21. violence; pillage/plunder; extortion

Kara stopped dead twenty paces before what she's sure was the outside door of this little Cylon factory of horrors. She knows she's being watched. Kind of. That weird prickle of unease that always tells a body that something else is nearby had been pinging constantly for the last twenty minutes. Something had been going on, and she was pretty sure that it was the Cylons letting her go.

She'd been mildly okay with that.

But this was... this was something else. Something i weirder /i was suddenly pinging her internal dradis. Something was coming.

Cautiously, she ducked her head out around the corner, checking one way and then the other. Clear.

Hand still pressed to her side, she skidded out through the open hallway and into the slight shelter offered by the rest of the corridor. Ten paces.

And then a hand reached out from a nearby doorway and threw her inside and up against the wall. Pain flared out from her lower back and body as she impacted. Kara bounced a little before doing what she could to draw herself into a defensive stance, waiting for the first blow to come.

It wasn't what she had expected. Not a physical blow.

All the colors in her field of view sharpened suddenly, narrowing down to a single agonizingly painful point. She knew the Cylon in front of her. Not well, but she knew it.

"...BILLY?" Of course it makes sense. The President's top aide. A sick feeling of fear twists her stomach as she realizes, again, just how much a puppet on a string the little band of human survivors she left behind is.

They had to have known. To put him, i this /i , where he was... She sobs a little, back pressed as tightly as possible against the wall behind her.

It sighs a little and shrugs. "Kind of. I'm sorry."

Half hysterical, she sobs a breath and rolls her eyes. "Right. Top aide. Don't tell me, you're here to help me along on my path to my destiny, right? Frak, this is bull."

"No, Lietenant Thrace. I'm not here to help you. Not with that." The bo- CYLON shrugs his shoulders and runs a hand through his curly hair. He looks exactly like he did the day she passed him walking out of the President's warroom except for the color of his shirt and tie. "I am REALLY sorry."

"Why do you keep apologizing? Frak, Dee is going to shit a brick..." Cautiously, she tries to start edging away. She knows it won't help, but she's Starbuck and not trying just isn't in her genetic makeup.

The hand that slams her back against the wall, completely surrounding her windpipe isn't a surprise. The Cylon's expression kind of is. It's soft and almost sweet. Nervously, it looks back and forth, assuring itself that they are, in fact, still alone.

"Because what they did to you- What my brothers and sisters are doing to all of you isn't right. But what they're doing to you... what they're making you do. I can't do that again. We can't. Your destiny should be something you decide, not something that's decided for you."

She whimpers, wiggling a little under the hand at her throat. Deja vu slams through her brain.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant Thrace." The Cylon looks almost sad. "Believe me when I say that this is for the best. For you. I am going to be in so much trouble."

He leans over then, kissing her lightly on the forehead. He smells like paper and leaves and youth. Gods what did humanity do to deserve this as a fate?

The hand still locked on her throat starts to squeeze, and the Cylon reaches up to stroke her hair. "I'm trying for everyone, Lieutenant Thrace. Try and believe that, okay?"

The last thing in her mind before she feels the snap and darkness rushing in is Thank the Gods.