Discovery Gaming Community

The operation had been quick and effective. Finn wasn't a man who was hard to find. Especially considering that he was supposed to be an important figure in almost any scientific field, this fact in itself was baffling. A bar. The Arcani who had been tasked with shadowing, and apprehending the Administrator had found Finn McCool in a bar, quite intoxicated, making it easy for the skilled infiltrators to persuade the man to accompany them. Entirely without violence. Well, until the Administrator sobered up and found himself in the cell of an APM vessel heading towards the depths of Omicron Rho. A little bit of advanced silencing under the threat of airlock evacuation training had been necessary to silence his mouth.

Now, entering his little, humble abode, she felt almost bad for not having specified that he should at least look presentable. Damaged wares sold cheaper. "I take it you had a pleasant night?" asked Cordelia Lyell, Guildkeeper of the Core. With a hand, she stroked a hair off her pristine white suit. "Do you know what day it is?" She came to a halt approximately two steps away from where Finn was restrained against the chair he was sitting on. The door closed behind them, and Lyell knew there was someone protocolling the entire conversation, so there was no need for her to take notes.

It seemed he was suffering from a short term memory loss. Such 'blockages' were unsurprising, Lyell figured, given the medicine needed to sedate the man. There was something perfidious about the idea that they could have potentially had this talk a lot of times already, as this would reliably wipe the last day of his memory. "Were you raised in a barn, Mr. McCool? One does not address authorities by first name." She wouldn't call herself vainglorious, but there was a certain degree of satisfaction she derived from being able to have people address her formally, with title even. "You are here because I willed it. There has been an incident with a Zoner Colony Ship called Arcadia that broke the ceasefire." The words would tell him all he'd need to know.

"Of course, as the de facto leader, I saw fit to put the rapier to the Confederacy's throat by seizing the head of the hydra, as it were." Her stance was rigid, her hands folded behind her back as she stood before him, the neon light of the empty room illuminating her pale, old face.

This reaction was to be expected. In fact, she had heard it at least five times already. Since Finn had been brought here, it had been at least two weeks. Suppressing any reaction to his spiteful reproach, Lyell simply nodded briefly, slowly. "You are not telling me anything new, Mr. McCool," she told him evenly. Turning her head, she nodded towards the door and a figure dressed in what looked like a full-body armor of a sleek, black material entered the room, the door closing behind him. From out of Finn's vision, the figure would start pulling a medical tray closer to the bed, though what exactly was on it eluded Finn's limited sight, even if he turned his head to the side as much as possible.

Tired of Finn's words, Lyell watched the figure work, her eyes resting firmly on whatever artisian craft was being prepared by the evidently male figure. There was nothing of value coming from Finn's mouth, and if she was being honest, she didn't need anything from him. What would follow was simply amusement. After all, she could have his short-term memory wiped again, just as it had happened many times before. Granted, the more they did it, the higher the chance of him eventually suffering a catastrophic brain-tissue degeneration, but as far as Lyell was concerned, she didn't crave anything inside that skull. The only sounds in the room was the soft clanking of whatever the man behind Finn was preparing.

Frustration.

There were few instances in which Lyell could truly say that she had felt exasperated in her life. Fancying herself a woman of composure and class, such things were considered beneath her notice. Still, if there was something she could not help but take note of, it would be being stuck. It had been days since the last time she had spoken to the Administrator who was still locked in her 'cellar', as she liked to call it. She simply couldn't find the energy in herself to subject herself to his mindless screams. There was a sort of idle wonder about how long it would take until the treatment she had ordered him to be subjected to would evacuate any semblence of humanity left in his skull, hollowing it out like a pumpkin for halloween. It was akin to a child in school, dissecting an animal in biology class for the first time. There was simply something visceral, and Lyell even dared say, pleasing about the thought of one of her enemies suffering worse pains than even biblical punishment had prescribed. If there was a good, a gestating figure looming over everything and orchestrating their lives to the tee, every little detail to amuse himself, Lyell was convinced that this God was not a merciful or caring creature — and neither was she. He had not spoken. Regardless of how adamant they had tried to pry the secrets of the Ingenuus Power Cores out of Finn McCool's feelble skull, he had not yielded, given no quarter.

With one finger, Lyell turned the page of the book in front of her. She was sitting in her study, secluded in the farmost reaches of Durban, quite far from the suffering of McCool. The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul. It wasn't like she necessarily needed these things, but she found a strange satisfaction in owning things that the mortal soul would not be able to afford. The book in front of her was ancient, believed to have been taken from Sol by one of the passengers of the Hispania, and she had procured it for a sum so abhorrent, it would make Gallic nobles blush. With a resounding snap, the book was closed and pushed to the side. Putting her head into her hands, Lyell remained like this for a while before staring off into the distance, into the corner of her room, ponderous. The electronic light streaming from the ceiling illuminated her grey hair, laying bare to all who could see her advanced age that she so adamantly denied and refused to show, although it was taking a toll on her.

With a hand, she opened a tab on the terminal that was mounted on the desk in front of her and appraised the contents of what was shown. It had been a while since she had contacted them. It had been more of a mood, really, nothing concrete. There had always been a rather insatiable desire to find out whether these creatures were capable of more than simple aggression. Culture, art. Maybe even a soul? What would she gain from doing anything for them? Nothing tangible, that was certain. The fiends were way too sly to yield anything of note, anything that she could use. Then again, what would she do even if they did? She already was rich, richer than 99.9% of Sirius. She could buy an entire planet if she wanted to, or better yet, simply take one for herself out here, in the Omicrons. After all, the useful idiots of the Core would do anything for their mistress.

And yet it all seemed hollow. Lyell had long since forewent the pleasures money, realizing that there was a certain treshold, that, once passed, would simply devolve her frenzied avarice into gluttonous self-indulgence that would ultimately lead to ruin. Idly, she tapped the edge of the nearly invaluable book that was lying in front of her. One of the only copies of the bible that were yet preserved from Sol. There was the sudden urge to destroy it, simply because she could. Not her problem that the money that went into acquiring this could have probably funded the evacuation and continued safety of the entire population of Planet Nuremberg from the dark matter catastrophe in Munich, but she stopped herself. After all, wanton destruction served no purpose.

Sighing, she stood up, the chair she had sat on grinding over the expensive ground loudly in the complete and utter silence of the room. With decisive steps, Lyell moved towards the door and left, intending to pay McCool one final visit that would be the deciding factor in whether she would decide to finally allow him to die or not. God might be neither merciful nor kind, but even he got bored at some point.

They had had this before. It was always the same. After a certain point, all desire to duress from him useful information had yielded to a more visceral desire to simply see him suffer. It had been fun, for a while, at least, though after hours upon hours of it, it had gotten stale. "I must congratulate you," Lyell said, taking a dainty step into the cell that had been McCool's housing for several months now. She wondered whether he would instantly turn blind at being released into the blindingly bright deserts of Nauru. "I believe it is time you regained your freedom." She came to a halt merely out of reach of his legs. She wouldn't debase herself by suffering an ill-thought-out assault of his, after all. "Freedom from me, that is."

If there had been any doubt on what to do prior to this, it was gone now. The simple prospect of his unbelieving stare upon realizing what she had envisioned for him made it all worth the effort. She snapped her fingers, and through the door came two other generic looking men in grey uniforms, who positioned themselves behind the chair that Finn was bound to. He would only be hearing the chains that bound him being tampered with before the men grabbed his arms and pulled him upright. The treatment as well as the fact he had not received much space or opportunity to move made it visibly difficult for Finn to walk, though the men were strong enough to drag him, courtesy to the H+ Clinic. "Bring him to the Insidiosus," Lyell instructed the men, who nodded and started moving towards the door with their captive, Lyell walking exactly three steps behind them as the door of Finn's cell closed in a decisive manner.