A maroon shaded soldier stiffly faltered into the room where you were being held. There was no reason for this to even be happening.
"What are they planning next?" He said in a strong voice thick with accusation. You sat in the center of the room, glaring at him through your helmet. The soldier lumbered toward you, taking very slow long steps.
"I said, what are they planning next!" He demanded, suddenly slamming his hands down onto the chair handles where your arms were. Your body lurched back in shock, causing the chair to screech across the floor before settling a few inches back. The horrid sound echoed through the room for a moment before everything settled into a heavy silence.
You remained voiceless. A cold laugh escaped from his lips, he pushed himself up from your chair and balanced himself on his feet. "Fine," he began to strut away from you then lurched back, "I guess we're going t-to have to do this, the hard way." He gripped his hands on either side of your helmet and started pulling. Your hair rose and followed when he successfully got it off.
"Dammit." He mumbled beneath his breath, shakily he threw the helmet onto the ground cracking the visor.
"I-I, we're- we're going to need to know... Where are the Feds holding th-them?" He cleared his throat. It was visibly obvious that he was becoming nervous, possibly because he was horrible at interrogations, or possibly because he didn't know you were a girl. Maybe he just wasn't a ladies man.
"What's it going to cost me?" You delivered in quiet tones. Were you nervous? Yes. Was this soldier going to hurt you? Probably not.
"W-well!" He put his hands onto his hips, "Well, it's going to cost you," he stuttered, "your- your life!" A shaky finger was pointed at you.
"My life?" You retorted, snickering and flashing him a toothy open-mouthed smile. He stepped back, then quickly exited the room.
"What do you mean you 'can't do this'?" Came another voice mockingly from the other side. A metal door separated you from the outsider making the voices hushed and almost inaudible.
"I can't! I can't do it Grif, she's making me nervous." The soldier you were talking to at first said quickly and tightly.
"Seriously Simmons? It's- she's a girl. You were doing well until you took her damn helmet off." The other, you assumed to be Grif, replied.
"I-I just, no. I'm not going back in there. It's your turn." He whispered. You guessed he finally realized that you could hear them. It wasn't too hard after all.
"Fine, but you fucking owe me for this."
The voices died down and the door opened with a loud creak. Loud footsteps sounded in the room from behind. It sounded as if the person entering was attempting to sound more threatening. A hand found its way to your shoulder and flirtatiously guided its owner to your front.
"Hey sweetheart." The soldier stood in front of you now covered in head to toe by a golden orange armor. You raised your eyebrows, acknowledging his presence in the room. A chair slid against the floor as he pulled it up so that the back was facing you. In one swift movement he straddled the back and managed to position himself in the most uncomfortable, yet attractive looking position.
"So we're playing a game of good cop, thirsty cop?" You held your head down but looked up at him. He kicked his legs out like a child would and then brought them back down. Damn, that was cute.
"Not necessarily," he said dragging out his words, "but I do want some information out of you."
"Oh yeah?" You clicked your tongue, cocking your head up. "If it's where your friends are, I don't know."
Grif, the soldier, shook his head and propped himself onto the back of the chair with his hands. He leaned forward and said, "I know you were one of the soldiers primarily working with them and that freaky Locus guy. So," he stuck his neck out, "sweetheart, where are they?"
"4 out of 10." You stated plainly. Grif's body and actions seemed to hint at the fact that he was thrown off by your off topic addition. He loudly cleared his throat, bringing his hand up to his face and coughing.
"Excuse me?"
"My rating. You know? For this interrogation. I've had better."
"Okay that's it." Grif said pushing himself up from the chair. The chair clattered to the floor and you heard the door opening.
"Where are they!" Grif yelled in a tone that could have easily frozen oceans. His helmet was nearly inches from you now, if you looked hard enough you could almost make out the outline of his facial features. Instead, you only saw your reflection. Eyes of a dead person, scars smattered across your skin, hair greasy and disgusting. You looked horrible, and honestly felt horrible. Nothing about your appearance screamed 'I feel great'.
"Grif-" Simmons said from behind. Grif continued his intense staring as he answered, "what?"
"I was just, checking if- if everything was alright."
"It's fine. Get out." He growled as the door slammed shut.
"So first he was bad cop, and now you are? I don't think you understand how this game works." You said in a calm, unhurried voice. A smile slowly spread from one side of your face to the other.
"This isn't a game." He stressed.
"-but it is."
"No it's-"
"Think clearly. Give me one good reason these two armies are fighting."
"To protect Chorus."
"From who?"
"Each other."
"For what?"
"Peace." He stopped, moving back from your face.
"-and that is?"
"The same thing." Grif let out a very heavy sigh and ran his hand down the visor of his helmet. "Holy fuck... Why are you fighting for the same god damned thing?" He threw his arms up much like a child would when throwing a temper tantrum.
"Exactly my point."
Grif grabbed at the sides of his helmet and threw it onto the floor next to yours, except his didn't break. His hair was messy from being inside a helmet for who knows how long. It wasn't a disgusting homeless messy though, more attractive, way more attractive. For you, it was always interesting to see what people looked like underneath their masks. Some people you could see how the voice matched the face, but others didn't. For example, this Grif character didn't match. His voice was, honestly, whiny sounding. He sounded a lot like someone who didn't give two shits about anything. His appearance said much differently.
Grif reached into a harness that was supposed to hold a knife on the chest piece of his armor and pulled out a pack of cigarettes then a lighter.
"Nice knife you got there." You complimented nodding your head to him.
"Whatever." He replied, tapping the box on his hand to get one of the papers filled with tobacco. With the cigarette sitting between his lips he lit it and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes while he did. He reached up to it and pulled it from his lips. A puff of smoke mixed into the air and faded away in less than ten seconds. He looked angry, like the weight of the world just crashed down onto him.
"Hey Grif?" You tugged at your restraints. His head turned toward you and he raised one eyebrow. "Care to help me out here?"
"Sure, whatever but we're going straight to Kimball once I untie these." He moved closer to you and started to fumble with the ropes that held you firmly to the chair.
"Actually, I meant could you spot me one? Kind of haven't seen cigarettes in who knows how long. Also, very stressed right now due to your horrible interrogation."
"Here." He held it out to you and allowed you to take one puff of it.
"Gee," you smiled falsely, "thanks man, appreciate it."
