Faust
Location: Sartre Penitentiary >> inside Sentinel HQ
Interaction: @smarty0114Julian Rowland, deputy of the Paris police force, punctuated his disdain with a dismissive wave of his hand as he continued forward. The American soldier walking to his right said nothing, though he anticipated Deputy Rowland’s claims falling flat in short order. Behind the two strode the warden of Sartre Penitentiary, her hands held officiously behind her back. Down the cell-lined corridor they strode, moving with practiced speed and efficiency to the maximum-security holding cells of this facility. The inmates to either side made no noise, their silence due to the knowledge that any rowdiness would be ignored if not punished, or perhaps to the oppressively bland gray color scheme that dominated the whole area. In no time at all Rowland and the American reached the door at the end of the dreary hall, and after the deputy underwent a retinal scan to confirm his identity he stepped through the aperture to the place many criminals referred to in hushed tones as the Abyss—a place of yawning dark, the realm of the madmen unfit for reintroduction to the real world, ever.
A brief saunter through the black-painted hall brought the two to the main chamber. The circular room was bare except for two things: a ring of guards against the room’s walls, and a dias in the center upon which kneeled the person of interest. Rowland’s eyes narrowed.
“This is the class-six prisoner brought in yesterday evening? It’s not a person at all. It’s a robot. What’s a robot done to warrant all this?”The machine perked up at the word, slowly bringing itself upright, where before its face had been pressed against the floor. It could not move at any rate but sluggishly thanks to the enormous chains that restrained it, connecting the robot to floor, wall, and ceiling. Evidently, it could be contained in such a barbaric and extravagant manner because it required no food, drink, or sleep.
” I dare do all that may become a man; who dares do more is none. Good morning, officer Rowland. Whither do we wander?”Scowling, Rowland gave a nod to the warden, who called the guards to attention. Several broke out of formation, producing keys from their pockets, and one after another the great chains fell. Before the first hit the ground every available guard was looking down the iron sights of a shotgun at the machine. One moved forward, cautious and vigilant, and undid the harness on the prisoner itself. Immediately the robot floated into the air, silent and ominous as a specter, and it clasped its hand together.
“Très bien, les hommes,” the deputy called, and guards fell into formation around the prisoner. None of them failed to notice the straightjacket-esque device on its back. According to rumor, the machine had tentacles on its back, each with a fanged maw, and only this restraint prevented their bloody rampage.
“Let’s move.”Thirty minutes later the armored van squealed to a stop in front of a special building. Two SUVs pulled up alongside. This trio of vehicles came not far behind another, more heavily-armed convoy, which departed only moments before. No doubt in preparation for the coming and going of such important vehicles, the street in front of the Sentinel HQ had been shut down to ordinary civilians. The guards disembarked first, and with four of them in position Rowland opened the van’s back door. Out into the glare of daylight the unnerving prisoner hovered. After a moment the guards began to move forward, but the machine did not follow. The police deputy narrowed his eyes. He barked,
“What is the problem? Move or we make you move.”Even in the morning sun the four yellow eyes of the robot burned.
”I never took you for an indian giver. As sentimental as I’ve grown over these prison rags, my good sir, I crave the return of my belongings.” Sporting a nasty frown, Rowland looked at one of his subordinate officers and inclined his head toward the prisoner. The officer in question picked up a box and approached the robot slowly. It unclasped its hands and smoothly flipped open the lid, pulling out one garment after another and putting them on. Lastly came a huge hat, its brim wider than a tire, and affectionately the machine set it atop its head. The procession then advanced toward the building.
Through the glass door, the receptionist watched their approach, and while the guards stopped at the door as planned, the robot continued. Pushing through, it floating toward the desk. When she spoke, her voice held little of its usual cheer.
"Hello! My name is Hollie Hills, and I'm the mission coordinator around here. You must be the high-security prisoner…Faust."The two eyes on the right side of Faust’s face dimmed for a second in an eerie approximation of a wink.
”You know me all too well. Shall we?” he reverberated. She indicated the elevator with an upturned palm, and calmly the new arrival floated toward it. Once inside, he murmured,
”Why the long face? Suspicion always haunts the guilty mind.” Then the door closed, and Faust was on his way.
The
ding of the elevator was, by now, a familiar noise for the occupants of the top floor. It heralded the arrival of a new individual, one interesting regardless of their appeal. This time, though, it came like a church bell signaling some tragedy. Where before there almost always came the new arrival along with Hollie, side by side, the door slid open to reveal only one. Lethargically Faust floated forward, unnaturally still, and with arms held by his side. His eyes beheld man, woman, machine, and monster; light skin, dark skin, green skin, and metal shells. The scene oozed ego and self-interest, but even more striking was the diversity. How many different mortal fears were there in this one room? How much traumatic past, how many breaking points? He longed to know, but all would be made clear in time. He did not make a single utterance to the whole group, instead turning off to the left to hover toward a window through which to look out at the city. Rather than peering at the scenery, though, he spun around, clasped his hands, and descended until he rested on the floor with his back against the glass. None of these people could possibly know a thing about him; those few possessed by curiosity would come to him. One-on-one, he could better get to know each and every mind, and sample firsthand their tenderness or intriguing gristle, but for now Faust merely listened.
