The injector hissed as Orell pressed it against the side of Irina’s slender neck. Immediately, a jolt went through the girl, as if she had received another electric shock.<strong>”Wakey, wakey!”</strong>Orell said and placed the injector back on the surgical tray which he used to store his ‘instruments’. The girl roused and shook her head a little, trying to get her bearings, but all she could see even if she opened her eyes was the darkness imposed by a strict blindfold. Next, she tried flexing her arms and legs, testing the leeway her restraints gave her – which was very little.<strong>”Forgive me the precautions.”</strong>Orell said, his hands wandering over her warm skin but tracing the cold, hard outlines of the steel restraints all over her body.<strong>”But it turns out that you are <em>much</em> stronger than you look.”</strong>It was a complicated and severe rig that kept her in place. For all intends and purposes, she might as well be<em>bolted</em>to the wall. The cyberware scan had come in<em>completely</em>clean, though. So it was either beta grade or better bioware – for which he couldn’t scan without proper lab equipment – or Irina Sarkova was some kind of quirky, magical being. A child of the Surge perhaps, or a physical adept.<br/><br/><strong>”You are very flexible by the way. I like that in a girl.”</strong>Orell complimented and his hand followed the tight arch the bondage had forced on her back. A row of electrodes was attached to her spine, running all the way down from her neck to the small of her back. What he really needed was strictly controlled security gear, but a set of studio simsense gear was a good substitute for professional ‘interrogation electronics’. Orell took a quick glance at the monitor to his side. She wasn’t exactly<em>well</em>, but Irina’s mental state indicated that she was not even close to breaking. But then again, he hadn’t even gotten started.<br/><br/><strong>”I think we got off on the wrong foot, you and me.”</strong>Orell said and lightly tapped the exposed sole of Irina’s left foot with a thin and very elastic plastic cane.<strong>”So I think maybe we should start over.”</strong>He brought the cane down on the soft, sensitive skin. It didn’t take much force to make the graphs on her readout spike.<strong>”My name is, in fact, Orell. But I am <em>Vori</em>. I’m sure you know what that means. Now. Your turn: who are you <em>really</em> and who do you work for?”</strong><br/>