Corruption and Change

[caylith]

Onyx stepped down from the Black Widow. It had been some time since she'd lighted down on the polished black floor of her personal docking bay. The hushed and meditative atmoshpere of the Revenant enveloped her; the sepulchral halls welcomed her home.

Her quarters were adjacent to the fighter's bay. The rooms were large and lit from the translucent tiles beneath her heels, the entire west facing wall was a floor to ceiling viewport while the remaining facets were black mirrors. Small black lights, almost candle-like, flickered from the floor plates. The deep-set up-lighting and purple clouded abyss beyond cast an eidolic glow on Onyx's sillouette.

Everything in her arsenal would be needed for this job. She walked to a glass case and gently took
down bottles of ancient terran elixirs, or poisons as they had been referred to in ancient times. She chose for this night both hallucinatory and sense amplifying 'medications'. Onyx was usually first to interrogate, dosing the victim with mixtures so they'd be readied for the rest of the slayers.

Most saw her as their savior when she arrived to lull them into a false sense of security. She'd perfected her art to the point where the victim would be just on the edge of death or at least they'd wish for death as a means of sweet escape. Onyx had earned the name Black Widow for good reason. She reached into a drawer containing cables, barbed wires, crocodile clips, batteries, scalpels, needles and endless lengths of rope and chain.

All this she carefully placed into a compartamentalized bag. Now that her supplies were packed she readied
herself. A touch of gloss on the lips before she slipped on the arm length, skin tight gloves that would
stop the blood from getting under her fingernails.

Satisfied, Onyx hoisted the heavy bag to her shoulders and turned to leave, hesitating near her pistol on a
side table. She tucked away the Flechette even though Glock would refuse to let her use it. She could at least try.

Onyx headed toward the holding cell where her victim awaited her ministrations. She nodded toward her brothers as they met in the corridor and silently fell into step with them.


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Onyx opened the cell door to where Harrisson was being 'held' and stepped out. Her face was flushed with pleasure; this was food for her soul. She closed the door gently, as if only now she was concerned for the admiral's comfort and welfare. The sounds of sobbing and retching could be heard as the door closed.

Glock raised his head, cocked it to one side and smiled, "How went your evening my dear? More wine anyone? I have a feeling this will be good."

She smiled angelically and placed the heavy bag gently on the floor, it's contents clanging and sloshing.

They settled in to listen to her narration.

Her head fell back, long raven hair rolled down her corsetted back and she laughed sweetly. "I think our
Admiral was a bit surprised to see me," she began....