He’s one of the new outsiders, just a teenager. But like with the gray alien, age doesn’t matter, so they choose him, because any of them could have information about why they came through the relay. When he leaves his friends alone, they strike.
They aren’t expecting the claws and the teeth, though, or the ferocity of which he fights. He has the gall to warn them to leave him alone before they try to take him. They stun him and render him unconscious with perhaps more force than necessary. He’d looked human, after all, but something was different about him. Especially when, by the time they haul him into the holding cell, his wounds are gone.
And then when they come to get him after two days, he’s raging. Gold-eyed and seeming feral, and he leaves gouges on their armor. They retreat and leave him, not even feeding him for three days. The sixth day, he seems normal again. Seems normal, but they feed him something and leave him to marinate in his loneliness.
On the seventh, they drag him into the interrogation room. The woman sitting across from him doesn’t remove her helmet. There’s a gun sitting across her lap, and if he remembers the scratches on her left shoulder, she’s the same one that stunned him with her biotics.
She raises her head before she speaks, and when she does, her heartbeat and tone are level, voice in a rasp.
“I have no idea what the hell you are. Frankly, I don’t really care. What I do care about is you answering my questions. Tell me what you’re doing here, and how you got through that relay.”
SCOTT
They aren’t expecting the claws and the teeth, though, or the ferocity of which he fights. He has the gall to warn them to leave him alone before they try to take him. They stun him and render him unconscious with perhaps more force than necessary. He’d looked human, after all, but something was different about him. Especially when, by the time they haul him into the holding cell, his wounds are gone.
And then when they come to get him after two days, he’s raging. Gold-eyed and seeming feral, and he leaves gouges on their armor. They retreat and leave him, not even feeding him for three days. The sixth day, he seems normal again. Seems normal, but they feed him something and leave him to marinate in his loneliness.
On the seventh, they drag him into the interrogation room. The woman sitting across from him doesn’t remove her helmet. There’s a gun sitting across her lap, and if he remembers the scratches on her left shoulder, she’s the same one that stunned him with her biotics.
She raises her head before she speaks, and when she does, her heartbeat and tone are level, voice in a rasp.
“I have no idea what the hell you are. Frankly, I don’t really care. What I do care about is you answering my questions. Tell me what you’re doing here, and how you got through that relay.”