A Reluctant Alliance

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Ana rolls her eyes a little, but it's in a fond way as he mentions his father and she shakes her head, but accepts his answer. "Perhaps I will see if I can hail Saliphia tomorrow. Rakobe might have gotten the lines back under our control..." She speaks in an absent way, not really believing her own words or the hope of them, but she also isn't really focused on the answer, looking at the screen Oran has been studying with interest of her own now.

Space mines?

Her eyes narrow and she types something into the computer, tilting her head as the data rises. "Those were not there two months ago. Whoever has placed them, and I am guessing that would be our lovely friends here, did them illegally. There is no mention of space mine barricades scheduled for that area." she informs her husband and sure enough the red dot that is the enemy ship starts toward the mines on the screen.

Ana looks pensive, tail sweeping behind her in agitation and snarl breaks past her lips before she reigns it in and speaks instead. "They have something beyond those mines. It's probably cloaked." Gold-hazel eyes meet Oran's amber ones and she hopes that her husband is still as committed to this mission as she is.

"Looks like we get to play dodge the space mine. That was my favorite game in flight school. You?"
 
"They what?" Oran demands sharply, the quick bolt of anger sprouting from nowhere. "What do you mean they weren't there a few months ago!" Clearly being rhetorical, Oran leans over the table to see Ana's screen. "Dammit, you're right," he didn't doubt her, just hoped that she would be wrong so that they wouldn't have to navigate through the spinning mines. As usual, his quickened heartbeat soon slows to an anticipated murmur. Anything can happen in space, he is well aware but mines... really? He hates mines.

"Sorry I shouldn't have snapped at you, Ana. Forgive me?" For a moment, he is calm and collected, even smiling - the smile that asks for forgiveness. "But let's get this show on the road, shall we? Damn Hive is trying to cripple us. Can you tell when the codes were sent for these mines to be activated or, even better, when they were deployed and then activated? If it's no trouble, that is." Reaching down, Oran pulls a leaver into the second gear, turning off their auto pilot. Ana should know that he has to fly the ship manually through the mines or else they'll end up like swiss cheese or worse, coffee grains.

The controls underneath his fingers shake, the wheel he grips onto fighting to break free from his grasp. The pulses from the mines are disrupting their course, the whole ship being bombarded by invisible waves of enemies. Still, they soldier on through the turbulence, sweat starting to form already on her husbands brow. All he can feel is the pounding of his own heartbeat, some anxiety settling in for he knows he is losing control of their ship. With each push, he has to jerk the controls now, setting her back on course.

"I hated that game," Oran snarls through clenched teeth, not processing of Ana is being sarcastic or not.
 
"Forgiven. Though, there isn't much to forgive." she answered back, not at all fazed by his angry outburst. She's smart enough to know it wasn't aimed at her and she didn't take it all personally. After all, how many times as she exploded at Oran while not really being angry at HIM at all? Turnabout is certainly fair play and right now they have more things, more important things on their minds than irrationally hurt feelings.

She nods at her husband's request and sets to work on the computer, fingers flying and her eyes doing the same. Her brother has always teased that she should have been a hacker because Ana certainly has a knack for it. Now it comes in handy as she relays the information Oran wants. "Deployed three weeks ago and activated four days later." she intones and then, glancing over at her husband, she moves and her next action is instinctive and she places her hands on his shoulders, thumbs and fingers working firmly to knead the tension as it occurs and she bends to her head and places a kiss on the top of his own before she can think about it.

"Relax. Focus and breathe, Oran. You've got this."

Her question had been sarcastic, but the fact of the matter is that Ana was always good at 'maze', 'dodging' and 'obstacle' training. She knows that to have a firm grip and a steady will is good, but so is breathing, letting instinct guide you instead of fear, to work with the ship and not against her when she is already facing threat. Ana knows this and she speaks to her husband softly, but with all the confidence in the world in him. "You can do this. I have faith in you."
 
"This really doesn't have anything to do with faith," Oran quickly breathes, pulling up on the wheel, causing their craft to barrel downwards. His free hand grabs Ana's wrist, trying to steady her as much as he can. Small flames starting to come through the holes of his skin. Glancing towards her seat, he nods, signaling that she might want to sit down for this. It's not that he is rejecting her words but times where it's life or death, Oran hardly uses the world 'luck' to cut it. In his mind, he is either skilled enough to dodge the swirling mines or he dies trying. It's simple and straightforward, no luck about it.

"Thank you," he does tell her after another jerk to the controls. "Could you strap yourself in, there might be a few barrel rolls. I don't see how else I can--" his voice strains itself as he reaches down to push a transmission into another, more suitable gear. His abdomen clenches and his stomach in return feels like it's dropped ten feet into his intestines. Still, he keeps clicking switches this way and that, fueling different parts of the engines so that they swerve at just the right angle to bypass the blinking mines. "F2," he mutters, searching frantically for another ship, "Is it on your panel? Ana? Is it?" He barks and for the moment, he fears the worst. The ship fails to respond, the mine blinking closer and closer to them as they speed towards it, Oran trying his best to pull the ship out of the way.
 
Ana does as he wants, strapping herself in and it's none too soon as the ship lurches and she's thrown against the belt around her lap and chest. She grits her teeth, but focuses on the task at hand, helping as she's able as her husband takes the brunt of the work. Ana wishes for more to do but when Oran barks for F2, she finds it swiftly, because that's what she's been trained to do for years. "Yes!" Her hand slams down on the button and anticipating what Oran will need next, knowing his next move, she pushes a few more buttons on her panel as well and the ship dives abruptly and rolls, sending their stomachs into their throats and their equilibrium spinning.

They avoid the mine by a hair's breath, but they have avoided it and Ana breathes out slowly, watching the screen for the next threat. It takes all their skill and cooperation to get them out of the mine field, but they do get out and when they reach the other side, sweat pours off both of them and Ana's limbs shake with the relief that they are, in fact, alive.

She fumbles with her straps, but eventually gets them undone and leans forward with her head coming almost between her knees. She lets out a moan and cradles her head. "Oh, stars above... I take it back. I hate that game."

She breathes out slowly and finally raises her head, pushing her red hair back as she brings her eyes to the panel. Time to find out what has been waiting for them on the other side. She blinks, unsure what she's seeing at first, but it becomes clear soon and Ana curses under her breath, glancing at Oran with a grim expression. "It's a ship. A massive ship."
 
"I thought you might take it back," Oran half smiles to his wife before feeling another jerk at the controls. Pinning his shoulders back against his seat, he pulls and spins the wheel as if he were a crazy rally driver. The last few rows of mines are hell but the two of them, together, cruse through them. But right before their girl can spin one last way, they're thrown to the left, a few buttons blaring red, alerting them of damage to their right wing. "Dammit!" Oran growls, checking their status before freezing. He too has found the ship with his own two eyes. "That's one big cruiser... Ana... Ana... have they seen us yet?" Torn between two problems now, Oran stands, glancing from the broken wing to the ship in front of them.

"There is no way we can avoid their magnetic pull, if they have it for most cruisers I know do, if we have that lame wing." His hands run through his hair, a hand then coming to rub Ana's shoulder gently, trying to ease her discomfort from the hellish flight. He assumes they burnt a pretty portion of their tank flipping fancy in the black sky of blue mines. "Part of the wing has been -taken off- by that mine. I think we're lucky we didn't go with the blow as well. Can you see the extent of the damage, dear? Is there any way we can get out there and fix it either automatically or manually? Anything to make us ..." then he just stops talking, swallowing as he comes to a conclusion. "You know, there's no point. They've already seen us or at least know we're coming. They -ought- to. With a size ship that big, I bet they're tracking the whole damn system."
 
She didn't answer his question at first, hardly aware he was even speaking as she stared at the gigantic ship in their window. It was covered in the same kind of spikes that the smaller ships had, but it was longer, like a great Old-Earth hammerhead shark with a great many ports and guns lining the impressively thick hull. A hull, that Ana could see was covered in what appeared to be blood, just like the other ships. It dwarfed some of the biggest star-ships she'd ever seen, even those belonging to their own people and a great many smaller ships buzzed around like bees around a queen.

A Queen. Oh, stars, a HIVE. They were called the Hive!

This was the mother-ship.

The Princess started when Oran touched her shoulder and she looked at him with dilated eyes, the fear these aliens gave off having started to affect her without her being aware of it. And now that she was, Ana made a conscious effort to breathe slowly and use her mind. Had it seen them? She blinked and looked back at the scanners, expression hardening as her gold-haze eyes looked back out the window, the sight there confirming what the scans already told her.

"They know we're here." she told him in a rather calm way and then took a deep breath, looking back at the panel, pulling up information about their own vessel before she shook her head, lips pressed firmly together. "We could repair some of the damage, enough to perhaps be safe at...75% speed capacity and with limited maneuvering, but we'd have to fix it manually and I don't think...that's going to happen." she concluded, watching five smaller ships drawing closer.

They hadn't blasted them out of the sky yet, though and Ana wasn't sure if that was good news or bad.
 
His throat feels dry, even making it hard to breathe. A cough follows his attempt at a solid breath, his whole core shaking. "So this is their home base, so to say..." Ana can feel his fear rise in his stomach, the organs there tightening on themselves, "And they're coming straight for us." His armored hands run through his hair again and again for its his way of trying to calm down. So much is being asked of them now. Do they run or do they stay? The bloody ships grow closer and closer and Oran can't help but feel a blanket of doom wrap around his shoulders. This is the end. Is what he thinks, his hand finding Ana's and squeezing down. "There is no point in running. They're too close now."

Oran thinks long and hard about the tracking device stuck on the belly of Jamekon's ship. Did these Hive creatures -know- about it and purposely draw them in to the Queen bee or mother ship? Is this all part of the plan? For as soon as they exited the mine fields, the radar bleeping and alarms blaring to alert them of the wing damage, those ships exited the large hammerhead shark's belly. Those ships are small and that means they ought to be really agile and quick, Oran can see the double stacked boosters from here. With their ship in tatters on one wing, its hopeless to make a grand escape out of here.

"Ana, I think we should let them capture us." Looking to his wife, he assumed she would make such a face. It's not like Oran to go down without a fight but if she lets him speak, he continues. "It's either we put up a fight and that mother ship incinerates us with her lasers or we can calmly surrender, be taken prisoners, and find Jamekon. I'm sure that ship is big enough to hold your ... your.. dammit, what is it called? The Dray- dragon thing." His hand is still wrapped around hers, the ships drawing within 200 feet of their ship. Kneeling down before her again, Oran waits for her response. The man's hands shake slightly, both hands now on hers. "I promise you we'll get out of this alive and with your brother. I swear to you."

The enemy ships hail their vessel, a green light flashing like a lighthouse. If they answer the call, maybe they'll have some negotiation or it will just be an early alert for how screwed they are. Oran squints though, looking back over his shoulder. "Ana... isn't it odd that they're -calling- us instead of just boarding us and killing us? Well, or capturing. Those ships are far too cruel looking for them to have changes of hearts when thinking about ripping our limbs off and smearing our blood on their ship."
 
Ana knows they can't run. She didn't need Oran to confirm it for her, but somehow she's glad he has because part of her wants to insist there is a way out of this and his words bring her back down to reality...or is that his hand that's gripping her so tightly even as she does the same? She doesn't know and doesn't care right now. The fact is that she's thinking realistically now and Ana searches through their possibilities...which she is scared to admit are few and far between.

That's when Oran speaks of being captured and Ana shoots him the look he is well aware he'll get; incredibility. She is too startled to interrupt him and she listens to him logic out this decision. She knows he's right and the fact that she'll probably be able to shift at some point makes her nod slowly at his reasoning, but when Oran kneels and takes her hand in both of his, she is trembling far worse than he is. She hears his words, his promise and while she wants to believe him, will believe him at some point, she can only look at him now with wide, dilated eyes, undulated fear in the depth of her gold-hazel gaze. She's trying hard to hide it and failing miserably.

She doesn't want to be a prisoner. She's been a prisoner too often. The thought honestly terrifies Ana in a way few things do, but she's holding it together well enough as she nods jerkily, knowing they don't have much of a choice. It's the only response she can give him and Ana is almost grateful for the distraction of green flashing lights and she lets out a shaky sigh, standing and moving her hand from Oran's in order to click the message open. They might as well see why they are being hailed instead of incinerated.

A Hiverien's face greets them and the creature speaks in a rough, broken kind of common tongue. "You now property of Hive. You will surrender. Human, you will lay down all weapons and armor. Sister, you will join brother. You will help us break him."

Ana couldn't have gone whiter.
 
"Ana..." Oran breathes, attempting to mentally prepare himself for what horrors may arise once they step into that steel cage. He tries not to show it but sweat forms on his brow, fear causing him to cease breathing all together. For a moment, of course, but it leaves him with ragged breath.There will be no glorious escapes, he is certain of it. These men or rather these hive creatures seem to know exactly what Oran and Ana are thinking and thus preparing for whatever tricks they have up their sleeves. They must have known about the tracker or at least guessed as much.

"Ana, listen to me," Oran breathes once the flickering hologram flickers out of commission on the dash. They're alone once more but not for long. "Slice my arm, Ana," working quickly, for time is not their friend, Oran starts to take apart the armor on his forearm. The bracers fly off then he clears the metal up to his elbow, holding out his brachioradialis for her to examine, "Ana?" She looks at him, unable to comprehend his question in her ramshackle of a mind, "Just cut it this big," his thumb and forefinger make a length, "And this deep, if you can. Please Ana, do this for us, trust me. It'll help." When she hesitates, he acts. Swiftly and without a second thought, he casps in hers, the fire snapping to life before their very eyes.

Slowly, her claws start to show themselves and he makes the incision himself with a tightly clenched jaw. "Yow!" He sucks in a breath, looking at the damage after opening his shut eyes, "Oh that's grand," Looking at the incision, Oran smiles. Out of all the searing pain and throbbing jabs he is experiencing, the man smiles. But, his eyes reveal a larger plan in the back of his head, "This ought to work." Hardly thinking about it, Oran leans up and kisses Ana's cheek before collecting his armor pieces and bounding off to the medical wing. Once there, he squeezes a slim metal triangle, about the size of his finger, into the cut. Biting his tongue so he doesn't scream out, Oran injects around the wound with a strong serum of lidocaine, chuckling the empty syringe on the floor. With no time to lose, he finds a needle and thread, his fingers shaking from the various injections to stabilize his system and to help him not bleed out.

An alarm sounds, the Hiverien ships forcing themselves to dock with their smaller vessel. Oran wipes the sweat from his brow, quickly sewing up the wound as quickly as he can. It's hardly perfect but at least it'll keep the skin together. Wrapping it in gauze and tape, Oran straps back on his armor. This whole time, he hardly noticed who is standing in front of him.
 
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Ana looks after him as he bounds off and she had no clue what he is doing, still doesn't seem to truly comprehend what is going on. It's a dangerous state for her to be in and she looks down at her claws, at the blood one of them with a sickening feeling. Oran's blood. She doesn't know why that suddenly bothers her a great deal, but it does and she wiped it off carefully before retracting her claws and her head snaps up and around, hearing the alarm.

She whimpers. There is no one to hear her, to judge her and for a moment she allows herself to simply be scared, to be the young woman she is and not the warrior she's trained to be. It can't last long, she can't stand where she is, wishing she could hide, forever and Ana slowly swallows down anything else that wants to escape her vocal cords and makes herself take a deep breath, to think like the fighter she is.

It's hard. It's harder than she will ever want to admit, but by the time the aliens actually come on board their ship, guns trained, she has some control back. They arrest her first, having gone to the cockpit first and Ana lets them yank her arms behind her back, cuffs connected by an energy-tendril holding her wrists securely and Ana knows that to struggle against such cuffs will result in a very painful jolt. She doesn't fight and yet pain still comes because there is the problem of her tail and these creatures are a mixture of advancements and barbaric...and they have some experience with Saliphian tails due to Jamekon.

Four aliens hold her tail between them and when Ana starts to panic, another two hold her body. The seventh Hiverien doesn't waste time stabbing a metal spike through the end of her tail and Ana screams, thrashing wildly at the pain and feeling jolts of electric energy run through her limbs, her core as the cuffs activate. She doesn't care, still trying to get away as two energy-streams are connected to each end of the metal rod and said energies are connected to her wrist manacles, effectively making her tail useless.

Ana is released then and she falls, trying to breathe past the pain, no longer screaming, but her breathing ragged and her body shuddering uncontrollably. She can't escape the pain, can't ease it in any way and when she's hauled to her feet, Ana barely takes note of when Oran walks in, trying not to scream again as she grits her teeth.
 
Oran's bodily instinct, his core protector, wishes to fight back when the men come into the medical wing. Seeing the half bloodied tools and plenty of syringes littering the ground, he figures they'll either think him a maniac or check him for any metals. Oh that would be bad, very bad. He thinks to himself, just imagining the magnetic pull unravel all of his quick thinking. He'll bleed out to death, surely, knowing there is also a few metal plates lining his ribcage due to a series of injuries on and off the battlefield.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he smells burnt flesh, his burnt flesh, as a pair of shockers are hooked up to his chest. If he tries and run, or he assumes do anything they don't like, they'll simply click a button on their arm controls and watch him squirm like a bug underneath a magnifying glass on a cloudless day. They give him a few test volts, giving him clear indication what might happen if he tries to escape the transition from his own ship to the mother ship. Then he sees Ana and the sense of purpose, his own reason for living, shines right before his very eyes. She needs him and he'll do all he can to escape and save her and her brother. Their contact doesn't last long though.

The prince opens his mouth to question Ana's woebegone and constrained expression, not seeing the spike through her tail. He knows what pain looks like on her face, every crease and line of her face signaling to him that she is in distress. "What have you done to her, you bastards!" Oran starts to squirm, trying to break free of the cuffs and make his way over to her as the tall creatures carry her down the opposite corridor once they reach her ship. The last thing he remembers is immense pain, raw and hot energy coursing through every cell of his body. Electricity is one hell of an incentive.
 
Ana wakes in a cell, white walls with red stains around her and clear, blaster-resistant glass from floor to ceiling in front of her. The room she's in is big enough that she can stand, big enough to take six steps in each direction and perhaps eight diagonally, but it's bare and lifeless and she's chained, this time to the wall, the energy links that connect her wrists to white steel able to be retracted at a moment's notice, slamming her back against the harsh white and rendering her helpless. Her tail is hooked up in such a manner as well and while Ana has the freedom to move around right now, even being able to spin and not be hurt by the energy that sparks and snaps, following her movements, she is not free to leave the cell or even try to escape.

And right now she doesn't try to. She simply lays where she's been put and tries to work past the pain she's in as her eyes adjust to her surroundings and she raises her head to look out through the glass. She blinks, registering slowly that Oran is in a place identical to her own across the corridor and next to his cell another figure sits. A figure she knows...

Jamekon!

As if he has heard her thoughts, the orange-haired boy raises his head and if one disregards the blood and bruises on him, his smile is innocent and sweet, but slightly cheeky all the same. "Hi, Ana. You should talk to him. I think he'll wake soon."

Ana smiled a little, amazed to be seeing her little brother, to hear his voice despite the circumstances and she stays laying down, but calls over to her husband, wondering how badly he might be injured. "Oran? Oran, wake up."
 
They are more than just prisoners, Oran, Ana, and Jamekon, are all showcases. Three white walls, allowing any blood present to be easily seen and laughed at by the passing troops or guards, and glass. Thick and supposedly impenetrable glass as thick as Oran's pointer finger. Whatever plan Oran had shortly before their capture better work or else there is no hope of escape. It's as likely as a fly finding its way out of a sealed metal box. Do they have enough time to slowly find an exit throughout their prospective years of being held? No, these men are smart and for one reason or another, they want Oran and the others to suffer. First impressions, the blood on the ships, have always struck the right chord with Oran. They ought to move fast if they're going to get out of this alive.

Before he wakes up, Oran's body starts to violently shake. His muscles expand and contract of their own accord, as if being shocked into submission with invisible wires. The last thing he remembers is knocking one of the guards over, trying to reach his wife. His wife and sweet, sweet, Ana. Always understanding and there for him even when his brightest moments are far from the tip of his tongue. Oran dreamt of her, as his does most nights. Calm and quiet dreams. Whether she just appears or is a major aspect of the plot depends on how much contact they have throughout the day. His inner longing for her drowns his dreams with her. So when he opens his eyes, cheek and floor wet with saliva from an open mouth, he sees his prize.

For that sweet second, honeyed eyes meeting one another, Oran dizzily smiles. "You're alive," he breathes out, an arm twitching uncontrollably beside his body. Lifting his face from the floor, he looks around but doesn't see anything but blinding white walls and the viewing portal through the glass to the hallway. "It lifts my heart to know that you were not taken from me. I don't know what I would have done if you were."
 
She watches him with worry she doesn't try to hide, fury in her eyes for the pain she can see he's in. They have hurt him and she wants nothing more than to rage about that, but his words dampen her anger and Ana smiles for him and finally risks moving her own body into a sitting position. Her limbs shake and her core tightens painfully from abuse, but she manages to sit up and then not pass out when the blood rushes from her head down to her tail. It throbs unbearably and she grits her teeth for a long minute, struggling not to cry. Nerve endings scream their torment at her and she is helpless to make it stop.

Always helpless. Pain. Everything hurts as they cut into her, laughing as she screams. Her tail snaps at one of them, breaking an arm and another grabs a cleaver. White hot agony erupts, she tears her throat raw with screams and everything goes black. The pain follows...

"Ana. Ana!"

Her brother's voice jerks her back into awareness and Ana realizes her breathing has grown ragged and she's been clawing at her own restraints, leaving blood furrows down her wrists and her tail is bleeding as it jerks and thrashes against the metal embedded in it. She stills abruptly and Jamekon speaks again, calmly, soothingly. He knows his sister and he is a child, but he's a child who sees more than he should, more than anyone around him. He knows her mind and the memories that lurk there.

"Ana, Ana it's okay. It's not going to happen again. I promise. In no future does that happen again." Her gold-hazel eyes meet the younger boy's and he touches the glass, smiling reassuringly. "It won't be cut off again. Oran won't let it, I promise."

Ana takes a shuddering breath and nods, pulling her knees up and resting her head upon them. She knows she should be brave, fearless just like she's always been in every situation, but everyone has their weak points and Ana's...is being a captive.
 
Oran looks up to the white wall, not knowing who is on the other side but once Ana starts to jerk this way and that, a familiar voice echoes through the breathing holes in the glass. Jamekon. "W- what?" The soldier whispers, trying to bring his chest off of the ground but all fails. Twice and then a third time, Oran attempts to strain his muscles and bring his shoulders perpendicular with the floor but always comes crashing down. His armor has been stripped from his body and most likely thrown into a collection of captured persons, boiled down to make their weapons and armor or more likely ejected from the ship through the trash.

He is now dressed in tight leather pants with a yellow stripe down the seam. His shirt is more of a vest, one side black like his pants and the other side a golden-yellow color. They have no pockets so there is no hope of hiding any weapons - especially that triangular piece in Oran's arm. He is lucky that they haven't touched it although it surprises him that it's so. The cut is obviously fresh, shouldn't they have opened it back up just to make sure? Still, Oran isn't complaining for it might be their beacon at getting out of this place. Although, their escape would have to be quick for security cameras are littered around the ship and any sign of trouble and an army would be upon them.

Oran finally gets up, feeling an unusual weight on his spine. Nearly falling over, he reaches around his back, and feels cold steel instead of the skin on his spine. His mouth opens but his body is too shocked to utter any words. His fingers make sure what he is feeling is correct, a metal spine replacing, or coating over his own spine. Is that how they're jolting his body?

"A- Ana?" he practically whispers, arm still up and over his shoulder to feel the steel. "They've ... they've..." is all he can mouth silently to her. "They've replaced me!" Grabbing a hold of the long steel bar lining his spine, Oran pulls at it, trying to fee himself from the device but all is lost. Such movements only cause him to pant and he figures if this thing is really attached to him, it's better that he leaves his spine intact. "Jamekon! What have they done to me? What have they done?"
 
Ana is drawn out of her own distress by the same tone in Oran's voice and she moves as close as she can to the glass without hurting herself against her restraints and tries to see clearly what he is talking about. In the end, though, she looks at her brother who Oran has already addressed and Jamekon grimaces, as if he really, really doesn't want to answer the question. But he does because he knows he has to and if life has taught him anything it's that trying to run from negative things doesn't make them go away. It just gives them control over you.

"Well, first off, you can relax a little 'cause it's not permanent. They haven't replaced you. They've just shoved a bunch of needles into your spinal cord so stop being such a-"

"Jame..." Ana's tone was warning - she knew how much Oran hated needles - and yet tired at the same time, and her brother only grinned back cheekily before speaking again, though, his voice grew a bit more sober. "It's a two-fold device, Oran. It shocks you if you try to do anything they don't want and it...well, it can control your physical movements if they wish it. And unfortunately for all three of us, they'll wish to use it."

The younger Saliphian glanced at his sister, but Ana had closed her eyes, leaning against the wall, her knees curled up to her chest and her bleeding wrists held close to her body. Jamekon proceeded to speak to Oran then, but to the human only.

Oran, they'll try to make you torture her and me. They are cruel and barbaric and they know how to break people. I can see two futures in which you do torture Ana, but I see three in which you don't. Of course, in two of *those* futures you die, so really, you only have one shot at avoiding all this. Jamekon sighs and the sound is very weary and one is reminded that he is a child trying to deal with all of this.

I know you don't like Seers, but I am not lying to you.
 
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"I would like to see you relax when you have--" Oran starts to shout, the glass of his cell shaking but still remaining intact. It will take a lot more than simple shouting to break that glass and he is sure of it. But he knows he cannot just scream at Jamekon for this isn't, well maybe it partially is, his fault. Oran will now become a pawn in their game, playing for the enemy. He feels his stomach drop as if he were on a rollercoaster. Feeling lightheaded at the mention of needles, Oran starts to breathe heavily in and out, attempting to calm himself down completely. Just the thought makes his whole body tremble, noticeably tremble. Still, the warrior inside of him has no given up like these Hive creatures want. Oran will die fighting if he has to just to get them out of here.

Sitting cross legged now, Oran has no chains around his ankles or wrists. Instead, his turmoil lies within his body, small chords attaching to nerves on his brain and brainstem, forcing him into submission with a flip of a switch. Perhaps he could learn to fight such technology but all hope drains from Oran, his face growing paler as Jamekon speaks. Knowing the boy, just a boy, has gotten Ana and him this far means that he ought to trust the small Seer. What other choice does Oran have?

"Don't worry, Ana, I'll be fine. It's going to take a whole army of mind control wires to make me willingly submit to what they want," forcing a smile on his lips, Oran just hopes that his words can soothe his wife in one way or another. Even though the sides of his lips curve up, his eyes do not shine their normal amber hue. He is drained, and so are they. After the smile, Jamekon speaks to him and him alone. It's strange hearing the small body around this long hallway instead of rumbling around in his cranium. The same voice speaking to him yet it feels different. Oran feels as if he knows the man inside his head, Jame's voice, better. He is more comfortable when it's their words to share, never to be heard by anyone else.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Oran closes his eyes and acts as if he is meditating. For Ana's sake he must not look as frightened as he is. A warrior, his father told him, never shows fear and Oran shall be all his father ever wanted. Instead of questioning the young boy, interrogate him like he wants to, Oran is quick to answer.

I couldn't do that, Jamekon. Torture? You're just a small child and Ana, well, I care for Ana. Very much. I would take death over torturing my own wife and her brother. So the odds are against me - as they usually always are. Just tell me how not to torture you two. I wouldn't be able to live with myself knowing that I caused an immense amount of pain to my family.
 
Well, technically it wouldn't be you doing it; it would be your body, but I get your point. Jamekon answers back and there is silence as he seems to debate how to answer Oran's question. To someone who does not know better, his silence might seem as if he's just being difficult or like he doesn't care about the situation enough to take it seriously, but that is not true in the least. The fact is that Jamekon is taking this very seriously, but in more ways than just the obvious. Instead of just thinking of this situation, he has to think of many others that will result from this one, the ripples it will cause in the future depends on the actions taken here. And if he interferes the consequences will be even longer reaching. All he has to figure out is if his influence would make bad situations worse or good situations better...or if both will happen, which side of the argument will happen more often.

He knows that if he doesn't help Oran in the way the man wants, first off, the human won't trust him completely anymore. Second is that Oran WILL figure it out on his own - in one future anyway - but that future means long-lasting damage for Ana. Now, Jamekon knows he can't let personal preferences get in the way, but the young Saliphian can't help but look at his sister anyway. She seems to have dozed off and in a way she looks even younger than him.

The small Seer finally sighs and knowing that this situation he's putting himself in is precarious, finds he doesn't really care this time as he speaks to Oran. Three soldiers are going to come in an hour and they are going to hurt me and Ana. If you react, then they will force you to try and hurt us, and I can't tell what the future will do after that - it could go any way. If you don't react, though, then they will leave sooner and we will have a small window of an escape opportunity.

Now the choice is up to Oran...and how much self control he has because Jamekon knows this is not going to be pretty and though he will not admit it, he's curled up as Oran can not see him and he's scared. Very scared.
 
But that doesn't make any sense! A small window to escape? And how are we going to escape when there are camera's all over the place? And this thing in my back will just stop me anyway. As soon as I take the Config from my arm, they'll see it. They will know what it is and they'll hurt you and your sister even more. They'll make me do it, won't they?

Oran is, of course, just talking without thinking. Thoughts always come like bullet fire, quick and soon forgotten. He lays back down on the floor, feeling the device in his back start to hum. That attachment of his body he doesn't control but in return can control him, is waking up. What are they doing to him? Never before has so much rested on Oran's shoulders. He should be a man of undying pride and an unbreakable will. Instead, he just curls up into a ball like a prisoner should. But a small beacon of hope rests within his chest, something bubbling inside of him. He, like many Kel'korians, don't give up easily. These Hive men will have to rip him limb from limb before he gives up and submits.

"I'm sorry, Jamekon." Oran speaks, unknowing if the man in the next cell over can hear him. Being so brash is not a route he likes to take so Oran closes his eyes and thinks strategically of what is possible. He thinks back to the cabin he was first placed in before the shocks came. Perhaps there is a small hint, a smell or sound that his senses picked up while underneath the electrical tide. Anything that will help him. But, after all, there is nothing. No memories. "Let me just, think on what you have said." Glancing up to Ana, Oran feels a pang of anger hit his heart. He doesn't want them hurting her nor that little boy in the next cell over. As a Kel'korian, he'll die with pride.
 
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