Seraffo started with her first question; one of countless thousands she had reminded herself to ask her prisoner. "Do you have any surviving family?" she inquired.
Quint wondered to himself what he should reply with. Knowing what repercussions were to come if he decided not to speak or was caught lying, he decided to keep his answer vague. "I have two sisters. That's about it."
Seraffo inputted the information onto her data-pad with her black-tipped claws. "And what activities do you do, or have done with your siblings?"
"We played your typical kid games when we were children," the human began, thinking back. "I haven't really had the time to do anything with them these days though, what with you guys coming to earth when I was five, and later when I got caught up with helping the effort to stop you..."
"'Typical kid games?'" the viper questioned. "I firmly request that you be more specific."
"How can I be more specific than that without getting into the finer details?" he asked, rubbing his sweat-laden hands over the smooth, cool surface of the desk. "What we did doesn't really matter."
"It matters to my work. My kind doesn't spawn and mature as yours do," Seraffo remarked, shifting her stance slightly. "Please, tell me before I have to resort to a less verbal, and more physical process to make you speak."
Quint let out a puff of air. "We played games like tag, hide-and-go-seek, video games... all that stereotypical things you'd expect kids to do. That's all of it in a nutshell."
As the viper typed the information into her device, a mischievous idea crept into Quint's mind. "Say... how did you grow up?" he decided to say with a curious gleam in his eye. Seraffo stopped her activity and was visibly taken aback by his comment, not expecting him to try and ask something in return. The viper put a claw to her chin as she thought over how to respond.
"Hmm... I suppose it's fair to regale you with a brief overview of my past," she started, regaining her previous disposition. "I was born in a breeding lab as an egg approximately twenty earth-years ago, and hatched into a healthy neonate at around the exact time as the regime arrived at this world. When I came to proper age, I was put through training to find where I best fit into and supported the regime, and when I successfully passed all my final tests I joined up with the military force as with most of my kind."
Quint was silent as he heard her speak. He retained this quiet a good few seconds after she had finished as well, trying to process all he gathered. "That's it?" he finally asked in a confused tone, surprised she took his question seriously, but ironically expecting so much more.
"Of course," Seraffo said, before her reptilian pupils dilated again as they refocused on him. "You were expecting it to be like yours?"
"Um... kinda."
Seraffo let her forked tongue flicker out and taste the air in in annoyance as her body slithered and coiled into a more comfortable position. "My kind are vastly different from yours, human. We do not possess the same passions as the dull droll your species has entertained themselves with before my regime set its sight on this planet. We are much more superior in our methods of allowing our young to grow into adults. We are far more efficient in preparing them for their next stage in life."
"Sounds more like your kind are deprived of anything they might want for themselves."
"That is untrue. Our education programs help each hatchling discover their natural talents," she snapped back. "I found that I have a fondness for literature and written arts, which is something I've noticed you humans also once had an acquired taste for, until the more modern times."
"'Written arts'?" Quint repeated, obviously intrigued by what his ears picked up.
"The works of Homer, William Shakespeare, and Dante Alighieri are among the ones I've found most appeasing," Seraffo answered with a nod, remembering the wonderful moment of when she first had the privilege of witnessing what each of them wrote in their grand works. "Masters of their form who were one of the many types of paragons of what your race once was, and with the wisdom of our Elders, has the opportunity to become again. What humanity has done recently though has hindered that to a potentially permanent degree..."
"Well, you certainly seem intellectually inclined to look into our history," the human noted in an interested tone, sitting a little straighter in his chair.
"It's one of the directives that my job requires, and I quite excel at it," Seraffo said in a proud tone, before realizing where their conversation was heading, and returning to her more serious visage. "But... I believe that is enough about me. Let's get back to you, human. Next question."
Almost four hours of questioning passed. With time dragging on, Seraffo checked what her clock said on her data-pad before deciding to end their session.
"That is all for today," she finally said with a sigh, hooking her pad back to her side. "I appreciate your cooperation so far, human. We'll try to goad some more information out of you tomorrow. But, for now... Eighty-Four!"
As she called the sectoid's name, its heavily armored and imposing form was heard stomping to the door. The viper approached it and opened it, allowing the opposing alien's unguarded, mouthless face to peer in. His black eyes searched the room until they spotted the now-standing human, whom Seraffo had already approached and placed the handcuffs back onto.
"You are to take him back to his cell," she spoke. "He performed well today, so be fair with him."
The sectoid concurred the order with a nod. With a small push, Seraffo sent him out, and after he made a final, smirking glance at the snake-like being, Quint willingly began to lead the way; the mechtoid behind him making sure he didn't sway from his path. After the two had gone a short distance away, Seraffo went in her own direction, back to her room.
While the human kept his head lowered, Eighty-Four-dash-One-Nine saw what they went past, witnessing the occasional alien soldiers that were positioned or patrolled the building. In an open room stood several, brutish mutons, tending to their weapons and armor with damp, grime-encrusted rags. The occasional viper going about their business, slithering around the complex. He even saw a hulking andromedon wandering through the same hall in its acid-filled containment suit.
As they walked, Eighty-Four-dash-One-Nine couldn't help but look at the human with as hateful of an expression as it could make, even if its face's features didn't change much. After XCOM's attack that resulted in the destruction of the Elder's base below the ocean, and the subsequent mass rebellion of the human populace, things had become much more difficult for the regime to operate with positive success on earth. And with the Elder's grasp on their army now weakened immensely since most of the ancient creatures were now simply gone, things were hard. What few Ethereals remained had their hands full to the utter brim.
Speaking of which, the pair began to pass a final room that overlooked an atrium that housed many, mostly vacant cells, this one stood upon (or floating above) by an archon, who stared over the complex with an eyeless, stony, ever-vigilant gaze.
Eighty-Four briefly turned his head to the divine-looking creature. He had a particular, burning hatred for this archon, whom went by the name of Ganymede. It was the leader of this prison, and served as its merciless, but by-the-book warden. He only ever answered to the Elders, and whatever the Elders said to him was done without question.
Why the hate? It was a simple, petty, and spiteful reason. Appearance.
Ganymede was too perfect not to hate. His kind, the archons in general, were the evolved forms of what most called 'floaters'. Floaters were once aliens that wished with everything they had that they wouldn't be transformed into the tortuous, ghoulish amalgamation of technology and flesh the regime forced them to become. After coming to earth and finding new ways to make soldiers however, the first archon was created, and things went from terrible, to lavishly, enviously wonderful for those undeserving floaters in the blink of an eye! Why did they get to deserve to be upgraded into such an angelic chassis, while what was left of the old world sectoids were tossed in the garbage or repurposed for menial tasks and labor until the days their fragile bodies finally gave out? Eighty-Four longed for the day he could vent his cruel frustration and anger out on Ganymede, however long he had to wait...
They finally reached Quint's cell, which was being guarded by a lone muton, a permanent glare on his pug-nosed face. After willing going into the cell on his own, Quint could hear as the muton closed it, locking it with a typed-in password, grunting as it did so. Eighty-Four-dash-One-Nine had already turned about and lumbered away, practically leaving the human alone with his thoughts.
He made his way to the nearby bed, and sat in it. That viper, Seraffo, was certainly an interesting character. He never had the courtesy of speaking with one of those alien snakes before; the closest he had ever gotten to that being when one once wrapped itself around and bound him in a tight, crushing grip during the middle of a battle. It was promptly shot off of him, but still...
Quint fell over on the mattress, blowing out a stream of air through his mouth. He was dead tired. Within a few minutes, his eyelids closed, and he fell asleep.