placed behind his ear. He had entered this room looking like a wreck but may now leave it looking as though he had signed up with an Orion Syndicate biker gang. Instinctively he had tensed when the interrogator passed behind him and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. Still handcuffed, he grasped both his hands together and squeezed them tightly as a distraction. Gods, it was difficult to not show any sign of fear or weakness when you were quite literally at the mercy of one of the quadrant's most feared intelligence agencies. Having no idea of what to do except from to keep talking, he did just that. "If this is Hellguard, does that make you the defender or the demon? Are you guarding Hell from demons that would escape - us, that is - or are you the demon, forced to become one for your cause..?" Symbolism and imagery in wording had never been Eicran's strong suit, but he felt there was something being inferred here. Why bring it up otherwise? "You say that people are brought here as punishment. Why us, then? Why so many officers from Starbase 777 who have done nothing to harm your cause? There are people here who have likely never even hurt a fly. They don't deserve punishment."

"Your organization," and there he goes for another circle around Eicran, "has a nasty little habit of sticking their nose in other people's business..." The cigarette was done, it's butt unceremoniously flicked into the corner of the room. A gloved hand found it's perch in Eicran's hair, as Derain pushed the man's head down, down, down, until it thunked against the table between his immobilized arms. The Romulan loomed over, closer to his prisoner's ear, the snake finally uncoiling and showing off it's fangs and forked tongue. "Messing with the experiments and missions, stepping on our soles, hiding dissidents amongst your herd, supporting the state of traitors..." he was using his other hand to count down the list of offenses, even if Kehal did not see that. "we would've forgiven you. We might've. But then you, the bleeding hearts, just had to go and house the Senators... and our patience ran thin." His weight shifted, lifting itself off of the sitting man. Something sharp and alert snuck itself into the Arrain's face, dissolving the first impression of someone uncaring and unhurried. "It hurts, doesn't it? People being taken away like this. Safety invaded and ruined from the inside. People who you thought you could trust turning out to be impersonators and actors... how does that undying Fleet hope feel right now, Commander Kehal? Is it finally running thin?"

For as long as he could he tracked the man's movements, watching him pace like an animal encircling its prey. The atmosphere had changed. No longer was this some strange introduction where they both tested the waters. It appeared that it was time for the real thing. Eicran tensed mere moments before that gloved hand made contact with the back of his head, having been forewarned by the slight movement in the smoke-clouded air as the interrogator stopped behind him. His neck and shoulder muscles went taut as soon as he felt the pressure of the man's hand trying to push his head down. Resist too long and he risked worse injury to his neck, he was aware; plus he doubted that the strength of his neck would outmatch that of a Romulan using their arms. He felt his head be pushed down, down- and then thwunk as his forehead made contact with the table, the Romulan still holding him down. His skin crawled at the voice hissing in his ear. So this was what it was about? The Tal Shiar were punishing 777's officers solely because the senators who had escaped a terrorist attack had found refuge there? The thought sickened him, enraged him. All of this because of empathy, humanitarianism, basic kindness? Most of the starbase didn't even have anything to do with the decision to have the senators aboard! But that was the point, wasn't it, because the Tal Shiar thrived off of fear. It was a message back to those who did make the decisions: act against us, and this is how we act in turn. divider

23:09

As soon as the pressure from the back of his head was released he snapped his head up, eyes narrowed towards the man who now appeared to embody a coiled snake ready to strike. Thoughts of speaking calmly to preserve his own safety vanished as everything jumbled together; all of the discomfort and desolation and horror and fury bundled into one. "Faith in Starfleet, in the Federation, never runs thin," he snarled, a shark facing off against a snake. "You think this is the first time that we've been infiltrated? Organisations like your own try time and time again and you never win. The only thing running thin is your sanity. You're nothing but terrorists, trying to bring back a surveillance state of slavery and fear. You're barbaric, and you won't prevail."

As soon as he lifted his hands off the officer, it was like the man suddenly caught fire - fury and indignance rolling off of the Betazoid like heat off of a rising sun, and Derain couldn't help himself but grin.* "Oh yeah?!" *his raspy voice rose as well, just as his head went low, for Derain leaned in with both of his hands against the table, fingers digging into it's corners, his bright gaze leveled with Eicran's dark one: "Since when do you care so much about what's happening in our corner, huh? Should've kept your gaze away, cover your eyes while we dealt with our traitors! But, no. You meddle. You always meddle. Insisting your ways on everyone around you. You deem us controlling, yet here you are..." Derain's voice soon dropped to a whisper: "You think those ways will save you now? Or are you waiting for a miracle to happen? If it is so, then trust me, my dear friend, miracles do not reach these deepest pits of hell..."

If he hadn't been handcuffed to the table he would have stood. Instead, all he could do was glare upwards at the interrogator, the two of them at an angle that allowed them to be perfectly face to face. Eicran had no idea how to interpret that grin - perhaps he was giving the officer what he wanted by rising to the bait and jumping into an argument - but there was no shutting him down now. The devastation that the Tal Shiar had caused in the Republic, the suffering they were causing those imprisoned here, everything they stood for-- it was all everything that the Federation wasn't, and it was everything that was wrong. "We always care," he snarled, voice fiery in contrast with the Tal Shiar's whisper. "The only traitors are yourselves - you're the illegitimate power trying to crawl its way back into relevancy. We meddle for the greater good, to protect people - and we don't force our ways on others. We appreciate differences. We form allyships. And together, we work for a future where people like you can never harm another again." Black eyes glared, alight like smouldering coals. "Our ways will save us, because the Federation doesn't give up on its people. Starfleet will find us, and the only people needing a miracle will be you."

He squinted his eyes, gaze unblinking behind some rogue strands of hair that fell down due to the intensity of Derain's gesturing. They followed Eicran, all of his limited movement, the emotion in them unreadable, complex. "Such ferocity suits you, Commander," came his low murmur, the ghost of that grin still there, lingering in the upturn of his lips. "But can this fire keep burning forever? Can it keep your friends and yourself warm in that cold cell of yours? What will you do when it gets choked out by someone's unkind force? You might die here, Kehal..." The eye contact was broken, briefly, just for a moment - when Derain's gaze flickered towards the door, perhaps reacting to some rogue sound, before returning to Eicran: "...You might die here, and take your convictions to your shallow grave."

Despite all of his anger and downright righteous conviction, he could feel himself start to waver under the officer's unblinking gaze. What the Hell was wrong with him, he asked himself? For one, he had been trained to remain stalwart in a situation like this. For two, he rarely became so outwardly angry, regardless of what it was about or who it was towards. It appeared that everything had started jumbling together in his head and throwing him completely off course emotionally, and he feared where he would end up. His shoulders slumped just a little; not enough to imply that he was giving up, but enough to show he knew that the tension and desire to physically fight back couldn't last forever. When the officer looked away he was more than thankful, even if it was just for a moment. Eye contact was a social convention he had to force himself to do, and dragging it on for any length of time made it feel like he might implode from the discomfort of it all. When interrogator turned back, Eicran settled his gaze on the dying embers of the cigarette stub that had been cast aside. It hadn't gone out yet. "If I die here that's okay." He spoke more calmly now, but still with a steady, factual tone. It was true after all: he really didn't mind. He would have preferred what the Klingons sought and to have some sort of honourable death, but if this was how it happened then so be it. What mattered to him was that the others stayed alive. "I'm sure there are many other officers who feel the same way. We all accepted the risk when we joined the fleet. Their deaths would be a waste - but someone else would be there to pick up the torch. The next generation of Starfleet officers would light the way instead."

As Eicran's gaze wandered away from Derain's face, the Romulan straightened his hunched posture up, now standing over the prisoner, the fingertips of his hands resting against the surface of the table like roots of a tree. He now casted a shadow over Eicran, one that crawled over the man's shoulders and ensnared his chair, a cold monolith. "Do you really mean that?" he inquired, something awfully akin to wonder breaching through Derain's expression. "This acceptance of yours. Is this because of your loyalty to Starfleet? Your pity for the Republic?"

The shadow being cast over him was cold, uncomfortable. He could feel the officer looming over him, and Eicran felt the same way that he thought an ant must feel staring up at a humanoid. Not that this interrogator was giant, mind you - but with the position of power he held over Eicran, he might as well be. Internally the battle raged to keep fighting, to not show fear, to not give in - but Eicran would have been a fool if he didn't acknowledge the position he was in. His brow furrowed at the question - both because he didn't quite understand and because the change in expression only brought Eicran discomfort. "The acceptance of what? Death? That's not because of loyalty, no, or pity. It's just... Inevitable. It happens to everyone, even if you don't want it to." It was something he was well versed in. His years in the medical field had forced him to accept that sometimes, you couldn't save everyone. It never made it less easier, but it was a fact. "I don't want my colleagues to die here. They deserve full, happy lives. But if they do - if I do? Then it's tragic, but it's okay. An inevitability. It was always going to happen one day."

Derain opened his mouth to say something else - right before there was a bang on the door, causing the interrogator to pause, then visibly deflate, a thoughtful hum escaping past his lips. "Oh, what a shame... our little date came to an end already," his raspy voice was barely above a whisper, his expression much calmer now as he looked at the Betazoid with a small quirk to the corner of his lips. Almost like the man had given the right, satisfying answer to Derain's question... whatever it was. "This has been most insightful, Kehal." As the agents came in to retrieve the man, his interrogator made sure to roll down his sleeves again and adjust his uniform. With that, Eicran would be let out of the chambers and back to the prison cell...

It had been hours since Alin was strapped in here by the guards, not that he knew - since there were no methods of timekeeping in the sparsely populated room. It seemed like Kemo had just forgotten about him... At least, until she walked back in, catching the doctor off guard.

"Well Alin, I do apologise for the wait - important matters you must understand." She walked over to the console in the room and switched the lights on, not giving Alin's eyes any time to properly adjust. "I trust you've been kept well while I've been gone?"

"I've just been sitting here," Alin said uncertainly, looking up at Kemo from where he was sitting, seeming small despite his size. He glanced down at his bound hands, and wondered if there was something that had been supposed to happen while he was waiting. Had they expected him to fight back? He knew he looked Klingon, he knew he was Klingon, but that... that wasn't him. Even if in some ways, he supposed it would have been good to have that ability.

"Ah, a pity - part of me was hoping you'd try and thrash around like a fish out of water. Anyway, where are my manners - I should be a courteous host and make the climate more to the one you've been used to." Kemo pressed a few buttons the console, and whereas it started out a cool room temperature (a far cry from the conditions in cell 3), the temperature in the cell began to fall - further and further, down to the rough equivalent of said Cell 3. "Those recovered medical files you were searching through when we stormed in - do you actually think it was you who deleted them?" Kemo smirked, almost revelling in the memory of taking the medbay.

"Well, I'm not really-" Alin weakly tried to interject, but gave up quickly, letting Kemo just talk. His wrists were sore, from the shivering (which was quickly getting worse as the temperature dropped) and from just generally moving around, since he wasn't a statue and he needed to shift his position on occasion. He wasn't so much used to the cold now as he was used to the feeling of being cold, of having that be the lens that coloured all other experiences. As someone whose Cardassian genes very much carried that part of his physiology, he was absolutely miserable. And then, Kemo said something devastating. "Was- was it not? The engineers said it was me, so-" He'd accepted making a mistake quite easily, having felt the need to figure out how it happened and why those files, to prevent it happening again. He'd been a practicing physician for well over thirteen years and something like it had never occurred, but then he wasn't the most technologically literate person ever. It hadn't seemed impossible that he could have made the mistake.

Kemo almost immediately revealed Alin's password, security clearance and the IP address of the console in his quarters. "Sound familiar? Of course when we accessed your account we made sure to erase our own traces." Kemo stepped out from behind the console, pacing over to where Alin was tied down. Notably, she was wearing a thicker-looking version of her uniform. "It's a shame you didn't wait longer, another oh, five-ish minutes and that record would have been expunged everywhere. Because of that, we had to force an agent to stay well past their extraction date." She noticed the sores on Alin's wrists, then made a tutting sound as if to say 'poor you'. "Oh, are the straps too tight?"

"That's- but how-" If Alin took a second to think rationally, he would have figured out a how, and maybe even a why. But instead he just, checked out slightly, failing to process what he was being told. It wasn't his fault, they'd tried to make him believe it was, and if he'd been any slower, they would have gotten away with it. So he'd done good? Even though he thought- it was confusing. When Kemo asked about his wrists, he just looked down dumbly. "They... chafe," he eventually got out, admitting that he was indeed hurting. It could probably be used against him, but then, Kemo wasn't blind.

"Of course, they must..." Kemo was about to do nothing, and let Alin just suffer there - but giving it some thought, it would inevitably blind him from the other pains of being here. She moved to loosen the straps, not fully taking them off but they were certainly loose enough that Alin could remove his hands from them if he so desired. "Is that better?" Kemo asked, overtly condescending to him.

Alin took the chance offered to him, would be a fool not to. "Thank you," he said sincerely, since he was raised properly by his parents. "Why- why did you pick me? Why am I here?"

"Well to be honest, I was told to bring some officers back - yes there are some strategically important people in this prison, as you saw in the brig, but mostly..." Kemo went back behind the console and pressed a button. Suddenly a strange frame of sorts descended from the ceiling, with four prongs extending out towards Alin, making gentle contact with his clavicle, waist and legs. "It's a message. From us, to you." Kemo activated the machine and intense pain shot through Alin's body, as 5000 volts of electricity passed through each prong.

Alin's teeth clacked together harshly as the current went through him, reminded viscerally of the painsticks he suffered through for the sake of the Klingon rites of maturity. He groaned loudly, probably scratching his vocal chords with how tense his throat was. He could take it, though he didn't hope any of the others had to go through this. He should have moved away from those prongs when he had the chance, he thought, though that came secondary to worrying about the others. As the current eased somewhat, he heaved desperate breaths he wasn't able to take with his body experiencing the more severe shocks, though it still wasn't... he wasn't comfortable. Much longer and he'd be toast, literally. "I meant-" he started in between gasps, "I have no information for you. What use is there..." for hurting me, for torturing me, for taking me to this room and gloating and then electrocuting me? He didn't finish the question. (edited)

As electricity danced, the door to the interrogation chamber creaked itself open - revealing... well, him. Alone. Minuscule in that ill-fitting uniform, frozen in that large, heavy doorframe, his eyes wide as they locked on the scene in front of him. Lahae... couldn't quite comprehend what he was seeing here. He just heard some guards talking about "the hybrid" being "taken to the interro room on level three", and snuck off while Tess was busy somewhere else. He wasn't allowed into the rooms while they were in use, but he just figured that this time it would be okay. Because why wouldn't it? "What... are you doing?"

Revelling in the glee of electrocuting this prisoner, Kemo almost didn't see Lahae before he spoke. She slowly turned around, moving to face the person standing at the door. Her face held an expression of disbelief. Was... was he being serious right now? "What are you doing? You're not meant to be here right now - or at all for that matter."

His breath caught in his throat, but for a different reason as he took in the boy's face. He- why was he here? "Kid, please-" he gasped desperately, "don't look at this..."

Suddenly becoming the center of everyone's attention, Lahae did take a few steps back - almost leaving the chamber... But only almost. Because then the teenager clenched his fist, and took a large step right back in, letting the door behind his back swing shut again: "Why are you hurting him?" he asked - demanded - from Kemo, glaring up at her in disbelief. "This doesn't look like questioning, or-- or anything like that! How do you expect him to talk like this?.."

"Who said anything about talking? I got all my information from him months ago!" Kemo casually turned up the voltage passing through Alin. "This is going to send a message to those who can tell us things. Like where those fucking Senators are." Ope, up a little bit more. A thought went across Kemo's face, which visibly relaxed somewhat. It's as if her demeanour changed completely. "Come, try it! These Starfleet-types need to be shown their place if we're going to get anything out of them." Kemo held out a hand, beckoning Lahae in further. (edited)

His eyes darted to Alin, startled at the sound and sight and-- and everything. This... is this what has been happening behind these closed doors? Is this why Rhean would frown at him and wave him off to the closest boring task he could think up of in that moment?.. His hand extended towards Kemo's... only to grab the woman by the wrist and pull at her with all his might, an almost impressive bark of, * "Quit it, you bastard!" *rushing out of his lungs and body like water through a broken dam...

Twerp, he should know his place. "Why you-" In one fluid motion, Kemo had unsheathed her knife and used the dramatic pull towards Lahae as leverage to pin it against his ribs. "I should've pegged you for a sympathiser the moment I laid eyes on you, you kuoku. Leave now, or I will call for the guards and they will bring you in front of erei'Riov tr'Lareth. And my, would he be disappointed in your actions right now."

There was a wheezy little gasp as he felt the cold knife at his ribs. She... what?.. "You won't," he blurted out, eyes bulging as he stared at the agent. No one here has threatened him like this. Ever. So why would Kemo?.. "You won't?"

No, no no no no no. "Commander..." Pull yourself together, Alin, that's a child. You need to pull yourself together. He reached out with a cramping hand to the nodes, letting his hand clamp around them and carry the current as he ripped them off himself, the scent of burning flesh at once becoming apparent when that much electricity concentrated on the palm of his hand made contact with salty sweat and started conducting like nothing else. He sat up in his chair, still breathing hard, grabbing at the back of Kemo's uniform, curling his fist into it to not let go of it as he fought to let go of the nodes with his other hand. "Let him go, please," he asked through gritted teeth.

Kemo's eyes contracted when she felt Alin's hand on her uniform. "Wh- What??" Almost without thinking - that is, on complete instinct, - Kemo very quickly removed the knife from Lahae's ribs (striking him in the jaw with the butt in the process) and immediately went for Alin's neck. There was no real emotion in her expression, reflecting how there was no hesitation in switching target. Simple threat assessment - Alin was the current biggest thing in the room, an easy choice-

For all his lack of combat training (despite being Klingon, he was a medic first and foremost) he did have the instinct to cover his face and neck as the knife came swinging at him, so only his arm got cut. With Kemo now in close, he grabbed at her more strongly, surging up with a strength he didn't know he had and engulfing her in what could almost be called a hug, if not for the hand with the nodes reaching upwards, towards the uncovered face and neck, hoping to restrain her without thinking of the consequences. "Please stop..." His voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper as he fought to restrain the Romulan.

There was a clattering sound as Kemo's knife hit the floor, a side effect of her whole body convulsing under the effects of 6000V of electricity moving straight through her head and into the rest of her body. A couple of seconds later, and smoke began to rise from somewhere on her person - her flesh unable to handle the sheer level of power surging through her, looking for a place to ground itself. It was over for her before the pain hit. One moment Kemo was there, the next she was in Vorta Vor. A legacy of crossed out lines, redacted documents and buried identities so deep that her real one would lost to time very quickly. So was the story of Tal Shiar agent Kemo t'Lehrei. And this was how it ended.

The strike, while thankfully performed by the knife's blunt side, still landed - and sent Lahae stumbling backwards, disoriented and afraid, until he got caught on his own boot. Another second passed and the young boy was sprawled out on the floor, where he curled up on himself and covered his head and face with his shaking arms, all the while quaking with audible sobs. This was... the first time he was struck like that, ever. And the pain, and the look in Kemo's eyes, both made him so, so scared. So of course he tried to defend himself, expecting more. More that... never came. Instead of a boot or a strike of a knife, all the boy could feel was the smell of... of... With dread, he splayed out the fingers covering his left eye to look back at the pair. A task which quickly proved itself to be harder than he expected, because his body was stiff and it hurt and his vision was all blurry.

[CW: Description of burn injury.] He was out of it. He was hurting, feeling his hand burn, the skin melting and his muscles seizing. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to take it before he went the same way Kemo went, the only thing saving him his thick Cardassian skin and eight-chambered overly efficient Klingon heart, which kept pumping blood no matter what. "Turn it off... please turn it off," he asked, hoarse and unable to shout as he would have wanted because of the electricity. Since when did he want to shout? He'd never felt like this before, so perhaps that was normal. Alin didn't feel very much like his usual self, anymore. "Please turn it off."

"Oh god... oh, god!" He was sobbing and choking on air like something else, but he stumbled over the fresh corpse, and practically lunged himself at the console, trembling fingers pressing into the power button... And with that burst of adrenaline gone, Lahae just. Sagged. Onto the floor, brushing awkwardly against the table and chair and everything. The smell of something cooked still lingered in the air. "Um... u-uh..."

"Thank you..." Alin whispered, slumped over Kemo's body as he let the both of them fall to the floor, whimpering in pain. He was tired and he wanted to cry. He- he was crying. He was still holding the stupid nodes, which he'd ripped out of their sockets by now, and he wasn't sure if, when he opened his hand, he'd be able to stomach what he saw. "I'm sorry," he apologised to Lahae through stifled sobs, for having to have witnessed that. For having to see him... see him kill someone. End someone's life, for no other reason except that he wasn't thinking and it just happened.

Did he ever blink in the duration of this horrific scene? Well, at least he did now, spilling tears on his cheeks as he crawled closer to Alin, letting out a soft sniffle at the sight of the corpse, his burned hands, skin... "You need medical help," he whispered, voice wobbly and weak. "Treat the. The, um, burns."

Still crying, Alin just nodded, still clutching the nodes, practically unable to move even if his body was technically his own again. He probably did need to get medical help, but when? Where? Was that even an option, here?

Luckily, the door opened at that moment, an Irok made of ice cold anger stepped in. "Was that so difficult, tr'Llharu? Was that so difficult? Did that need to take that long?"

"I am sorry, sir," was wheezed out, as the agent followed after him, gaze low, shoulders up. "The door was stuck."

"How does a door that worked perfectly fine mere minutes ago get stuck, erei'Arrain?" Irok looked around the room, sighing. "You'd better watch your step, Derain tr'Llharu. You have been a great thorn in my side these past few days, and we wouldn't want you to get stuck in Kemo's position, the reckless fool, now do we?" He waved guards in past Maiek, who first went to remove Lahae from the room, and then separate Alin from Kemo's corpse. "One great officer... lost in favour of a child. Unbelievable. The incompetence of this crew is almost funny, if not for the fact that I'm not laughing." He cracked his knuckles, clearly feeling some stress and agitation... Stress and agitation that would need to find an outlet, at some point. Some point soon.

"It won't happen again, sir. I will begin with the clean-up here," he uttered, lowering his head in a bow. The door, of course, did not get stuck. He just made sure it didn't open until it was too late. (edited)

"See that you do. I'm keeping my eye on you, erei'Arrain." With thundering steps, Irok left Snake and the other guards to tend to the mess in the interrogation chamber, swearing incessantly about Kemo's death.