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Some rooms were brighter than others. Some rooms were cast in the dark. A few of the prisoners had been left in utter, gnawing silence -- others to the untender mercies of loud, thumping music to shake their brains open.

He was always relieved when he entered one of these rooms and found someone else there, chained. Always relieved when he didn't walk into a room and find it empty, chains at the ready on the floor, and find her waiting to tell him that this room had been reserved for him. Someone else was being tortured, and that meant it was not Quartz being tortured. And that was good.

But he could spot the marks of her handiwork by now. This one had already felt the razorblade caress of her attention.

Quartz stared a little fearfully. Even just the specter of her, hanging over them in this room, had him scared and on edge. It made his already flat demeanor even hollower, less lifelike.

"Hello, brother," he said, holding up the bag of bottled Aquafinas as proof of his intentions. "I'm here to give you water to drink."

"I'm making the rounds," Quartz confirmed, setting down the bag and taking one of the bottles from it. "You're the third so far."

The plastic bag, and its contents, provided more information, if the badly beaten knight was still in possession enough of his senses, Quartz supposed. There were a few more bottles in there than he understood there to be captives, but the quantity told a tale in general terms nonetheless: there are others. There are several. Several still alive. It wasn't really Quartz's business whether the knight took heart from that or not.

Quartz met the fallen man where he struggled to his knees, in obvious pain and difficulty. He knelt alongside him, on the side of his good eye, and showed him the water bottle as he opened it. "It hasn't been tampered with," he promised. "This won't really hurt -- hold still a minute." Carefully, he pinched the skin on the side of Valhalla's cheek lightly between two fingers and pulled it a little. It very slowly settled back into place. The knight had lost a lot of elasticity. "Alright," he said, and raised the water bottle to the knight's lips to let him drink.

Don't thank me. Don't ever, ever thank me, you stupid boy. I wouldn't raise a finger for any of you that would cost me even a tiny bit. My fingers aren't mine to raise.

Quartz studied the face of the knight for a while. Under his bandages and days-old scruff, he had earnest eyes that watched keenly against their sluggishness. He seemed like a good person. Poor b*****d.

He wished General Schörl hadn't sent him here. His hands were shaking.

"The human body can last weeks without food. Weeks without sleep. But it only manages a few days without water. She doesn't want you dying of dehydration, so there's nothing to really be grateful to me about."

Quartz brought his hand up to rub soft circles on Valhalla's back through his coughing, as one might an infant in need of burping or a child in need of comfort. It helped calm some of the trembling in his own fingers, giving them something automatic to do.

He shook his head at the man's question. "General Schörl," he corrected. "White mane of hair, green coat. She's been here. Caused you some small pain." It wasn't presented as a question.

"She wants you hydrated so she has longer to break you. So you won't die. If I'd denied you the water to let you die, it would have been a mercy," he said with the usual vacancy in his voice, "and I am not merciful. I can't blink my eyes in an empty room without her knowing."

He plied the man with more water while he considered the question, and whether he thought he'd be allowed to answer it, and how much. "A blonde senshi with yellow markings," he indicated the first, "and a redheaded one with red. The blonde one was in worse shape. The General hasn't been to them yet."

The knight was bartering, wasn't he? He was trading kindness for information, or trying to -- because kindness was the only coin he had left to spend now. Not valid currency with Schörl. Not valid currency with Quartz, either -- but Quartz harbored these people no ill will, and hadn't been ordered to assist in their interrogation. He had no qualms in giving them information as long as it didn't interfere with Schörl's work.

"Sailor Ganymede, the blonde one. The redhead, Sailor," he scrunched up his nose, trying to recall the more obscure name. "Penthesilia. And you, Valhalla of Jupiter. Your door guards have your names."

He settled back on his haunches, folding his arms in consideration. "You know Ganymede, then, but not the other one. I can tell you the same as you'd figure out on your own: her injuries aren't ones that are in danger of becoming unexpectedly mortal in the immediate future." He looked off at a point somewhere behind Valhalla, not thinking of Ganymede. "But you'd be surprised how many injuries aren't life-threatening, I'm afraid."

He let out a breath. "I'm Lieutenant Quartz, now," he gave as his answer. Names were easy to give, easy to take away. Transitory.

"Pain is corrective. It reinforces the lesson, so it has to be consistent. You'll be corrected until you learn what it is you have to do to avoid punishment. Sparing the rod spoils the child."

He looked back to Valhalla. "I avoid corrections now."

Quartz frowned. "Once," he said quietly, staring at the floor. "For a very short while, yes." A hand raked through his hair. "A few hours, if you add it up. I was a knight." He had added it up -- that was the sum of his memories before Schörl.

"I didn't know what I was or why I could do the things I could. She was killing people, and there I was, charging right into the fray -- so we fought, and I lost. This is what they did to me. And if they think you're more useful to them that way, it's what they might do to you, too."

He shrugged. He didn't know for sure what would become of the prisoners. He didn't think Schörl had been informed, either. "I have this wallet," he said, that's got all these pictures in it of me with two little girls, a toddler and a baby. And I look really happy. But in here," he pressed his fingertips to his heart, "there's nothing. It's completely gone."

If Valhalla had opened up his mouth and started speaking some chthonic language in a threefold voice, what he was saying could not have sounded more like unintelligible gibberish to Quartz's ears.

"You're tired," he said with exhausted sympathy, and was surprised to hear the slight note of feeling in his own voice. "You're making yourself upset. You should try and get some rest, conserve your energy -- they won't leave you any to spare."

He stood, anxious to get out of this room and away from this young, naive creature who so thoughtlessly respected him. He wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, tell him you don't understand, I threw a girl through a window without a second thought. Tell him it's too late for me, think of yourself. Tell him she'll delight in crushing your kindness like a lion delights in raw meat.

What he told him instead was, "Your respect is useless to me. Sleep well, Valhalla of Jupiter." And left -- before anything else could call him back or make him more afraid.