|Faction||Order of the Talon|
|Building Type||Base Defence|
|Country of Origin||Unknown|
|Key Features|| » Phonograph plays music|
» Sprayers disperse chemicals
» Records of soothing melodies
» Mesmerising visual pattern
» Sound proof interior
It was a small room. Unlike other rooms in the compound, it was sparsely furnished, with the walls and floors painted black and the only furniture in the room being two chairs and a plain looking table. A single door guarded the only way in and out, and without any windows it felt somewhat claustrophobic. The room was not a comfortable room, but then again, its purpose was not to reassure or comfort its occupants; quite the opposite, in fact.
At this particular moment, the room was occupied by two men. Both were sitting, but that was where their similarities ended. One of them was dressed in fine crimson robes, the garb of an Inquisitor of the Talon. The other was wearing a plain grey top and pants, his uniform having been taken away a while back. The Inquisitor was physically able to stand up and leave the chair he sat in, if he so wished. The other man was cuffed to his chair's arms and legs by steel restraints, which refused to yield despite his best attempts.
"So, cultist, I will give you one more chance," the Inquisitor stared at the prisoner. "Will you cooperate and answer my questions truthfully, or will you continue to resist?" The response came quickly, in the form of a maniacal cackle and an assurance from the other man, that, no, he would not answer their questions or assist them in any way.
"Very well. I suppose it should be expected, for a cultist. Since you refuse to cooperate, we shall have to use other methods." The Inquisitor stood up, and walked out through the door. Only once he had left did the prisoner realised what was going to happen, and futilely thrashed against his bonds even harder.
Things happened quickly after that. First came the chemicals, a cocktail of aerial agents; nothing like the hallucinogenic compounds so favoured by the Cult, but something more subtle, meant to disorient and nauseate. Then there was the music, a special composition meant to make those affected more receptive to others' suggestions. By the time the visual patterns had stopped, the man in the room had an utterly blank look on his face.
This time, the Inquisitor spoke through a speaker, from another room. "Now, answer these questions..."