SILENT MOBIUS ZETA

THE CAPTIVE

The room was dim, wreathed in shadows and haze. The ceiling was an unguesseable distance away, lost in the darkness - while the far walls seemed nonexistent, invisible in the murk. The room was quiet as well, the only real sound was the slow drip of water and a distant rumble, as if from some sort of large machine. Underneath all that was the faint sound of breathing.

There was only one source of illumination in the room; a bright white light that shone down from a recess in the ceiling. A figure hung within its glare, suspended with arms outstretched, as if hung upon a nonexistent cross. This figure was dressed in a long coat - dark blue with gold trim, a broad white belt and similarly colored plate-armored boots. Clothing that marked the figure as a member of the Attacked Mystification Police. The figure's head lolled drunkenly, a long mane of black hair obscuring any features.

The sudden clanking of a lock and the creak of a door being opened disturbed the tranquil scene. Footsteps echoed across the cold concrete floor, tick-tacking closer and closer. Shortly thereafter, a woman strode out of the shadows. She was of average height, slim, with tanned skin and black hair. Her dress was an interesting mix of Western and Oriental fashions, and bright gold jewelry glittered from her fingers, wrists and around her neck.

Stopping in front of the inert body, she gave it a careful examination. Reaching up, she brushed the hair way from the face, revealing features that were obviously of mixed heritage, but attractive never-the-less. Reaching down, she then undid the belt, tugging it free and grunting slightly at the weight. Carefully, she lowered the weapons to the floor, rolling the belt back out so that it lay straight, and not in a tangled heap.

"Well?" The voice was deep and echoed slightly. There was also a breathiness to it that was faintly disturbing.

The woman shrugged. "She is what you asked for. She is unharmed and at the moment, harmless."

"Well done." There was a moment of silence and then the voice spoke again. "Sunni, I wish to speak to Sunita."

The woman, Sunni, turned and glared into the dark, before sighing and closing her eyes. A moment later, she opened them again.

Her face, her whole bearing, seemed different. Her stance was more self-assured, her expression more arrogant, and there, in the middle of her forehead, right above the bridge of her nose, was a third eye.

"I am here Hwu Dye." The voice was more biting as well. "What do you want this time?"

"You know what I want, Sunita. I want Amara Asano to become the tool of my vengance, the tool of the AMP's destruction."

Sunita's three eyes narrowed as she spat upon the floor. "Feh! You just want her to warm your bed. Tell me Hwu Dye, are you going to even bring her to your bedchamber, or just take her right here?"

Hwu Dye sat silent for a moment, simply breathing, before speaking again. "Neither, Sanjiyan... I have sufficent concubines of my own without needing a half-breed, over-breasted monstrosity like her. No... I wish her to be my slave, willingly or not, so that I may see AMP blood run and the mighty fall."

Nudging the gunbelt with one foot, Sunita pointed at Amara's katana. "And this?"

"She will not need such crude weapons... except for the blade, and I will handle that."

"Good." Sunita looked back up at Amara's tall form, which seemed even taller as she hung suspended in the air. "Have her made ready, I shall be in my quarters preparing."

"Good, good," Hwu Dye hissed, "It shall be done. Oh, and Sunita?"

"Yes?"

"Be sure to not over-tax yourself, you are no use to me if you are asleep."

"bastard..." she muttered under her breath. Turning away from Amara's body and Hwu Dye's voice, she blinked again, this time only re-opening two eyes. Pausing to glare at the room around, Sunni stalked off into the dark.

The loud crash of a door being closed and the rattle of the bolt marked Sunni's departure. Once again the chamber fell quiet.

*Hwu Dye...*

"Yesss..."

*How soon.*

"Soon enough. This must be done properly, or a 145 years of questing for vengance will be all for naught."

*I grow impatient... how long must I remain in this form.*

"Not long... not long at all..."


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