There is silence. This, she remembers: the cold familiarity, the tight vice and its glacial grip. It is familiar, just as this form of dreaming is, too. And yet, there is something different – warmer, hazier. It feels like she’s in a fishbowl, and the world around is little more garbled echoes & oily shadows.
But there is a burst. There is light, sharp and red and burning. Adrenaline courses, and a woman conditioned to SURVIVE reacts the only way she knows. Her hand claps over the cyborg’s arm, wrenching it back and twisting around until the limb locks against the joint and Quinn’s circled behind. She pushes, and utilizes the momentum to shove them up against the glass – defensive, but not meant to HURT. Her mind cuts past the cobwebs of adrenaline, working to find the right way to handle the situation. Closed off room. Mirror. And a man that watches her as if she’s nothing more than his next test subject. The information will do, for now… But she needs more to go off of.
“Now, then.” Quinn exhales. Casts a short glance, checking the ventilation, and for surveillance. “Are you going to be a good host and introduce yourself and your friend, or are we skipping pleasantries?”
Loud and otherworldly, an electronic outcry, one sounding like a babbling dialup tone riding a frantic wave of radio static, sounds out from whatever lurks behind the Sentionaut’s mask. To her, it was noise, but to him, it was a deafening psychic dagger. Doctor Nyle reels back from the sudden sensation, eyes closed and mouth held slightly agape.
“T-That’s... not necessary,” hand grips the leather armrest, jaw clenches. He takes his reign, the meds helping keeping back the urgings for violence that tend to follow such parapsychological stimuli. She’s strong, he muses, standing from his chair after finding proper footing. Too strong. Perhaps she’s like him, seen what he’s seen. Perhaps she’d been changed by the great UNKNOWABLE truths that lie beyond perception and reality. She wasn’t there, and now she was, surely this woman had come from some great place with reason. That’s, at least, what he had babbled to himself when she first appeared. “I’m Doctor Barry Nyle, Head of Research for the Arboria Institute. You, uh, came from nowhere. Before that there was... Nothing. We just happened to find you passed out on the institute’s grounds,” you’re beautiful when you sleep, “and that’s all there is to say.”
A pause. The institute continues humming it’s one, long, dreadful note. The walls and floors vibrating with the pyramid’s power. Nyle adjusts his tweed jacket, standing not at all far from her-- only separated by the plane of black glass. “Do you hear that? It could put you back to sleep at any time I please, my nurse is watching. Why don’t you let it go. Let’s... talk.”
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