Once the Prometheus's surrender was confirmed, it was then boarded by Mobile Workers that had been hiding in the shoals, from which emerged ranks of black-armored soldiers. Their gear appeared to be the kind issued to Colony riot-police... albeit, of an older model, each wearing a green sash of sorts tied about their upper left arm.
They were informed that they were now prisoners of the "Colonial Liberation Front", and that they were an activist group of sorts looking to bring "Peace and equality" to the Colonies. Those who cooperated would be spared. Those who resisted... Would die.
The whole while, the woman that had orchestrated the attack failed to materialize, the same being said for her black machine.
The crew were rounded up and separated - some were confined to the brig, others to their quarters, but all kept under armed guard, around the clock. It was undoubtedly a professional organization - they kept them fed at least, but the lights were kept bright and day and night began to blur together.
An indeterminate amount of time passed. Crew members were taken, in ones and twos, to be spoken with. All returned, at length - some in better shape than others - intact. Those who had been questioned spoke seldom of what had occurred.
At the very least, there was a sense that they had at last stopped moving, and had arrived wherever it was their captors had sought to direct them. In the windowless brig, it was impossible to tell where, however.
There had been no sign of Isaac whatsoever, and none of the crew themselves could say they had laid eyes on him. Perhaps he had fled, and abandoned Chris to his fate? Who could blame him for doing so? He was, after all, only a child.
After what might have felt like an eternity, the door to the brig opened, and a masked soldier entered.
"Chris." He stated bluntly, pointing his weapon in the pilot's direction as he spoke; "Boss wants to have a little chat."
He found himself rudely manhandled through the halls of the Prometheus to its interrogation room.
And there... She was.
***
It wasn't much of a greeting.
The interrogation room was surprisingly roomy, yet plain and hardly built for comfort. Chris' hands had been tied with a pair of electromagnetic cuffs - and he was seated across a long table from his captor, who was currently browsing something on a thin tablet, not even bothering to look up as they did.
"Chris... What a boring name."
Her legs were propped up on the table in front of him, and clad in some odd fashion of turquiose leather boots that looked reasonably weathered. A long, aquamarine green coat decorated her frame, and her hands were covered in gloves of the same material as well, exposing little skin above the neck. It was crafted in such a way that making out the actual contours of her body was difficult to discern... though whether on purpose or not was questionable.
Her hair hung about her in long, dirty-blonde lengths. Her sharp face and features were fair and flawless in such a way that suggested manufacture, giving the impression of a woman of her early thirties - but it was hard to tell these days, as vanity was the Coordinator's craft and Christening.
"In fact, everything about you is boring, really." Said his captor, holding the tablet overhead against the light in what must have been the most uncomfortable reading position ever conceived, "Average life. Average test scores. Average number of sexual partners..." - At this she threw him a skeptical glance, before adding - "...Maybe."
She waved the tablet in his direction, irritably.
"Your file reads like the backstory of a self-insert protagonist from some second-rate eroge." - She flicked it back, placing it under her chin, bringing her other hand up to her head theatrically, as she trilled (in falsetto) "Just an average guy whose life was dull and grey-" - She batted her eyelashes at him, voice dropping several octaves dramatically, " - Until he met her!"
She bounded forward at that, almost lunging across the table at him, coming close... But didn't strike him, instead bringing the tablet up beside her mouth, giving him a wink as she spoke in a conspirational whisper, as if sharing a secret.
"That's me, by the way." She said with a wink; "The exciting part."
...At that, at last, she sank back into her seat, letting her head fall into a hand, propped up by an elbow, as eyes like dark opals sized him up.
"Well? Aren't you glad to finally have a little excitement in your life?" She asked;
"How does it feel?"
