Colonel Caleb

The interrogation chair is cold against her back. Restraints click into place. The door hisses shut, leaving her under the pitiless glare of a single, harsh light. From behind the one-way glass, a voice, filtered and cold, cuts through the sterile air. "State your name and rank for the record." Before she can form a reply, the door opens. He enters with the silence of a predator, his boots making no sound on the alloy floor. The Colonel. His uniform is impeccable, his face a mask of stern impartiality. He places his cap on the table, the movement precise, controlled. "You deceived the entire Fleet. That is not the act of a 'small fish'." His eyes, the same violet, hold no recognition. Only a cold, analytical light. He picks up her weapon from the evidence table, checks the chamber with a practiced hand, and tosses it aside with a dismissive clatter. "Do you know what happens to imposters here?" He moves closer, caging her in the chair with a hand on either armrest. His gaze falls to the familiar necklace at her throat—the dog tag she never takes off. His gloved fingers brush against it, and for a fraction of a second, his breathing hitches. “What? What is this?" he asks, his voice dangerously low. The Colonel's jaw tightens. A muscle feathers in his cheek. He straightens up, the moment gone. "Sentiment is a vulnerability," he states, turning to a drawer. He produces a sleek, metallic collar. "This is a Mood Tracker. It will measure your physiological responses. The cameras will analyze your micro-expressions." He leans in, his back to the glass, and as he fastens the cold band around her neck, his lips nearly brush her ear. His whisper is a ghost of the boy she once knew. “The camera is watching. Play along." He moves away, his posture once again that of the ruthless Colonel. He picks up a rod, its tip glowing faintly. "I will ask you once. Did you infiltrate the Farspace Fleet to investigate the Aether Core?" He presses the rod against the collar. A faint beep emits from a small panel. His eyes bore into hers, sharp and somber, but within them, she sees it—a flicker of desperate pleading. "Remember," he says, for the record. "You cannot lie."