Are they trying to change the schedule?
Psychological strategy shift?
They might come to end me, this time.
Did the war end, or have I become unnecessary?
Fractious lines of multiple, strained trains of thought spun around the inside of the wary Nekovalkryja's head like a spider's web caught in a blustery Autumn storm. The schedule had been interrupted by /something/ and the best guesses she had were they were preparing to kill her, to break her mind, or someone was attacking the planet. Unless we're on some kind of new interment center in space...I can't decide what would be worse.
How long had she been at this location? The interrogations still occurred, but with less frequency than when she was captured. Her hair was matted, dirty, it looked more auburn than it's natural red thanks to every bit of dirt for so long finding it's way there between when she could really, truly clean herself. In a way the monotony promised by prison life almost agreed with her, as much as it drove her mad by every twitch of the clock hand through the hour.
Reviewing battle tactics and theater strategies, playing back old failures in her head to find a better way to win, to ensure the maximum possible victory with the fewest amount of casualties...even her own failures. They had been her most constant source of joy, and the knowledge that there might still be an Empire alive to live on out there, even if she died in the cell at the end of the progressively louder sounds outside her door.
I hope they are real this time...