Zelthis fell. Again and again. Because of betrayal. The Ragnarov had immense comprehension of many refugee races, but zero tolerance with rebellion. Weeks and many deaths later, imprisoned within the weapons testing facility, the physiology manipulator succumbed to new toys, technomancered to deliver the most pain. In the slowest feasible way. And as long as possible. Captain Vropda had just marched away, behind a transparent barrier, from the last crimson rays of the waning subject painted again on the walls of the engineering canyon. The dark scar left by the impact reeked of mortar and brimstone. A blemish which grew thicker as Nick’s body continued to endure it. Such a will against the literal burnout of explosive torture surprised the sister of General Creft. The cliffs of flesh on either side narrowed, as the universe contracted into another detonation around the shapeshifter. The vassal appeared human in its still extant remains but with an inhuman luminosity about him, as radioactivity stemmed from the corpus as it slid slowly to the bottom of the crash well. There were no signs of evolution. Yet. As Vropda was hopeful that Zelthis would yield fruit, that might benefit her mother race, the scavengers of space, extricating life, in any and from any form or fashion. She ceased her experiments as the digital monitor reminded her Exosuit of a gathering with her brother. With another button, the chamber cryogenically frozen and with it the rebellious changeling. --- Her boots barely broke the office as Jace completed a synopsis of her recent existence. Rancher. Slavers. Mining Planet. [i] Revolution.[/i] Escape. Buzz words ACASIAS automatically gleaned, discerned and verified. The tale seemed to be authentic, according to the statistical boot-logging methods, the AI provided. The mechanically enhanced woman's unseen pale eyebrows beneath a cocooned visor leaped in excitement. [color=f26522]“What were you exactly harvesting?”[/color] [@scifidude47][@Hekazu]