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| - With the last of War Shrike squadron landing neatly and being tended to by their respective mechanics, Black Squadron starts arriving one fighter at a time. The pile of cargo and everything that was stripped off the freighter is being carted off to the far side of the hangar bay, well out of the way of the incoming fighters and the personnel scrambling to keep pace. The shuttle with the ST team that was tasked to board the freighter has returned, but with an unexpected guest. That is, a wounded NR Pilot whose fighter took a major hit by the Broadsword resulting in her ejecting from the fighter and it's destruction. Into this melee walks Captain Caiton and the medic team that was already en route to the hangar to tend to the pilots. Receiving word from the leader of the ST that fetched the pilot, Lynae snags one of the medkits and heads for the shuttle as the stormtroopers are opening the hatch and stepping out. The Imperial shuttle will need to have its air cycled, because there is a pervading smell of barbequed flesh coming from it as a burned and unconscious alien form is carried out. Kyrin's helmet is cracked, and much of the upper part of her flight suit is charred, burned away in some locations. Her silver hair, normally bundled into a long plait down her back, is in tatters, half of it burned entirely away, the tendrils clinging via static electricity to her form. Her wings are scorched down their length, one of the wing-spars clearly dislocated from its joint. There are burns on her face, shoulders, and arms of first and second degree. And she's the one that stinks of barbeque, a spicy barbeque tinged with some exotic smell due to her non-human body chemistry. Krieg lands his bomber on the deck, letting Blitz do the post flight checks and such. The two men both know Krieg has a few things to take care of, and seeing that one of the rebel pilots has been found after the battle he needs to take care of that. Jumping out of the bomber, he hands off his helmet and some of his flight gear to an awaiting tech, then begins a light jog to the shuttle. He sees the captain making her way over as well, and nods his head to her, "ma'am." Security details are already underway, and as the ramp to the shuttle opens he gets to it just as it sets down on the deck. Quickly making his way up the ramp the door opens, the smell of burnt flesh prevalent. He states, "Medical teams are coming, status report?" The stormtrooper doesn't have much to say other than, "The rebel is somewhat alive." Krieg nods, and notes the damage to the pilot. He gestures to the troopers, "Secure the area around the shuttle, have a guard posted at all times around this rebel." The familiar scent of wounded soldiers present brings Captain Caiton around to a sort of hyper focus usually reserved for combat or surgery, this being a bit of both. With one of her medics in tow, Lynae nods to Inrokana as he passes her en route to the shuttle where he addresses the security issues even before she arrives, though she's just a few moments behind him. As the wounded pilot is carried out the severity of the pilots wounds are revealed in stages, though only a true biomedical scan will determine the eventual outcome. "Intriguing," Lynae murmurs before nodding to the ST's positioned around as protection both to the prisoner and perhaps from the prisoner herself, though in this condition it would be statistically improbable. Taking the scanner from the medkit in her hands, Lynae approaches and goes into a crouch to pass the hand held scanner of the pilot, trying to determine how much of the appearance is reflected in physiology. Deciding that administering something to dull the pain is as good a place to start as any, Lynae goes to one knee while flipping the medkit open on the floor, retrieving the designated compound and finding an uncharred square of flesh to inject it. Her assistant takes position on the other side, studying the pilot with as much medical curiosity as simple human curiosity. The security alert having been passed to his office, the Imperial Commissar Lanil Jast wasn't far behind Lynae. Riding the turbolift down from the observation balcony to the hangar deck proper, he slows his pace and bears off more to the right, coming to a viewpoint between the Doctor-turned-Captain and the NR pilot, so that he can observe both. The smell is pungent and odd, considering that Kyrin is not exactly human, and Lanil finds himself subconsciously brushing at his nose. He seems content to merely stand by, arms clasped behind his back, and observe the situation unfolding here on the deck. Get the prisoner stablized first...then interrogate. You can't interrogate what's dead. Given the rarity of Chyleni in the galaxy, since so few leave their backwater planet (and it's extremely rare that it happens by that Chyleni's choice), Kyrin might seem even that more striking. Once injected with the painkiller, her lips part and a soft sigh turns into a moan as she stirs. The leathery skin on her wings rustle as she tries to assess the damage on her own. Mind dulled by pain, painkiller, and a lovely brief exposure to vacuum, the X-Wing pilot's eyes are unfocused as they open, grey irises trying to focus nearly in vain on the blob in uniform in front of her. Her midnight-blue skin's purpling in several spots, not from any human-delivered bruises but simply due to getting roasted. The tip of her tail flicks back and forth unconsciously, just a little sign of life there. Krieg observes all that happens, knowing the captain has full control over the situation. He stands back, watching for a moment, then departs the ramp and goes outside to talk with a few other officers and crew members. "Officer of the deck, give me a status report. We need to be operational ASAP if they try another run behind the first." The deck officer pauses from shouting out commands and replies, "Sir, we're down the one fighter, but black squadron is full strength. There are the damaged fighters, I can field a full squadron with the damaged ones down." Krieg nods, "Get the bombers re-armed and everyone to alert. Re-launch fighters to continue the patrols." He grumbles to himself. This was good they won, but the work never ended and the rebels never caught a clue. Sometime in the night, the Director's ship has returned. With quarters on the inside, it has been turned in essence to Director Petra Doom's mobile office. Since her return, things have moved at a rapid pace and while the figure that strides purposefully down the ramp towards the situation unfolding wears the ring of Directorship of the Bureau of Operations, the uniform and rank upon her chest denote the tall woman as the Legion General of the 501st. A pair of StormTroopers in pristine armor march behind her, going to flank Deadly Succubus' hatch. Hands behind her back, Petra strides towards the scene with unhurried steps. The smell of battle, of blood, of war brings a faint smile to her lips and a gleam to her bright green eyes. Approaching the doctor as she assists the prisoner, the StormTrooper General inquires, "Will our guest make it, Captain?" "Aye," Captain Caiton comments without glancing up, her mind obviously cataloguing the results and adjusting the measurement of all administered medications accordingly. The flicking of the pilots tail causes her assistant to jump slightly, "Easy," Lynae states quietly, "automatic response. By example," she continues, "when you get knocked flat, you test your hands and feet, flexing your extremities experimentally." Examining the results of the scan she begins a clear voiced run down of immediate treatments to be administered, relying on her assistant to follow along. "Debridment of all burns and visible wounds," she indicates the burned areas, leaning closer as she speaks. "Test a swatch of skin here with bacta to determine viability and application," she continues. With her fingertips she checks to see if the uniform is as badly melted as it appears, "This will need to be cut away, and her.. wing looks damaged as well. Pull up some files on avian treatments, we must have something on wing setting. " She pauses, pummeling her memory before coming up with, "It'll need to be set before it begins to knit on it's own, so mark that for top of the list once we have her in the infirmary. Advise them that we're on the way." While her assistant relays that information she finally glances over her shoulder then up, blinking once to clear her thoughts as she surveys the tall woman speaking to her. A quick flick of her eyes takes in the uniform, rank, ring, guard and comes up with a conclusion before rising to her feet, "Welcome to the Broadsword, General," she says in a deeply respectful tone of voice. "It'll be an interesting case," she adds, "but physiology wise she's not all that different. But enough to make it challenging." Lanil steps up behind Petra and Lynae and waits a moment after the Captain addresses the Director-General before speaking, "And a challenging case indeed to merit the attention of both the ISB and the Bureau, Captain. It seems your medical skills haven't fallen any with your transition to Command." Turning to Petra, he bows, "Director Doom, it is good to see you again." Kyrin's eyes slowly gain their focus as she hears voices. Very unfamiliar voices. Her nose wrinkles and she hisses with additional pain as the dislocated wing makes its presence known as she shifts it. The aborted movement leads to another one, and even as the remains of her flight suit are being dealt with to ensure they can treat those burns properly, the pilot focuses on the one in front of her... wearing an Imperial captain's uniform. A face she's seen on intel bulletins and as a guest of the Reprisal. Yes, she recognizes the face of Lynae Caiton. So. Those grey eyes shift to the others nearby, and there are no equal signs of recognition for anyone else, although she clearly knows where she is and has an idea how much trouble she might be. In her painkiller-induced fuzzy brain', she realizes that Petra is someone big. And that pile of poodoo she's in just got four times deeper. Her lips part again, this time to speak with a hoarse voice. "Kyrin Sh'vani, 2nd Lieutenant." She then gives her official serial number and shuts up, her air of polite grace under fire. Krieg doesn't waste anytime in getting to the control center on the deck, leaving the others to take care of their new guest. He calls up and has the deck officer launch elements of War Shrike squadron that were there earlier, and the bombers that were not deployed. Six fighters in all and two bombers - they are ordered out. That should take care of that, but the paperwork was not going to end. He talks to a few mechanics and such and has the fighters and recovery teams of debris briefed and moved to execute their different duties. Inclining her head ever so slightly, Petra replies coolly, "Thank you Captain, I am pleased to be aboard..." After a heartbeat's pause, the General continues, "I have seen many battle wounds in my life, I foresee a suitable time of recovery before Commissar Fleming will be able to spend some time with our guest. I will set a guard on her and restrict access to all personnel excepting her medical team until she is able to be transferred to a holding cell where the Commisar will be able to question her and see if there is anything to be gained by keeping her in our custody." Turning slightly, Petra studies Lanil for a long moment before commenting mildly, "Greetings Commissar Jast. I am not entirely sure that this guest is worth the Bureau's attention, I will make that determination once I have Commissar Fleming's report after the guest has recovered sufficiently. In her present condition she is worthless." Snapping the biomedical scanner closed with a quiet sound and returning it to the medkit at hand, Captain Caiton nods respectfully to the General in acknowledgment and agreement. "I would estimate two standard days, depending on healing rate and her response to bacta treatment. If that fails or her physiology is not compatible with radiational methods we will explore other avenues." She gives Jast a nod of greeting but turns as the prisoner rouses enough to be aware of the surroundings and her audience. "Welcome aboard then, Kyrin Sh'vani," she says calmly. "You will be given medical treatment. Please advise my staff of any allergies or known unique physiology traits to adhere too." Kyrin's eyes range around her, looking over Krieg and the other pilots for a few moments before returning her attention to the ones closest to her. Interrogation. Her expression is calm as she listens to what her fate might certainly be from Petra, although when Lynae speaks, her attention goes there. One singed silver brow goes up when the Captain speaks to her politely. She doesn't trust herself to answer verbally, simply nodding once to acknowledge she heard what she was told. Checking on the pilots that did make it, he found that two others were being taken out of their fighters and headed for the medbay. Once the orders are given out as to what is to happen organization wise, he moves quickly to assist with the wounded pilots. Recovery teams would later retrieve the remains, if any, of their comrade shot down. He gets to one of the fighters and assists the crew, a joke comes from the other pilot, "Looks like I kicked the tires and lighted some fires... didn't I Lieutenant? heh." A smile and a bit of a laugh in reply, "Well, you sure make a impression; you'll be fine - the docs will have you back in one piece before you even know it." There really isn't much good he can do besides check up on the man. Seeing that he's going to do ok he heads over to check on their other wounded pilot. With a slight nod of approval, Petra remarks coolly, "Captain, when you are able I would like to meet with you. There are a few items that I would like to discuss." Her eyes spark like jewels, taking on a predatory gleam, "In the meantime, if anyone questions the orders I have given regarding our guest please refer them to me directly. In the meantime, I will be reviewing the members of the 501st stationed aboard the ship." Captain Caiton surveys the wounded pilot again, a glimmer of recognition in her eyes before her blandly neutral expression returns to her face. At her nod the pilot is lifted onto a stretcher and carried towards the Turbolift in the company of two ST's and the medic assisting the captain in the immediate triage duties. Lynae offers another one of those measured and respectful nods towards the General before replying, "Once the prisoner is tended to, General, I am entirely at your disposal." By some stroke of luck or Force intervention, who knows?, Kyrin's uniform had gotten charred enough that there were no salvageable unit patches or any way to identify her posting, rank, or unit. Being unconscious during most of the bacta ordeal was suitable for her, because the wings are rather delicate. Despite their strength, they're the most vulnerable. Somehow, she senses that something's not right, and as she's being cleaned off, her head lifts, lolling about a little. Her midnight-blue skin still shows some scarring and bruises and stuff that make a number of spots more purple or red than blue, but her grey eyes finally open as she tries to get her feet under her once more and to regain her balance. The wings also stretch out to aid in this, tail as well. The tail, it fairly lashes back and forth with sudden agitation as the Republic pilot realizes she's not looking into the face of a friend. Recognition lights up her expression, what little of it can still move despite the treatments. In fact, she experimentally flexes one wing, then the other, just to see that they're still attached. Then she waits for what must inevitably come next, shivering a little. Perhaps fear, perhaps it's the hospital gown. The reports had come in, on how the rebel pilot had been captured, the medical condition she was in, and the nature of her non-human physique. Yet still, it is above and beyond Korynn Fleming to judge a subject until he can see it with his own two eyes. Stepping into the emergency care section of the medical bay, he draws up at a distance to watch as Kyrin starts to come to, his eyes probing the strikingly non-human creature with growing disdain. His upper lip curls in apparent disgust, eyes shelling out as if they were dark blocks of mekole rock from Ord Staktol. "How repulsive," he murmurs in his Coruscanti dialect, musing quietly to himself about the sight before him. "How utterly repulsive." Standing to the side still, observing from a clinical distance, Lynae tilts her head slightly towards Fleming as he makes his remark. "But fascinating all the same," she replies. "Note the movement of the tail. We were unable to determine if it had prehensile abilities or if it was merely an articulated appendage. The wings themselves," she continues, "such structure. Elegance, strength, but fragile. We were almost too slow in setting the bones in the proper alignment. Whole new case logs will be submitted to the Imperial Medical Journal from this prisoner alone." Kyrin turns her head enough so she can spot who spoke next. Something about him doesn't make her day, and after a brief moment of a tail-lash, she tries her level best to still any weak trembling. Her gaze falls back on Lynae as the captain speaks. If the Chyleni woman is offended that she's spoken of as if she were a piece of meat, she gives no visible sign. When she's able, she tries to at least detach herself from the two more or less holding her up. Of course, they might also be there to hold her in place. She'll find out in a second or two. As she makes her attempt, a sort of dignity pervades her expression and bearing, her best pokerface being worn. There is still pain behind her eyes due to the injuries despite the bacta bath, but she does her best to hold herself as erect as her kind normally does. It's not a straight-spine posture exactly, but it's suitable. Her eyes blink once or twice as she patiently waits to find out what will happen next. Taking a few steps closer to Lynae, Korynn keeps his eyes locked on the movements of the prisoner as she starts to gather more awareness. "I'll be sure to submit a few journal entries of my own," he comments in a cryptic manner to the Naval Captain. "I presume you plan on conducting a P.B.T. (post-bacta-treatment) examination," he adds in a dry tone, fully intent on studying the creature were Lynae to examine its condition after the bacta dip. Such knowledge will be critical in his assignments. Gingerly, he reaches for the datapad on his belt, activates it, and begins keying in a few parameters with which to conduct a search on the Imperial database regarding the prisoner's species. "But of course," Lynae replies as she strides forward, signaling to the orderlies attending the prisoner to stand aside, which they do without a word. It is a given that there's no escape from this room. It is a given that there are guards on the other side of the door. Approaching the prisoner with a blank neutral expression on her face, Lynae observes the prisoner attempting to free herself in advance of Lynae's indication for the orderlies to step aside. Once the prisoner is more or less upright, Lynae meets the gray eyes with her own, "Pupils clear, no abnormal or uneven dilation, very good," she dictates clearly. She arches one eyebrow slightly at the prisoner, her only expression, before moving closer to examine the burned tissue. "Keloid type scarring here and here," she indicates the areas with one fingertip, the recording of the procedure continuing both in dictation and vid. "Darker tissue former indicative of scar tissue. Note: it may prove worthwhile to test Bacta-3 to determine if it has better results." She goes back to her examination, working her way around the biobed and scrutinizing the extended wings, "Full mobility?" she inquires of the prisoner, her only direct question. Kyrin's grey eyes flick over to Korynn again, one singed silver eyebrow twitching briefly, and she keeps that gaze steadily upon him, as if she might realize his role in affairs. However, asked a direct question by the good captain, a curt nod is the response. She apparently expects to be poked and prodded, and she offers no resistance whatsoever, all the while, her silent eyes are on her captors, waiting. Watching. Observing them as much as she herself is being observed. Gathering intel. After a few moments, information regarding Kyrin's home planet begins to scroll across Fleming's datapad. He averts his attention to the datapad while listening with keen ears as Lynae speaks, and begins to read as information about Chylene and the Empire's early visits to the planet where they used the flying Chylene for target practice. He makes a quiet 'hmmm' sound as information on Chyleni customs, etiquette and social practices comes up empty. Quietly, he steps over toward Lynae, keeping her between himself and the prisoner as if to remain sterile, and waits until the appropriate moment to show his datapad to the Captain. Of course, it's a given he intends to keep the screen away from Kyrin's gray eyes. Properly gloved, of course, Lynae examines the wingspan carefully, nimble fingertips tracing the outline of the wings and the break indicator. "Without dissecting one of the wings to be certain, our scans indicate that they are similar to avian wing structure," she rambles for a minute or so, at length, regarding that before continuing. "Perhaps we'll find time to do some tests on strength and agility," she muses before moving on. "Only three digits per primary appendage, along with non-human alterations. Intriguing. " She focuses again on the prisoner as she moves around to face her again, "Dietary needs will be addressed at this time," she begins to inquire of the prisoner. "What are your dietary parameters?" she asks directly. "I don't believe that we could provide live game, it would be a challenge," she muses, "possible though." Clearly, she doesn't know what the prisoner eats, or not, for that matter. Kyrin makes no effort to get to Korynn or to read the datapad. She could guess what it might contain. One of the benefits of having a planet so far out there and so otherwise worthless to anyone else is that little is known about it. When Lynae uses the term 'avian', there is a flicker across her face, a slight upturning of one corner of her mouth. Something seems to have amused her. "Human food is acceptable," she says, her voice rusty with disuse and the treatments for whatever gunk and fire she inhaled on that rocket ride from hell. With calm dignity in her voice, she adds, "Only a savage hunts live food. Do not trouble yourself on that account, Captain." Oh yes, she pegged who she thinks Lynae actually is, and then her gaze goes to Korynn again. Once more silent. Almost eerie now that her melodious voice has dropped away. Once certain that Lynae has completed scanning what little the datapad has to offer, Korynn pulls it aside and taps in a request for a surveillance droid from the droid pool, then tucks the datapad into its belt pouch once more. He circles around the prisoner as Lynae continues her examination, and finally locks his eyes with Kyrin's. A sort of malicious intent forms in them, drawn up from his talent at controlling and manipulating his own outward expressions. He speaks nothing for now, nothing aside from the darkness that enters his eyes. Tilting her head slightly as the prisoner properly addresses her, Lynae smiles faintly, a brief expression that fades in but a moment. "Lieutenant Kyrin Sh'vani, do not presume to think that fetching live food for you would be something I would do myself. If your dietary needs required it, we would provide it. After all, we repaired your damage. It is considered bad form to let a prisoner die before fulfilling its purpose. And you have not even begun to enjoy you stay aboard the Broadsword. Let me be the first to welcome you then. I do so hope that you enjoy your luxurious accommodations and sample only the finest of hospitality that the Empire has to offer." She continues in a smooth voice, "Lets dispense with the fencing, shall we? You are, clearly, a prisoner of war. Captured on the field, oh, sorry, in the 'space' of battle. And as such, or until some formal parlay is achieved, you are ours to do with as we wish. I'm sure there are several individuals at hand who would enjoy a few moments of your time. But I digress. Your definition of 'savage' and mine are clearly different. But human food it is then." Kyrin shifts her gaze from Korynn to Lynae, watching the Captain speak. She nods once to acknowledge the words spoken to her, a graceful gesture even now, before once more, she adds two and two and gets five, her steady gaze once more on Korynn. Someone who wants a moment of her time. And with creepy eyes that indicate she'd probably not enjoy that time herself. Folding her wings to her back easily, she watches Korynn rather intensely. If there is any fear in her, she doesn't show it, even her tail stilled. What little an alien face can divulge is merely the first shades of pity. For herself or for her situation or for those around her is anyone's guess. "Well then," states Korynn, his deep voice quiet and controlled. "We have a name and rank. Now give us your assignment, and give us all pertinent information regarding the New Republic's attempts to break the blockade over Coruscant." As he speaks, Korynn begins pulling gloves from his belt and stretching them over his hands and forearms. He will give the prisoner this one chance to submit to his interrogations in a civil way before things will get dirty, after all. Folding his hands behind his back, he turns to face Kyrin again, lifts his chin, and looks upon her with an expectant gaze. Lynae moves around the biobed, removing any remaining monitoring leads attached to the prisoner as Fleming speaks. She walks to the end of the biobed and re-cues the recording with a different time and date indicator before withdrawing a step to give Fleming more room. Unusually quiet, she hands the reins over to Fleming while attempting to discern where her flaw is. "No." Just the one word, that's all the captured pilot says. Her gaze is impassive as she observes the interrogator put on his gloves. A few moments away, her eyes tracking Lynae, cataloguing that one's reactions to this change of who's truly in charge, and then back to Korynn. She folds her hands in front of her neatly, still enough to be a statue as soon as she's done. The only movement out of her is the calm serenity of an eyeblink. There is a long moment of relative silence, with the muffled throbbing of the Broadsword's engines and the beeping of medical equipment filling the silence like a droning, dischordant symphony. Fleming's eyes harden just slightly, and his lip turns in the slightest of sneers, before he lifts his gloved hands and smacks them together with a resounding clap. Cued, two CompForce troopers stride purposefully into view from outside, carrying with them what would appear to be a pair of energy-locking binders. "Captain, I will need you to strap down the prisoner's wings," he states in a methodical manner. "Do ensure that they remain unharmed." All the while, his eyes remain fixed on Kyrin. He takes a step closer, still leaving enough distance between them to give him ample time to avoid a set of clawed fingers. "It would be in your best interests not to struggle," he instructs, almost like a caring father preparing his daughter for punishment. Meanwhile, the CompForce troopers move to either side of Kyrin, with one of them moving to shift Kyrin's arms behind her back for the binding of the wrists, presuming that the prisoner is not foolish enough to disregard Korynn's warning. Lynae stares blindly at the biomedical scanner screen for a moment, her mind paying bare attention to the response of the prisoner while she reviews what she's mentally calling 'the flaw'. Her right hand rubs at her left arm absently, though it doesn't ache any longer, her gaze shifting towards the prisoner once again. For a moment there's a flash of red in her minds eye. A mental image of blood painted along the walls, her own hands bloodied with bits and gibbets of flesh and bone. She blinks again, drawing a soft breath, another minds eye of insight, and she jumps visibly when Fleming claps his hands. Recovering her composure, she strides forward with the CompForce troopers, signaling her orderlies as well to assist. Issuing cool, empty voiced orders, she examines the structure of the wings before calling for extra materials. Two surgical tool tables are cleared off and brought to either side of the bio bed and the wings carefully extended then strapped down, "Shall we restrain the prisoner as well?" she inquires of Fleming, indicating that they can bind her to the biobed as well as bind the extended wings. There is zero resistance coming from Kyrin. When her wings are strapped down, she even assists the effort by extending them... not so fast as to give anyone any ideas, but definitely not trying to stop what will happen. Neither jumping at the clap or wincing at the tightness of the bonds, she allows her arms to be drawn behind her and her wrists bound. All the while, her eyes remain on Korynn like a targeting computer. Once more, there is pity in those grey orbs. "No," replies Fleming. "The prisoner will walk herself to her new quarters, so long as she is still capable of conscious thought." He watches with detached duty as the CompForce troopers finish with the binding of Kyrin's wrists, then turn to step to either side in a classic escort routine. One of them still holds a spare set of binders, and the other removes a stun baton from its sheath at his side, ready for use in the instance that Kyrin won't go peacefully. "Come along now, Lieutenant Sh'vani." Turning his back on Kyrin, his words carry with them a lightly mocking tone as he over-stresses the sibilance of her last name. "I have something to show you." With his back turned to her, Korynn allows for a smirk to grace his lips. Lynae nod's to her orderlies, they detach the top tray of the surgical tool tray tables and remove the legs upon which those trays stood. The construction of the tables is such that the metal is lightweight, but durable. Easily sterilized and cleaned, actually. But once the supports are removed the trays remain bound to the wings and the prisoner is able to be upwardly mobile, but with the wings bound out and to the sides rather like an insect on a pin. Kyrin hesitates briefly as she tries to adjust herself to these new weights. After a moment of satisfying herself that she's not about to fly off with these things attached to her wings, she gingerly checks her airspace. She doesn't really feel like accidentally clocking one of her guards with these things just yet. Not responding to Fleming's voice with anything other than a slight upraising of her eyebrows, she has a sinking feeling that the Imperials are not about to show her presents for her hatching day anniversary. When the guards move, so does she. Without another word, Korynn leads the procession out of the medical bay, and through the deck of the ship. The entourage suffers quite a bit of odd looks as they go along through the ship toward the turbolift banks, but this is intentional. It's a standard procedure, partially developed by Fleming himself, which he calls 'de-personalization'. Humiliation would be a better term. Into the turbolift they go, joined by the floating, spherical surveillance droid Korynn had summoned earlier. As the lift heads to another level, Fleming speaks quietly into his comlink. "This is Fleming. Procedure thirty-seven alpha in approximately five minutes, cell A-7." The turbolift lets the entourage off in the security deck, and Korynn leads the escort toward one of the cellblocks, toward the seventh cell door, which is open and ready to receive its new prisoner. Korynn stands at the door and motions inside, so that the guards can escort Kyrin in. Inside the cell there are but two objects. One is a chair of sorts, currently in an extreme upright position, as if the goal would be to keep its 'user' in a standing posture. There are odd contraptions at the top, middle, and bottom of the chair. Across from it, a simple holoprojector. Accompanying the procession through the ship, Lynae notes the glances cast in their direction, and makes mental notes of any who seem to disapprove. Those who make that momentary lapse will be interviewed at a not-so later date. At her word the halls are crowded with personnel along the way, a close circuit feed relayed throughout the ship, including the large screen in the crew commons, to ensure the largest audience possible. Kyrin has never been a stranger to odd looks in her days in the galaxy. As she walks behind Korynn, between the two guards, she keeps her eyes front and her chin high, almost regal in posture and movements. Her bare feet pad on the deck gracefully, and her tail resumes a slight flicker back and forth, standard for when her people walk. Any glares or other sour looks thrown her way are met with that same serene dignity she's had throughout the whole affair. There is a sort of melancholy air to her. She knows what to expect in basic terms. It will end in her death, most likely. A prospect that doesn't seem to upset her on the face of it. The cell is examined with a clinical air, almost, and she stops precisely when she was intended to stop, waiting patiently for the next instruction. The CompForce troopers assigned to the Broadsword's detention facility are well versed in Fleming's various procedures. They go to work in removing Kyrin's wrist-binders, only to force her into the contraption, where she is bound in a new way. The devices at the bottom prove to lock her ankles against the straight chair. The devices at the middle are meant to lock her forearms against the chair and to either side of her torso, which is strapped down by a tough, syntheleather belt. Her head is left alone, for now. As the CompForce troopers go to work inside, Korynn remains outside, conferring quietly with the surveillance droid and reading data that scrolls along a small display screen in the spherical droid's body. Eventually, he finds what it is he's looking for. "That's it. Pipe it into the holoprojector, set it for constant replay, begin and end only on my command." Finally, Korynn walks into the cell itself, and strides toward the upright and flattened out chair that now holds Kyrin captive. He silently manipulates the contraption at the top, or the head of the chair, until two padded braces are pressed tightly against either side of Kyrin's forehead and jawbones, essentially holding her head forward. She'd have to break her own jaw to look away. Then, with a careful motion, he pries her eyelids open and systematically forces clamps onto the eyelids. These clamps, built into the contraption, serve two purposes. They keep the eyes open at all times, and allow a drip of saline into the eyes to keep them from drying out. "Enjoy your evening, Sh'vani," he says quietly, then turns away and begins to leave. The rest is up to the surveillance droid, who has plugged itself in to a terminal just outside the cell. The doors close, leaving Kyrin alone in the cell, which slowly begins to darken. And then, the holoprojector comes to life, and begins playing a scene before her. The scene, recorded by security cameras some time ago, shows Kitterick Brandis Finian, being tortured and mutilated by the two people who Kyrin has met this very evening. Captain Lynae C. Caiton, and Korynn Fleming. And, of course, it repeats, over and over again, unrelenting. Standing in the control center of the detention wing, Lynae cues up one of the cameras in the prisoners cell to observe the administration of hospitality. Curiosity inspires her to cue another camera to catch the feed that begins to play, her expression slipping only the once before she goes blandly neutral once more. It's not self horror that's reflected in her brief expression, it's merely another flash of a room painted with blood that she sees. Turning away she exits the control room without speaking to the guards. This is Fleming's show, not hers, not yet. Within the darkened cell, the loose tendrils of Kyrin's silver hair waft on the breeze of whatever ventilation they've got going on in here. As she's strapped into the chair facing the holoprojector, she begins to understand what will happen. Re-education? No. Too early. No, this is intended to make her scream and blubber and be willing to sell out her own clutchmates. Of course, there is the unconscious desire to blink despite the saline solution keeping her eyes properly wet. Over and over, she watches the scene. Her mouth can't move, so she can't grind her teeth. Any instruments charged with reading her bodily responses will register movements amongst most of her muscles. Testing the tightness of her bonds, little shivers that are less about rage and more about freeing herself. She can't look away very well. The holo's just too close. And so she watches Brandis's torment over and over again. Yet, as the hours pass, and she tires both physically and mentally, her slender frame hanging in the chair limply, there's a dullness to her grey eyes. She's no longer seeing what's in front of her. Having retreated within her own mind, Kyrin Sh'vani's lost in memories of better times. A newly-healed and triumphant Brandis. He survived. So can she. Or if she can't... Force help those who kill her.
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