| Rise and Shine |
| Summary: | Arieon's questioning of Constin begins. |
| Date: | 8 Apr 2042 AE |
| Related Logs: | All abduction scenes. |
| Players: |
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| Reactor Room |
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| The entire place smells of smugness and misplaced superiority, until staff describes it differently. |
| Post-Holocaust Day: #407 |
The Marines of the Areion took care to tranquilize Constin once again before 'escorting' him out of his cell, and into the Gun chamber. It's an unremarkable room in the bowels of Engineering. More or less empty, controlled as it is by technicians outside who monitor the interior on video screens from behind a protective wall. All that lies within is the great reactor and a chair, bolted to the floor and equipped with leg and arm restraints. And at present some monitoring devices from Medical, to record Constin's heartbeat and neural activity during the process.
The sleeping Marine has been strapped into place, the room vacated by Areion personnel, and the Master at Arms is locked inside with the Gun. Heat and pale, greenish light fill the chamber as the Gun is brought online, that whatever-it-is that fries Cylon brains wafting through the room. But it won't be the heat or light that awakens Constin first.
The blaring sound of klaxon sirens are pumped through the wireless speakers. And mixed with them, a man's voice, barely distinguishable over the din, but repeated enough that the words eventually emerge. "Time to wake up, Eleftherios Constin…"
As might be expected, the first answer isn't articulate, or even in Colonial standard. A wordless grunt, as the big man picks up his head with a start, instinctively struggling against the restraints for a moment, as Elf gains his bearings. "Huh," he mutters a moment later, after the greeting. Narrow blue eyes take in the green glow of the warm chamber he finds himself in.
"Time to wake up, soldier." The klaxons continue to blare while Constin comes around, the sound and strange light and heat combining to assault all senses within the chamber. Outside it, behind the wall, the process is watched on monitors by Engineering technicians and Marines. And Commander Kepner himself. The man has been making it a point to review as many of these Gun sessions as he can. But within all Constin has is the reactor, the chair, and disembodied voices and sounds being pumped over the wireless system.
Constin clears his throat- making as face at the foul tasting side effect that the tranqs leave in the back of his throat- before spitting to once side. He then sets his face into a familiar fixed stare, and waits for the klaxons to cut out long enough for him to be heard.
The klaxons keep going for a good twenty minutes before gradually decreasing in volume. In that time the voice does not speak again. Constin is merely observed, his reaction to the noise and room itself carefully recorded.
But finally, they subside, and the voice speaks again. "Rise and shine, Gunnery Sergeant."
Constin sits there and soaks it up. To say it has no effect on the man would be false, but Elf bears it out with the forced patience of a soldier who has had to grin and bear worse for longer. His heart rate elevates at various times, even if his outward composure remains largely intact. As the klaxons finally fade, and that nauseatingly cheerful voice pipes back up, Constin's first words are, "Let the record show.. Under Chapter Two, Article Eight-Oh-Nine Dash Nine of the Uniform Colonial Code of Military Justice, this detainment is illegal, and I therefore consider myself a hostile prisoner." The man has had some time to choose his words, and if not for the lowbrow drawl tarnishing the speech, it would sound downright polished.
"We're a war, Gunnery Sergeant. And there are Cylon agents in the Fleet. You may miss cozying up to a skinjob at night, but the rest of us believe it's high time measure were taken to weed out the enemy agents within our midst." Constin may or may not recognize the voice as Commander Kepner's. It goes on. "Tell us about Lauren Coll."
"War is no excuse for treason, or sloppy discipline," Elf retorts with ire audible in his voice at the initial taunt. As soon as he is asked that question, however, the man sets his face in a neutral stare, fixed at the reactor in front of him, and recites, "Constin, Eleftherios. Rank: Gunnery Sergeant. Present deployment: Bee-Ess One-three-Two. Cerberus."
"Did you know she was a skinjob when you married her, Gunnery Sergeant? When you frakked her?" The voice continues without really acknowledging anything Constin is saying. "Was that your plan? She infiltrates the Deck, you infiltrate the Marines, got yourself a nice little Cylon union set up between you. You were there when she 'died.' Convenient, that the guy who ID'd her was taken out then and there. Real convenient."
"Constin, Eleftherios. Rank: Gunnery Sergeant. Present deployment: Bee-Ess One-three-Two. Cerberus." His body temperature has steadily elevated, and the man is sweating profusely in his chair, but the stonefaced expression, and wooden litany straight out of basic training's 'Information you are obliged to provide to hostile captors' is the extent of his answer to that.
There's an almost incidental quality to the 'questioning' that's going on. At least, there's no retribution or uptick in Constin's discomfort at his refusal to provide more than that basic information. The reactor keeps emitting whatever strange sort of radiation that's been engineered in the bowels of this ship, his reaction to it recorded on the monitors both video and otherwise.
"Your wife was a traitor and an enemy agent, Gunnery Sergeant. The evidence weighs heavily in toward that. Pity it'll never been proven until we see a copy of her in our rifle sights. We'll find out soon enough what you are." And then the klaxons start again.
"Constin, Eleftherios. Rank: Gunnery Sergeant. Present deployment: Bee-Ess kiss-my-ass." And then, it's back to the warm discomfort of klaxons. A short shake of his head in an effort to clear the sweat from his eyes doesn't quite succeed, as Elf grits his teeth together behind the mask of stern composure he wills himself to maintain, as long as he can.
With Constin reciting that litany, those behind the Areion curtain seem to content to alternate stretches of silence - save for the low hum pulsating of the reactor - with blaring noise for the stretch of hours he's in the chamber. Eventually it's powered down, and the Marines return to escort him out. Armed again with tranquilizers, should they be necessary. "Feel your brain melting yet, Gunnery Sergeant?" one of them cracks to Constin.
"Corporal, I come from Canceron," Elf mumbles in response. "This ain't but a Saturday," in a token moment of stubborn bravado as he is collected for return to his cell.