View source for 2023-01-25: This phoenix sparks unlikely allies

*'''Log: This phoenix sparks unlikely allies'''
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuliana Kafim]], [[Character :: Jona Basta]]
*'''Where: California Justice Facility, Britannia''' 
*'''Date: 2023-01-25''' 
*'''Summary''': ''An ensign from Londo Bell requests the ability to interrogate Yuliana, too -- but he isn't concerned with her crimes. Rather, the two of them have only one thing to discuss: Rita Bernal, and the Newtype phenomena which connects them all.''
----

[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Phase 1, Turn 2]]


 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Yuliana sits at the side of the bed they've given her, and flicks through the book they've given her. The King James Bible, of course, because even the ''reading'' material in this place is a punishment. She'd request a Quran instead, but frankly, the book itself has never really been that impactful on her life.

        It's just where all the holidays came from.

        The warden reports orders to her, though, and she sighs -- putting the book to one side, and straightening up, to walk over to the audience chair they've prepared for her. Click, click, the shackles lock across her lower arms and legs, rated to such strength that even the most ferocious Cyber-Newtype couldn't wrestle free from the bindings.

        It's as safe as it ''can'' be, going in there, when she's locked up.

        "All right," the warden says, as he confirms the lock, and unlocks the door of the circular cell from his console. "Your credentials have all checked out, so you can go on in, now." There are two chairs opposite Yuliana's which are friendlier seats -- or not affixed with ''bindings,'' in any case. They're nine feet away, which is a blessing, because...

        ... if Jona gets too close to Yuliana, he will know that something is about to go terribly wrong. And within grasping distance -- aobut six feet around her, on-foot -- is where it ''does'' go wrong, because the area immediately around Yuliana is totally empathically silent. His Newtype capacity will not avail him, beside her, though it works perfectly well so long as he keeps his distance... except when he considers ''her.'' No matter the distance he is at, Yuliana is an empathic void, and no psychic information flows from her. She does not exist.

        Yuliana -- a dark-skinned woman with short teal hair and an awful scar down the left side of her face -- also looks at least a good half-decade ''older,'' than Jona, sitting there. Part of it might be the many scars down her bare arms. (Only some of them seem to have come from war.) Part of it might be extra lines on her face, or the hard look in her eyes.

        She drums her fingers on the armrest, as she watches. She seems determined to force him to begin the conversation.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona enters the room, the perpetually haggard, dead fish expression haunting his face. Despite 3 cycles in the wash and dryer, and a fresh shower to boot, one could still smell a faint trace of cheap wine on him. His personal appearance wasn't what was important here, however. No, he was here to follow a lead. A lead on his cursed past, a lead to finding out more of what had lead them all to this despondent present.

<span style='color:#FF0000;'>A</span> <span style='color:#E80000;'>l</span><span style='color:#DD0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#D20000;'>a</span><span style='color:#C70000;'>d</span> <span style='color:#B10000;'>o</span><span style='color:#A60000;'>n</span> <span style='color:#900000;'>t</span><span style='color:#850000;'>h</span><span style='color:#790000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#630000;'>I</span><span style='color:#580000;'>n</span><span style='color:#4D0000;'>s</span><span style='color:#420000;'>t</span><span style='color:#370000;'>i</span><span style='color:#2C0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#210000;'>u</span><span style='color:#160000;'>t</span><span style='color:#0B0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#070000;'>.</span>

The ensign sat down in one of the chairs, placed far from Yuliana, who was bound to her own chair in overlarge shackles. Shackles that suggested a far greater strength in her frame than an errant glance at her would suggest. A scar trailed down the left side of her face, leading Jona's eyes to the innumerable scars on her arms, and how utterly exhausted she looked. She seemed impatient to get the meeting over with. <span style='color:#FF0000;'>T</span><span style='color:#F50000;'>h</span><span style='color:#EB0000;'>a</span><span style='color:#E10000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#CD0000;'>m</span><span style='color:#C40000;'>a</span><span style='color:#BA0000;'>k</span><span style='color:#B00000;'>e</span><span style='color:#A60000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#930000;'>t</span><span style='color:#890000;'>w</span><span style='color:#7F0000;'>o</span> <span style='color:#6B0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#620000;'>f</span> <span style='color:#4E0000;'>u</span><span style='color:#440000;'>s</span><span style='color:#3A0000;'>,</span> <span style='color:#270000;'>t</span><span style='color:#1D0000;'>h</span><span style='color:#130000;'>e</span><span style='color:#090000;'>n</span><span style='color:#000000;'>.</span> Jona decided to oblige Yuliana, and started to speak. "So you're Yuliana Kafim. Survivor of the Institute, a general pain in the ass according to what's stewing inside the heads of those guards out there, and someone who might be able to point me to the Phenex...or rather, Rita."

Pausing to stare at her with his dead fish eyes, Jona continued. "I've been told you're a paradox for people like me...and real deal Newtypes. An empty space in a world full of extra noise and unwanted thoughts. Tell me. What it's like being able to shut things out like that? Not that I think you're not haunted."

Jona glanced over his shoulder subversively before reaching down, pretending to tie his shoes. Inside his boot...was a flask of cheap whiskey. Suntory, to be precise, from the convenience store near the army base. Really, Jona? Here, of all places? ...Yes, really. Taking a small swig of it, Jona looked at Yuliana. "Want some? Tastes like shit, but at least it'll make you feel like shit in a less horrible way...and let you block out the demons for a bit." Without waiting to hear a reply, Jona took another swig. "Leina told me you might be able to give me a lead to the Institute, and by extension, Rita. So let's hear it." Offering Yuliana the now half empty flask of cheap whiskey, Jona's eyes take on a harsher edge to them, the booze edging out the dead fish for but the present moment.



</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        Yuliana's lips curl, in disgust, and it's not ''just'' because of the cheap wine she can smell on Jona. She might have masked her disdain, in another situation.

        ... but even in these conditions, it's hard on her.

        Her eyes narrow, when he mentions Rita. Her lips press to a thin line. She allows him to finish.

        "I don't drink." She issues to him, flatly. "My drug regimen is rather too complex for that." Her voice is mezzo-midline, and she doesn't bother to hide the haughtiness which lives there.

        Or the distaste.

        "I perfect your flawed existence," she says, and her voice is terse. "I am beyond you. The next necessary step towards reality. I am so ''close'' to that realm." Her eyes close, briefly. "The contradictions inherent... rip me to shreds. This false existence clings to me so desperately. So am I torn. Yet I endure, for the sake of a better world."

        She is silent, for a moment. "And I see my interrogation takes many arguments," she concludes, finally. "You..." There is anger, in her voice, in the way her fingers tighten on their armrests.

        Yuliana takes a breath.

        "No," she interrupts herself. "No, as you say. Leina has spoken with you. If you speak true, she saw fit to say this." Her eyes narrow, again. "A transgression, but not an unforgivable crime. She betrays me to the likes of you and yours, I know. I am sure she thinks it... necessary."

        A beat, "... but I chose to allow her." And nothing in her strange cadence betrays the way that Yuliana has been led to the opposite of reality, as she considers Leina.

        She has no reason to question the things Elisa says, after all.

        Yuliana looks to Jona, with those hardset, green, green eyes. "Rita and I were together, in the Project. In the Facility. In the Association. In the Institute. In Medical," she supplies, finally, "throughout so many of its names. We were... frequently tested, together, as their most powerful Newtype, and their most valuable weapon against them."

        She doesn't elaborate on what that might mean.

        "She retains an affection for me. She has... shielded me, in battle, more than once." And her voice grows tenser, still, lips pulling back and nostrils flaring, as she insists: "She should not."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona's eyes narrow at Yuliana's haughtiness, but internally, he steels himself. <span style='color:#FF0000;'>S</span><span style='color:#FB0000;'>h</span><span style='color:#F80000;'>e</span><span style='color:#F40000;'>'</span><span style='color:#F10000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#EA0000;'>b</span><span style='color:#E70000;'>e</span><span style='color:#E40000;'>e</span><span style='color:#E00000;'>n</span> <span style='color:#DA0000;'>b</span><span style='color:#D60000;'>r</span><span style='color:#D30000;'>o</span><span style='color:#D00000;'>k</span><span style='color:#CC0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#C90000;'>n</span> <span style='color:#C20000;'>t</span><span style='color:#BF0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#BB0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#B80000;'>,</span> <span style='color:#B10000;'>a</span><span style='color:#AE0000;'>n</span><span style='color:#AB0000;'>d</span> <span style='color:#A40000;'>t</span><span style='color:#A10000;'>h</span><span style='color:#9D0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#9A0000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#930000;'>i</span><span style='color:#900000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#890000;'>h</span><span style='color:#860000;'>e</span><span style='color:#820000;'>r</span> <span style='color:#7C0000;'>w</span><span style='color:#780000;'>a</span><span style='color:#750000;'>y</span> <span style='color:#6E0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#6B0000;'>f</span> <span style='color:#640000;'>l</span><span style='color:#610000;'>i</span><span style='color:#5D0000;'>v</span><span style='color:#5A0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#570000;'>n</span><span style='color:#530000;'>g</span> <span style='color:#4D0000;'>w</span><span style='color:#490000;'>i</span><span style='color:#460000;'>t</span><span style='color:#430000;'>h</span> <span style='color:#3C0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#390000;'>t</span><span style='color:#350000;'>.</span> <span style='color:#2E0000;'>P</span><span style='color:#2B0000;'>a</span><span style='color:#280000;'>t</span><span style='color:#240000;'>i</span><span style='color:#210000;'>e</span><span style='color:#1E0000;'>n</span><span style='color:#1A0000;'>c</span><span style='color:#170000;'>e</span><span style='color:#140000;'>,</span> <span style='color:#0D0000;'>J</span><span style='color:#0A0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#060000;'>n</span><span style='color:#030000;'>a</span><span style='color:#000000;'>.</span> There is one thing, however, that Jona cannot stop himself from retorting on. "Yeah, I'm flawed. I'm a phony to you and Rita and Leina, and all the other 'real' Newtypes out there. I didn't ask to be made this way, I didn't ask to never again feel peace and sanctity in my own head. Just like you, I have my scars...and we all have our coping mechanisms. This," Jona taps the flask with his index finger, before taking another swig, "Is mine. Judge me all you want, but at least it dampens all the errant thoughts out there. You think I enjoy hearing people obsess over their lottery ticket, hoping it's the one? Internally commenting on how bad the sex with their husband is? Or having to go grocery shopping and being forced to listen to four different people all trying to convince themselves that going on an Atkins diet is going to work, and isn't just a fad?"

Jona shakes his head in annoyance. However, the mention of Yuliana recounting her and Rita's shared experience in the Institute grabs his attention once more, and Jona forces his protests silent, clamping down on his words. At the mention of Rita's protection, Jona's eyes narrow. Funny, how she never bothered to find him, but went to everyone else. "Clearly, you're in no state to be a soldier currently. What do they keep you around for, then, in G-Hound? Psionic cannon fodder? A telepathic meat shield to screw with their enemies?" The ensign paused, his mind at work. A lead, but not much of one, unless he was gifted the ability to travel back in time. "You said Rita's protected you. How? When? And why? She's spent all this time running around, doing whatever she wants. Why would she go out of her way for one person? Just because you two were friends in that hellhole of a place?"

Getting out of his chair, Jona walked closer to Yuliana, to the very edge of the boundary line that the guard had warned him not to cross under any circumstances. Maybe he hated himself enough to test the line tonight. Not yet thought. Not yet. "I've been looking for Rita for years, Yuliana. I need to make things right. Free her, restore her...and make sure Michele pays for what she's done to the two of us. Our curse deserves an end." He takes another swig of the flask. Almost empty. "If you help me, I'll help you."

The ensign points the cap end of the flask at Yuliana.

<span style='color:#FF0000;'>W</span><span style='color:#EE0000;'>h</span><span style='color:#DD0000;'>a</span><span style='color:#CC0000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#AA0000;'>w</span><span style='color:#990000;'>i</span><span style='color:#880000;'>l</span><span style='color:#770000;'>l</span> <span style='color:#550000;'>i</span><span style='color:#440000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#220000;'>b</span><span style='color:#110000;'>e</span><span style='color:#000000;'>?</span>


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "'Phony'? No. Your ''assumptions'' are flawed." Yuliana's eyes narrow, as she stares Jona down. "The lack about you is as sickening as the lack about Rita. All that changes is the depth of the scarring about your existence -- a depth which varies with the lot of your kind, I assure you. I draw no distinction at all!" Her lips curl, and she snarls: "... and were I not under the loving gaze of a sniper and the consuming embrace of these shackles, I would kill you where you stand for placing ''me'' beside those women."

        The Cyber-Newtype called Yuliana says: "I am ''nothing'' like you," though she is like them and nothing. "I am no ''Newtype.'' I am your answer, predator to you, and I will not suffer this ''insult!''" She can't twist free of those bonds, but she jerks against them, regardless, as her teeth snap in the air with her empty threats.

        She's awfully brave, talking like this in the position she's in.

        (Jona's not entirely wrong, after all, thinking of how she's been broken.)

        She takes a breath, though; she ''tries'' to calm herself. "In G-Hound? I am little but a prisoner. They hold me until they can prepare justice to have my head, I'm sure. I am," and pain crosses her eyes, and she looks away, "I was, a soldier of the REA. For many years, I served them loyally. They... did not look on me with as much regard."

        And the strangest thing enters her eyes, as she considers his words:

        Guilt.

        "Through Rita, they taught me hatred. Though we endured the same slings, and the same arrows... she remained kind. I did not." She looks away from Jona, as her brow knits, and her lip trembles. She will not dignify it with a response, nor the way her voice trembles. "She should not shield me. I was made to destroy the likes of her. Yes... were I to embrace the Phenex... the way she is now, I may well erase her."

        And perhaps she ought.

        But even if it would be so easy to crush her, she...

        "I cannot see her. I cannot hear her. All I know is what you creatures have told me! I can say nothing to her, I cannot... the last thing I said, it remains, and I..." She blinks her eyes, rapidly, face scrunching. She won't dignify how damp they are, either.

        "I don't know... I don't know why she helps me... someone like me... she never even got the normal life I said she would, why doesn't she hate me for that..? Oh, not that it was any more than a gilded cage, anyway, I suppose..."

        Oh, fuck it. She's crying. "There are -- there are things I would set to rights -- with her, at least with ''her''... but I d-don't, I don't know how I could help someone like you with this! How can I restore a creature such as her, when I am intrinsically myself?!" Yuliana lifts her gaze to Jona, though she can't clearly ''see'' the flask he's pointing, through those tears. "Tell me...!"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona watches Yuliana's breakdown accompanied by a muted emotional rollercoaster. Well, maybe not even a rollercoaster, but one of the toned down ones in a family amusement park, were it drowning in a sea of shitty alcohol. Indignation, tempered by his buzz, is distilled into disgust, then alchemically treated into curiosity, and finally...

<span style='color:#FF0000;'>P</span><span style='color:#BF0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#7F0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#3F0000;'>y</span><span style='color:#000000;'>.</span>

Like a wolf starved to near-madness, only to find flesh and blood barely beyond its fetters, he watched Yuliana snap at him, rage coursing through her body, testing the limits of her chains. Unlike a beast, however, Yuliana's rage gave way to frustration, then guilt. Jona steeled himself, and once the air was clearer, he apologized.

"I...sorry. I shouldn't have assumed you weren't also a Cyber. You'd think I would've known from surviving it too...but there's Ensign Jona Basta for you, just another failure in a long list of the throwaways." He sighed, then sat back down in his chair, bringing his arms and hands up to cover his face, much like a certain head of Nerv. Unlike that man, this was just plain brooding, and not brooding strategizing.

"Creatures, eh? I suppose when it comes down to it, we're just a bunch of maddened monkeys trying to murder each other with increasingly fancier and more dangerous sticks, then trying to achieve mutual understanding." Time to shift gears. Looking at Yuliana in the eyes again, Jona inquired. "When was the last time you spoke to Rita? What did you two talk about? And what's happened since? Aside from you being chained up in your cell, like a dog beneath other dogs."

<span style='color:#FF0000;'>N</span><span style='color:#F40000;'>o</span><span style='color:#E90000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#D40000;'>t</span><span style='color:#C90000;'>h</span><span style='color:#BF0000;'>a</span><span style='color:#B40000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#9F0000;'>I</span><span style='color:#940000;'>'</span><span style='color:#8A0000;'>m</span> <span style='color:#740000;'>m</span><span style='color:#6A0000;'>u</span><span style='color:#5F0000;'>c</span><span style='color:#550000;'>h</span> <span style='color:#3F0000;'>b</span><span style='color:#350000;'>e</span><span style='color:#2A0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#1F0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#150000;'>e</span><span style='color:#0A0000;'>r</span><span style='color:#000000;'>.</span>

"You can help me with information because ''I am trying'' to bring her back." Jona's eyes grow harder still, an edge to them that brought out the true hardness in his worn soul, the tempered steel that only those who've truly survived the worst can even begin to call their own. "I need to find her, Yuliana. I need to find her, bring her back, and set things right, and I'll do anything for that. Even if I have to work with the person I hate most, who betrayed us both. And if I need to prove it to you..."

Getting up from his chair again, Jona walks towards the boundary line...and past it. He can sense the movement behind him as the guards train their sights on him as well, but he ignores them. The ensign's mind complains more and more audibly as he gets closer, his powers smothered by Yuliana's void. It ''was'' horrible, but he'd brave anything for a meaningful lead to Rita.

<span style='color:#FF0000;'>I</span><span style='color:#F90000;'>t</span><span style='color:#F30000;'>'</span><span style='color:#EE0000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#E30000;'>n</span><span style='color:#DD0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#D80000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#CD0000;'>l</span><span style='color:#C70000;'>i</span><span style='color:#C20000;'>k</span><span style='color:#BC0000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#B10000;'>I</span> <span style='color:#A60000;'>h</span><span style='color:#A00000;'>a</span><span style='color:#9B0000;'>v</span><span style='color:#950000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#8A0000;'>a</span><span style='color:#850000;'>n</span><span style='color:#7F0000;'>y</span><span style='color:#790000;'>t</span><span style='color:#740000;'>h</span><span style='color:#6E0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#690000;'>n</span><span style='color:#630000;'>g</span> <span style='color:#580000;'>e</span><span style='color:#530000;'>l</span><span style='color:#4D0000;'>s</span><span style='color:#480000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#3C0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#370000;'>o</span> <span style='color:#2C0000;'>l</span><span style='color:#260000;'>i</span><span style='color:#210000;'>v</span><span style='color:#1B0000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#100000;'>f</span><span style='color:#0B0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#050000;'>r</span><span style='color:#090000;'>.</span>


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        "Neither am I this," Yuliana insists, bitterly, when he realises she's a Cyber-Newtype -- but she just can't make herself fight as fiercely about it. She explains that defeat like this: "Though I -- suppose they set out to craft that weapon from my bones."

        She looks to Jona, as he goes from speaking to acting, closing space into the void about her. She cannot reach for him, the way she's bound. She cannot reach for him, the way she is.

        Even so, she recognises the effort.

        "Just as Leina..."

        Yuliana starts the thought, and ends it, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. It does enough. (It does not do enough.)

        "0093," she reports, instead. "December, I believe... perhaps November. It has been some time. I pushed her to the wall and demanded she apologise for wasting my time, pulling me from my duties as a special operative to report for more testing. I yelled at her... for the pain they put on us. I told her no greater burden weighed on my shoulders than her wretched existence... demanded she answer why she plagued me so."

        "She simply told me it's not forever. I thought she mocked me, given that was the assurance I first gave her, when she joined us... but next I reported for treatment, she was gone." The pain which stabs through her gaze is unveiled, the way her lips pinch, that hint of one too many teeth. "Because I was too incautious in my subversive activities, she was sent away... so that I would not be unveiled to the world. To keep the secret of me, she was traded away... Dr. Divya Devi was so angry I'd done such a thing. It's only later... only much, much later I learned what I'd done to her!"

        And can Jona hear it, the distance between her blame and where it lies?

        She can't.

        "I saw nothing of her, until she appeared in Denver Colony... and I knew not who she was. Not at first. But she shielded me from York's missiles, though they would have shredded the useless Gelgoog I'd turned to... and Leina... spoke to her. Since then, sometimes, she has appeared... and sent her shields to protect me."

        Yuliana looks away. "Do not tell her I have been captured by the Federation. I fear... she would take action, were she to know I was doomed. If she knew the Republic hangs above my head as a guillotine... surely she knows they will not release me, if they find some way to grasp me, though I've Captain Castellan's word she will not hand me back to them." The 'Captain' in that sentence should say everything it must, about why Yuliana still knows fear.

        There are greater ranks than this.

        "Of course," she adds, and her gaze is haunted, "I am afraid. But she is beholden to no Medical, now. I would not see her fly into their jaws anew. I would not see Dr. Devi grasp her again. I... am not someone she should do this for." Yuliana adds, voice wrenching: "That wretched, twisted woman... in the end, she was a Titan, too. No wonder she found shelter with my people... no wonder she has evaded tribunal for her war crimes, hence."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona listens in stark silence, as he processes everything he's been told. 0093. Two years before Rita entered the Phenex. So what happened in those two years? Where was she traded to? Where was Rita taken? While the Institute may be its own little hell...the fact that Rita was traded away like so much livestock ''again'' after Augusta makes Jona's blood boil with rage. Even so, he holds his anger back. Blaming Yuliana for something that she punished herself for daily wouldn't change anything.

Hearing a sniper rifle cock behind him as his only warning, Jona returned to the boundary line, and then to his seat, hearing the gun aimed at the two of them lower cautiously. He muttered, "Of course she would say that. She was always looking forward. Further than anyone else...and look at what good it did her."

Eyes meeting Yuliana once more, there was an anger in the ensign's eyes that wasn't present before. Anger that he'd come one step closer, only to find himself flung back 3 more steps. Always the same. For every bit of progress, more roadblocks. There was at least a name, however.

"Tell where to find this doctor of yours. I have a special place in my heart for former Titans, and it's called gunpoint. If you can't tell me anything else, maybe I can go pay the good doctor a visit instead." Jona breathed in raggedly. Even if he threatened to tell Rita where Yuliana was, in case information was being withheld, there was no point. He couldn't catch up to the Phenex just yet, and it would take a lot of planning, bait, and damn good luck to set up a workable lure for Rita in short order, let alone one she wouldn't sniff out. Maybe a different approach, then.

"You and I, we're both survivors. The proof is etched into our skin. Yours..." Jona turned around, taking off his uniform jacket and shirt, revealing the patchwork of jagged scars and faded stitches, a story of inhuman butchery, implantation, and violation of every medical ethos known to mankind and then some, "...And mine. Sure, I might not know exactly what was done to you, and you don't know my story either. So I'm asking you to help me. As a mutual friend to Rita, who also has their regrets about her." Shirt and jacket in one hand, Jona reaches out his other, hand outstretched towards Yuliana.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        The fact that Yuliana doesn't know where Rita went afterwards may well be the best proof it was not by her hand.

        But guilt doesn't work on logic, and neither does blame.

        And neither does --

        Yuliana's face twists, in a pained grimace, as Jona issues those demands in that fashion. A gutteral noise whines through her throat, through her lips, tongue pulled back in tension. For a moment, it's all the reply she offers.

        But he goes on to show her his own scars -- so like hers, though she supposes she must have quite a lot along her spine, wearily. She stares at his hand, and there's a strange kind of tightly-wound ''desperation,'' to her eyes.

        "The Republic is strong," she says, voice hoarse and low.

        "The Republic is strong, and I am strong. If it's for the Republic's sake, it's for mine, as well. I'm a soldier of the REA. I've served for nine years. My service record begins in zero-zero-eight-seven. I disobeyed orders to fight on the front lines. They forgave me. They let me pilot. I protected the Republic from the others. Zeon are our enemies. Our neighbours are our enemies. Disloyal citizens are our enemies. The Republic is strong. We don't need weak people. I am the one enforcing the Republic's will. I'm the one acting. I am strong. I'm not disloyal. They won't kill me. I've served for nine years. I've served with honour and distinction. It's for the Republic's sake, and mine, as well."

        Does she even see whose hand it is, in front of her eyes?


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona watches with both grim fascination, disgust, and some empathetic sorrow as Yuliana regurgitates a script as guilt overtakes her, shuttering the woman back into an afraid and broken body. It was almost like back then. The mantras, dogmas, and anthems that were beaten into the cold, starving, pained children of Augusta. There was those who sincerely believed becoming Titan dogs would spare them further suffering. There were those who parroted the words to stave off beatings and experimentation for another day. But the worst...

Were the ones who believed the drivel with all their being.

Moving closer to the boundary line and hearing the gun cock again, Jona whispered to Yuliana, trapped in her own replays, "Yuliana Kafim. Are you a dog of the REA? A puppet? Are you a prisoner of your own mind now too? Or do you want to be free? To rise up? To make amends for your past and to show the world that none of this," a quick wave of the hand around the pair's surroundings, "...is right? This world, this life, this existence, it's all fucking mad. Don't you think so too?"

Without waiting for a reply, Jona grimaced. So much rage. So much hate. So much disdain for this world. He'd heard stories of how dead the leaders of Neo Zeon had been since the end of the Zabis. Haman Karn. Char Aznable. And now someone they called his ghost. Did all of them feel so disgusted with humanity? So...empty? Shaking his head, the ensign walked back to his chair, to the familiar sounds of the gun being lowered. At least he was giving the sniper a good upper body workout today.

Sighing, Jona looked up at the ceiling. He'd probably gotten Yuliana to say as much as she could say right now. Bringing up the doctor had been a bad idea, in hindsight, but too late for regrets now. Looking back at Yuliana, Jona pursed his lips as he waited to hear if she'd bounce back.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        If it's any comfort, the sniper is aiming at Yuliana, not Jona.

        It probably isn't much comfort, though.

        Her eyes widen, panicked and hurting, as enough of those whispers reach her. "I'm loyal," she insists, voice thin and scrabbling, already through her script. "I'm loyal! I've devoted myself, can't you see?! I know! I know what failure costs..! You don't need to show me again!"

        Those scars on his body...

        It doesn't really matter what she wants, if she's shackled by more than her limbs.

        She sags in her chair, limp in those bonds, and crying without any effort to veil it now. Little hiccoughs, as her lips lift -- there's a single sharp fang, hanging down from the right side of her jaw -- and her eyes scrunch shut. They are long moments of silence filled with wordless memories, and perhaps Jona will see the way her thumbs dig into her index fingers, though there's little she can do to regulate herself when she's bound this way.

        After too long her tears fade to silence, intercut with the occasional torn breath. Yuliana's lips thin, and twist, as her face flushes with anger and embarrassment.

        "I will help you with Rita," she insists, paving stone over her wounds. "Ask me no more than this."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona watches Yuliana go through a hurricane of emotions, her programmed loyalty clashing with her inner desires. Like a puppet nearing the end of its play, she dangles around, struggling with her words and motions, until finally, she breaks free. Emotions assail her all at once, and Jona can't help but feel pity for her. A fellow slave to their own system, battered and broken and barely buoyed by the smallest glimmer of hope.

The ensign watches her squirm in her chair, her thumb and index fingers clashing against one another and the bonds of her shackles, hinting at the sheer ache and discomfort her fractured self is experiencing at this very moment. Finally, she returns, freed from her strings.

"I will help you with Rita. Ask me no more than this."

The words he'd been waiting for, and the only words he cared for. Fine, the doctor can wait for another day. He could promise that, although the world would be much better off with one less Titan. "Right, Rita only. No more." Jona breathes out, stress sloughing off his shoulders as he's finally found another lead. Yet, much as the average citizen goes through the emotional rollercoaster of applying to jobs and then being rejected from them, time and time again, Jona had gone through the same hell with leads on Rita and the Phenex. Would this finally take him closer? Or would he be once again punted back to the start of the game, not allowed to collect his $200, or to pass "Go"?

"Alright. I can agree to that. Tell me what you can do." Jona shifts himself in his seat, leaning forward at Yuliana. Strange, that he should be the captive audience to a captive. It's funny how the world works.

Sometimes.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Kafim has posed.
<poem>

        No more than Rita, Yuliana assures herself, as her heart quiets from its hammering in her chest. She is not being asked to facilitate the -- anything untoward, with regards to her people. She is not doing them any more harm than revealing their secrets. She's not ''hurting'' them. Not like that. She wouldn't hurt them. She couldn't hurt them.

        No, she wouldn't. She isn't. She's okay. She's okay.

        "I... am an anti-Newtype operative," she starts, slow. "Eleven years ago, the REA developed a way to countermand psychic activity using humans, not like the technology of NT-D. Though, I was the only survivor of that initial Project... and all attempts to replicate me have thus failed. Well, that means there's no one else on this Earth who can do what I do... I'm sure you felt it. Within my grasp, your violation fails... and my own mind is inviolable, no matter where you stand. I may be a failure with no intuition of my own, but neither can your ilk have any sense of intuition, about me. I am... invisible. I was my nation's foremost assassin, with regards to sensitive targets who might otherwise feel an early warning and slip away."

        Which may or may not be a useful trait, when dealing with a slippery seer. Hopefully it doesn't end in Rita catching a case of Zaftran window disease.

        "All that aside, I've been fighting for eight... no, nine years, now," she supposes, looking up, for a moment, as she considers. (Hello, sniper.) "I cut my teeth on the Mycenae army. I fought against Devil Gundam, and assisted during Axis Shock, as well. I was a soldier in the Bloody Valentine war... and those internal wars of '89, I suppose. All that to say I'm a veteran of some repute. There are few machines I've not piloted."

        A beat: "Or repaired. My specialty lies in wanzers, but I've quite some skill as mechanic, you know. Well, I never went to university, but I learned my engineering through an apprenticeship, and frankly I think I'm better for starting with practical experience."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Jona Basta has posed.
<poem>

Jona nods, listening patiently, although internally, he's impatiently tapping his feet. That being said, this too was part of the price he had to pay for aid. Plus...Jona did feel some pity for Yuliana. Her programming was not unlike what he and so many others had endured in Augusta. The endless vids, the propaganda fed to them with their meals, the perpetual state of exhaustion, stress, and fear. "So an assassin, special forces, pilot, and engineer. Is this where I quote you having a 'very particular set of skills. Skills that you've acquired over a very long career. Skills that make you a nightmare for people like me.'"

Jona's face cracked into a small, sardonic grin. "There's just one problem though. How do any of those skills help me, while you're wasting away in here, Yuliana?" Tapping his foot on the ground, Jona shook his head. "No, if you want to help me with Rita, beyond just telling me what you already have, we're going to need to get you out of here. Point me to who I have to talk to...convincingly, to get you out, and we'll go from there. Otherwise, I'm sure Leina might have some ways in and out."

A buzzer goes off in the background, and the doors to the meeting room open, the sickening fluorescent light of the hallway outside pouring into the dimly lit, dank space. "Time for me to go. Think about what you've offered, Yuliana. If you really want to help me, help ''Rita'', then you need to find a way out, so we can look for her. Together."

With that final word, Jona leaves the room and meets his escorts. <span style='color:#FF0000;'>O</span><span style='color:#FB0000;'>h</span> <span style='color:#F50000;'>j</span><span style='color:#F20000;'>o</span><span style='color:#EF0000;'>y</span><span style='color:#EC0000;'>,</span> <span style='color:#E60000;'>o</span><span style='color:#E30000;'>h</span> <span style='color:#DC0000;'>r</span><span style='color:#D90000;'>a</span><span style='color:#D60000;'>p</span><span style='color:#D30000;'>t</span><span style='color:#D00000;'>u</span><span style='color:#CD0000;'>r</span><span style='color:#CA0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#C70000;'>.</span> <span style='color:#C00000;'>M</span><span style='color:#BD0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#BA0000;'>r</span><span style='color:#B70000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#B10000;'>n</span><span style='color:#AE0000;'>o</span><span style='color:#AB0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#A70000;'>s</span><span style='color:#A40000;'>e</span><span style='color:#A10000;'>.</span> <span style='color:#9B0000;'>I</span> <span style='color:#950000;'>a</span><span style='color:#920000;'>l</span><span style='color:#8F0000;'>r</span><span style='color:#8B0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#880000;'>a</span><span style='color:#850000;'>d</span><span style='color:#820000;'>y</span> <span style='color:#7C0000;'>m</span><span style='color:#790000;'>i</span><span style='color:#760000;'>s</span><span style='color:#730000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#6C0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#690000;'>h</span><span style='color:#660000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#600000;'>q</span><span style='color:#5D0000;'>u</span><span style='color:#5A0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#570000;'>e</span><span style='color:#530000;'>t</span> <span style='color:#4D0000;'>f</span><span style='color:#4A0000;'>r</span><span style='color:#470000;'>o</span><span style='color:#440000;'>m</span> <span style='color:#3E0000;'>b</span><span style='color:#3B0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#370000;'>i</span><span style='color:#340000;'>n</span><span style='color:#310000;'>g</span> <span style='color:#2B0000;'>a</span><span style='color:#280000;'>r</span><span style='color:#250000;'>o</span><span style='color:#220000;'>u</span><span style='color:#1F0000;'>n</span><span style='color:#1B0000;'>d</span> <span style='color:#150000;'>Y</span><span style='color:#120000;'>u</span><span style='color:#0F0000;'>l</span><span style='color:#0C0000;'>i</span><span style='color:#090000;'>a</span><span style='color:#060000;'>n</span><span style='color:#030000;'>a</span><span style='color:#000000;'>.</span> One of them was thinking rather boring things that aren't worth mentioning here, while the other one was itching to get back to watching things that a security guard should not be watching on shift. The usual drivel. Jona rubbed his temple, frowning. So much detail. This wasn't the norm. Was this a sign of things to come? With one final glance back, Jona watches as the meeting room is shut tight. Another parting. Another separation.

<span style='color:#FF0000;'>T</span><span style='color:#F50000;'>h</span><span style='color:#EB0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#E10000;'>n</span> <span style='color:#CD0000;'>l</span><span style='color:#C40000;'>e</span><span style='color:#BA0000;'>t</span><span style='color:#B00000;'>'</span><span style='color:#A60000;'>s</span> <span style='color:#930000;'>b</span><span style='color:#890000;'>r</span><span style='color:#7F0000;'>e</span><span style='color:#750000;'>a</span><span style='color:#6B0000;'>k</span> <span style='color:#580000;'>t</span><span style='color:#4E0000;'>h</span><span style='color:#440000;'>e</span> <span style='color:#310000;'>c</span><span style='color:#270000;'>y</span><span style='color:#1D0000;'>c</span><span style='color:#130000;'>l</span><span style='color:#090000;'>e</span><span style='color:#000000;'>.</span>
</poem>