The room was not very large. It was, in fact, quite small, and to Tamara Vane, it got smaller everyday. Scarcely larger than the efficiency apartments that were all the rage in Neo York, MegaTokyo and Neu Berlin - any place with too many people and not enough space - the room had all the same fixtures: a bed, bathroom (complete with minuscule shower) desk, chair, TV, computer, shelves... a few books. The only thing it didn't have was a window... and an unlocked door.
The lack of a window didn't bother Tamara, she'd caught a glimpse of her surroundings several times during her stay and it told her nothing. High mountains, thick forest, a deep blue sky... she could be anywhere, although she guessed the Alps. The door on the other hand.
The door was the perfect symbol of her captivity. It was a featureless slab of stainless steel that dominated the far wall. There was no window, handle or hinges to mar its otherwise smooth surface. The door only opened at select times... for meals and the occasional exercise periods that were few and far between.
All the other doors where the same. Flat, smooth blocks of steel, electronically locked and magnetically sealed. No one in, no one out. The prison was on permanent lockdown, a natural reaction considering its inmates where, for the most part, much more than human. Cyborgs, upgrades, cybernetically-enhanced, and - if the rumors were true - a few espers and psychokinetics tucked away in the depths, all kept under lock and key. All guilty of some crime that didn't quite rate the death penalty or recycling.
Laying on her bed, dressed only in her prison-issue jumpsuit - a bright orange affair that contrasted drastically with the dull gray walls - Tamara stared at the ceiling. She spent a lot of time staring at the ceiling... or the walls, or the floor, it wasn't like there was much for her to do. At first, she had tried to keep herself busy; reading books, exercising, attempting to practice what she could of her hand-to-hand combat skills solo. But as time went by, and she realized that she wasn't getting out anytime soon, and that no one seemed to know, or care, that she was here, she gave it up.
Now she spent most of her time inert, her body still, her expression blank. She took showers only sporadically - it wasn't like she had to worry about body odor - eat erratically, slept when ever she felt like and found her self wearing less and less as time went by. She'd gone nude for a while, the room was perfectly climate controlled and she didn't really need clothing, until it turned out that nude people didn't eat... So, she had settled for a happy medium of sorts; she wore the regulation jumpsuit and not much else. Even now, as she lay on her thin bed, her jumpsuit was open as far as it would go, exposing a broad swath of sun-bronzed flesh. One hand was tucked under the back of her head, lost amid the tangled black tresses, while the other idly circled one pale nipple.
She had considered not eating, but starving herself to death wasn't really an option. Odds were they just turn off her body and hook her up to life support, leaving her fully aware of her surroundings but unable to do anything other than lie there. A situation that virtually guaranteed insanity within a few weeks. At one point she'd tried smashing herself to pieces against the walls, but her body was built tough and her captors had solved the situation by turning down her muscle systems... leaving her weaker than most full-flesh bodies.
So, here she lay, doing nothing, waiting for her door to hiss open so that she could get up, pad out to the mess hall and eat the processed glop that passed for food. Then she'd come back, lay down and... do nothing.
Once, a long time ago... perhaps forever and ever, she'd had a real life. She'd been just like anyone else, alive, awake and living free.
Originally, she'd wanted to be a pilot, flying fighters like her father. So, following in her father's footsteps she'd joined the Navy... only to flunk out of flight school - her reflexes and hand-eye co-ordination were far to slow for her to make an effective fighter pilot. So, she'd ended up as a SEAL, becoming trained in the arts of infiltration, demolitions, recon and... killing people.
It was the last bit that had resulted in her present situation. For the UNA government had a plan, to take the best and brightest from their various special forces units and turn them into even better, more... efficient... soldiers. It was a simple plan, really; take the brain of each applicant and place it into a new full-body cyborg shell. Now, the government had a cadre of strong, fast, power and highly durable combat soldiers to use in a wide variety of missions, all in the interest of 'national security'.
Tamara thought this to be a fine turn of events. Now, she was no longer constrained by the limits of flesh and blood, now she was equipped with one of the best cyborg bodies money could buy, and all of it came at the expense of the government. Granted, she wasn't quite as strong, or powerful, as some - she remembered a certain cyborg bounty hunter in MT that could topple a large truck and treated a 10-story drop like a hop of the front porch - but her body was more than sufficient for her needs.
In due time, she was assigned to Europe, attempting to track down certain armaments that had gone missing from several UNA military bases. The word was that the weaponry - advanced battle rifles and assault cannons - were destined for certain terrorist groups opposed to the current German government. Her unit's job was to recover the stolen material before they were used to create an unpleasant international scene; recovering the people responsible -alive - would be a pleasant bonus.
The Op had started well enough. They knew the drop point - a train-switching yard, they knew the time - the middle of the night, they even knew who was the buyer. What they didn't know was that the rest of the evening was going to be the biggest clusterfuck of the past five years. No sooner than the UNA team had sprung their trap, then one of the supposed terrorists had exploded in mass of smoke and dust, tossing around debris like a miniature tornado. Bullets, cannon shells and grenades had been of useless against him, as he ripped his way though the UNA commandos and the men who had brought the guns in the first place.
Tamara found herself surrounded by far to many of the enemy and totally without backup, so she'd done the only sensible thing, she'd opened fire. Ripping short bursts into anything that wasn't one of her fellow team members, she'd tried to rejoin with what was left of her unit, only to discover her unit didn't seem to exist anymore. Most were dead, and the rest looked to have run off. That was when the damn PK had decided to pick her up and toss her into a boxcar.
She woke up as a captive of the German government, accused of terrorist operations and subversive activities. The PK, it had turned out, was part of a German counter-terrorist op, and the whole weapons exchange had been a set up to capture the people smuggling the guns into and out of Germany.
The trial, if you could call it that, was very short. She didn't have much of a defense, technically she wasn't supposed to be in the country, and for some reason the UNA had decide to deny she even existed. So she was tried, found guilty, and convicted. She expected a death sentence, but instead it was life in prison... which, considering her present surroundings, amounted to the same thing.
Rolling over onto her side, Tamara pulled at the blanket and tried to sleep. Once, long ago, she'd done her best to protect her country from all manner of threats, both internal and external. But, her country seemed to have turned its back on her, so she turned her back on them. Now, the days passed, each one blending into the other, becoming a endless succession of monotony. Perhaps, one day, she'd have a reason to live again, but right now all she wanted was to sleep.
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