The characters in this fiction are from Bubblegum Crisis,
"courtesy" of Artmic Inc.  No offense intended.
_________________________________________________________

Sylia...Sylia Stingray...

The voice washed through the cyberlink, echoing into her 
cortex.  Then...she couldn't remember...

She kept her eyes closed, trying to remember that next 
moment.  She had the firmly irrational conviction that
what ever had happened next was crucial and she could 
bring it back with a just a little more time and 
concentration.  She could feel a slight, chill breeze
washing over her naked skin continuously, but there was 
something that felt somehow unnatural about the 
sensation.

"I know that you're conscious.  Feigning unconsciousness
would be pointless."  The smooth male voice, flavoured
with arrogance, intruded on her awareness, demanding her 
attention, driving away that insight that she was on the 
verge of grasping.  

She sighed and opened her eyes.  The ceiling above her 
was not particularly stimulating.  Institutional grey, 
it was all she could really see.  The strap on her 
forehead forced her to rely on peripheral vision to 
locate the voice she assumed belonged to her captor, 
a figure standing well away from the cold metal surface.  
She carefully began to test the security of the straps 
holding her down to a cold metal surface.  They didn't 
seem likely to give.  Leads seemed to be attached to 
various parts of her body, some quite intimate.  That 
didn't bode well.

"Nothing to say?"

She'd never been one who felt the need to fill silences
with chatter.  His tone of voice, that hint of smugness
told her all she needed to know.  She was in the hands of
an enemy.  The others would know she was missing, if not
now, soon.  All she had to do was hold out until they
figured out where she was.  She'd taken precautions, 
left ways for the others to get in touch with Fargo.
They'd find her, given enough time.
	
He moved a little, and suddenly her body was convulsing
in it's restraints, muscles contracting uncontrolled
as spikes of jagged pain twisted them into knots for a
moment.  She didn't scream, but she wanted to.  

"Do I have your attention yet?"  His voice sounded a 
little irritated.  She hadn't been following his script,
she supposed.  

She made sure to take another deep breath before 
answering, "You've always had my attention."

"An interesting way to put it.  Let's get the 
preliminaries over with as quickly as possible, please.
I have a great deal to do.  What is your name?"

"You know my name."

Irritation again.  "I'm sure you realise that we need to
establish a baseline.  Please don't waste our time 
together.  If you do, you'll making things unnecessarily
uncomfortable for yourself.  Your name?"

"Sylia Stingray."

"Your father's name?"

"Katsuhito Stingray."

"That's not a Japanese name.  It isn't really even an
English name."  There was a pause, then her interrogater
prodded, "Well?"

"You didn't ask a question."

"Very well then.  Why did your father change his name to
'Stingray'?"

"He was disowned by his family for his marriage to an 
American when he was eighteen.  He chose the name 
because he didn't like her name and thought that 
'Stingray' sounded more impressive."

"What was her name?"

"Stingray."

"Her maiden name."  

"Stengel.  Louise Stengel."

"How did she die?"

"Radiation poisoning.  A reactor leak."

"You were how old when that happened?"

"Five."

"How did you feel about that?"

"This isn't exactly the most comfortable of psychiatric
couches."

"It can be made a great deal less comfortable.  What about
your father?  Do you feel anything about his accident?"

"My father didn't have an accident."

"Really?  Why don't you tell me about it?"

"You probably know more about it than I do."  Her face and
her voice were still calm, but those electrodes were 
surely registering an increase in heart rate and blood 
pressure.  It couldn't be helped. 

"I can see you're becoming upset.  We'll continue later.
Don't worry.  By the time I'm finished, I'll know you 
better than you know yourself."  He walked over to stand
by her table and bent over.  His lips were dry and warm
against her cheek.  "Go to sleep, princess."