[ CW ] `` A flash of light , a puff of smoke , and she was gone . ''

A flash of light, a puff of smoke, and she was gone. The incinerator had done its job instantaneously, as always. 
 
 `` Finally,'' Jarvid grunted. `` She was a whiner. I hate the friggin' whiners, do n't you?'' 
 
 De Guerrain walked up to the porthole of the burning chamber and looked inside. The faint red glow faded as the metal walls quickly cooled back to an indifferent gray, and soon the room was dark again. The vents would activate in a few seconds and eliminate the little clump of ash. De Guerrain breathed on the glass and slowly drew a skull, his leather glove squeaking on the foggy surface. 
 
 `` Yes, she was... quite loud,'' he conceded, turning towards Jarvid. De Guerrain sniffed. The dullard had gotten even more fat lately and carried the smell of greasy cookery and tabaccum. `` You know, black may be slimming, but any more nights at the tavern might cost you your uniform,'' he said nonchalantly. 
 
 Jarvid looked abashed as he glanced down at his belly. `` Well, you know how my wife cooks, Commander!'' he chuckled nervously. `` A man ca n't handle this job with my wife's cooking, I guarantee that!'' 
 
 De Guerrain smiled. `` Not to mention that young hostesses are *that* much more keen to do their... duty in front of us Enqueteurs, is n't that right?'' 
 
 `` Eeeeh, no point in keeping secrets from you, huh?'' 
 
 `` No. No there is n't.'' De Guerrain turned back to the porthole, clasping his hands behind his back. `` *She* did n't keep hers for very long, anyhow.'' 
 
 `` I'll bet! Brats never hold up for long. What'd you use this time? Cables? Prongs? C'mon, I need a good story to scare the wenches later,'' Jarvid winked. 
 
 De Guerrain's slender frame remained impassive in front of the bolted chamber door. `` Needles,'' he said softly. `` My daughter had always been terrified of needles.'' 
 
 Jarvid stiffened. `` Oh.'' 
 
 The long hallway grew silent.
