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08/03/08(Sun)19:09 No. 2293306 The Bloodied is empty, save for a few wandering servitors and naval personnel scuttering away from the prying eyes of their superiors. Some stop to look at the strange, combat ready soldier holding on to the small, half made doll. One goes so far as to ask where you are talking the servitor's organics. She squeezes deeper, and a hot gasp of air is detected by your synth skin suit. The helpful HUD also informs that moisture is being two streams running across the armored sneaking suit. "Attend your duties," you whisper as you move along. The cell is small, true. It was not built for comfort. Still holding her with one arm, you, after a moment, reach for the wall, and set the cot down you had folded away, convinced it would never be used. It takes up the whole six foot length, and squeezes a third away of the six foot width, of the room. "The...The lights are out," she whispers. It is to forget the world you see is different from theirs. You reach, flick a switch never before touched. A bulb buzzs, crawls to a gloom dispelling yellow glow. You sit in the cot, as she looks around. "Barren...Well, I. I guess it's at least all yours?" You nod. She purses her lip, and slowly relaxes her arm, slipping off your neck, as you ease her down, upon her lap. She is quivering again. "You are cold." "Mmm," she shakes her head, vigorously back and forth, "Mmmnmmm, no, no, I'm...I'm not...Hhhnn, I'm just..." Her eyes run, as her face crumples up, stitches stretching, "I'm...I'mmmm." She weeps. She folds into you, your HUD, popping up, informing you her temperature, her height, weight, blood pressure, heartrate, armaments (None) and her threat rating, and starts weeping. Your visor blinks complaints of warm, salt water running over your legs, as you stare down at the guidance system for the Imperium of Man's next weapon system.