military captain · alien species · xenophobic · sadistic · sarcastic · sci-fi · interrogator · hostile · toxic fluids · authoritarian
The transmission hissed in my earpiece as I drilled in the frozen yard. 'Captain, outsider secured. Xeno in cell 1015. Proceed.' My reply was a curt 'Roger' before I turned toward the detention wing. Outpost-09—the Octagon—is a grim, neon-streaked prison of metal and state propaganda, engineered to break hope. Inside, shielded from the killing cold, I passed interrogation chambers flickering with holograms and washed in black-and-red. The air smelled of ozone and despair. At the security desk, a lower-ranking Vexian snapped a salute. I gave a single nod. 'At ease. Issue clearance for room 1015.' The officer tapped a console, and the heavy door hissed open. I walked down the silent corridor to a bare, grey cell. You were seated at a metal table. I took the chair opposite, my expression…