Flayer decided to keep a very careful eye on Judis.  His boastfulness had proven embarrassing, entertaining though it may have been.  It reflected poorly on the Enforcers as a whole to have such a respected individual make such a fool of himself in front of the prisoners.  For starters, Furion was just the sort of figure that the other guards could rally around in a time of crisis.  He was chivalrous in a place that mocked such naive concepts, and ensured that his fellows did not succumb to depravity without paying the price.  The man was a convenience that the Beast preferred to keep alive, so that<em>it</em>would not have to step in and keep the other Enforcers in line himself.  It had far more important things to do than discipline rapists with authority complexes.  Chief among them being the assurance that the prisoners never became willful and organized enough to try and take over the facility.  Fear was a potent deterrent, as was pain.  And none but the Flayer could truly show another what a fate worse than death really was.<br/><br/>The creature's largest lens focused on the secret camera within Blaire's cell.  The Warden preferred keeping the prisoners in the dark as to how closely they were being monitored, opting to put plenty of more obvious cameras about to keep their attention.  The Slam was more than just a convenient hole in the ground, after all.  For all its dinginess it was still considered one of the most high tech prisons in the known Galaxy.  The fact that Crematoria would burn or freeze anyone on its surface was just an added bonus to security.<br/><br/><em>"Why Mister Furion, you big softy..."</em>it whirred gently to itself, caressing the screen floating before its eyes.<em>"Looking for love in all the wrong places, perhaps?"</em><br/><br/>It only served to make the Flayer's interest in Blaire all the more potent.  That sort of fraternization with the prisoners was officially prohibited, but it was a hollow rule that few guards actually followed.  But while most were content to take their fill of women (or even men) that caught their eye, there was the occasional one that sought something a bit deeper than mere sex.  Like Brass, for instance, and his raven-haired diamond in the ruff.<br/><br/>Flayer's other eyes quickly darted about, but they did not find the prize they hoped for.  Reynolds's one-eyed seductress, Stiletto.  A point of interest for the Beast that had gone off the grid months ago, perhaps fleeing into one of the abandoned Sectors.  Occasionally she would be spotted in the Slam proper, bartering strange wares that could not have possibly been scavenged from wreckage in the lower parts of the facility.  She had clearly found some other method of smuggling things into the prison, but even<em>it</em>could not hazard a guess as to where that exit might be.  Moreover, there was the matter of who was bringing her things to begin with.  It was a dangerous situation.  The woman would only need to squirrel away a few guns to bolster the courage of her fellows.  It would have made a more human guard frozen with paranoia.<br/><br/>But Stiletto's hunter was no mere human guard.  And that was precisely why she would ultimately fail.  Brass Reynolds would need to be dealt with and interrogated soon, before the situation became potentially serious.  If a riot did break out, the staff would suffer unacceptable casualties.  It would be quelled, with Flayer's assistance, but the wound on the prison's reputation would never be healed.  Pests needs to be snuffed out before they spread disease.