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View character profile for: Dorian Adler
The Raid : Dorian in Custody Part 1
It hadn’t been all that long ago since his last interrogation.
Given the circumstances and tactics applied by his own compatriots, Dorian had to admit that the sterile coldness of his current surroundings were an improvement. The straight backed metal chair upon which he sat was securely bolted to the deck, as was the heavy metal table before him. Adler himself was also securely bolted, the chain of his cuffs looped through a cast iron fitting on the table’s surface.
Grey table, grey chair, grey deck, grey bulkheads. The only variance in the motif was the floor to ceiling mirror he faced. Dorian scrutinized his reflection, noting the sleep tousled hair, the sleeveless undershirt, and the trousers he’d been given seconds to don before his latest odyssey was to begin. Doubtless, behind that plate glass were studious eyes, fixed upon him, and busy hands, checking off the behavioral boxes required before commencing the Alliance’s preferred methods of “information extraction.”
The medic offered a friendly smile toward his unseen hosts. “Ah love what yah’ve done with tha place.”
Major Paul Hardy waited a few more minutes, helping himself to a cup of coffee served in a nondescript blue paper cup. He thought they’d have learned something back on the Earth that Was about waste, but the folks on New Melbourne seemed to have the attitude that there would always be resources, and he wouldn’t be there long enough to care. He was there for one purpose. Taking a final sip of the bitter black brew, he nodded to his colleagues before entering the room. “You know the drill,” he said succinctly, “State your name for my records.”
Adler watched the newcomer stride into the spartan room to commence the interrogation. “Doctah Dorian Adler,” he replied simply.
“And how long have you been aboard the ship, the Lunar Veil, Doctor?”
Dorian would really have preferred to put his hands into his pockets; the room was a tad bit on the cold side. But, confined as he was, the only acceptable posture would be to l
ean forward, propping his elbows on the table. “Been awhile,” he answered, his eyes crossing the ceiling as he called upon his memory. “Six months, thereabouts?”
“And prior to your time aboard the ship the Lunar Veil you were where?”
“That would be Persephone,” the doc worked his shoulder muscles to loosen them.
“Did you have a practice there?” Hardy asked as he took a seat across from the doctor, laying the file down on the table next to his piss warm coffee.
“Not really,” Dorian shrugged. “Persephone has enough established practitionahs tah go around.”
“Then can I ask what business you had that brought you to Persephone?”