The outside of the hospital was... a surprise. The outermost room was a shuttle bay with over a dozen bays for sleek teal shuttles; it seemed that the blue-green shade was the preferred shade for everything in the Imperial arsenal, from its body-armor to its guns to its ships. Taking out Charis would be... trivial. Even now, with her helmet back on, her armor didn't make her strong enough to avoid him simply grabbing her and tossing her outside; or slamming her helmet into the shuttle hard enough to crush it. Oddly enough, they'd left the datastore with him; and it was more durable than their armor as well, so it could make a good club in a pinch.

If all of the aliens were this weak, maybe escape wasn't something he'd need to worry about. He just needed to get enough gear to hijack a ship of some sort, and get the hell out; he could fight through these Republic troopers like they were made out of paper. Though... his prosthetic would shut off even as he took the first swing, so he'd be doing it one-handed.

"Mute. Helmet, should I replace the false hand, or just fix it?"

A momentary image of the hand's diagram on his HUD. ~The hand is approximately 98% better at detecting nerve impulses than the one you had built at Eye-Tech. Best recommendation would be modifying it for your own purposes; or, the next time you get your hand regrown, not implanting a bomb in yourself.~ He nodded. "Unmute." The helmet would undo its own mute setting after a while, but best not be used to privacy.

He shook his head slightly, drawing a glance from Charis as she opened the shuttle, gesturing towards the passenger seat. There were no controls; just a display screen over a pair of comfortable reclining cushions. "If you would care to step in, Jason."

He inhaled for a moment... and then stepped over the... driving seat? Did anyone drive this thing? To settle in. Restraints popped up from the sides, attaching to each other; he looked at them a moment. He... would have trouble breaking them, but they would come loose. Good lord, their restraints were tougher than their armor?

As the shuttle took off, Charis adjusted her own restraints, settling her helmet back on her own head. "Mind if I ask why they called you so many different names? 'Boss', 'Eyeball', 'Dragonslayer', 'Titanslayer'? Not many called you Jason, but according to the recordings that's your birth name."

Jason laughed, relaxing as best he could in the seat... as the shuttle started to accelerate, rapidly hurtling... upwards. The sky started to turn black almost immediately. Well. A spaceborne prison complicated escapes. The absolute lack of security was... strange. Were they that confident escape was useless?

"Each name has a different meaning and background. Boss is just because I owned that ship, and ran the company that built and crewed it. When I stopped being a soldier and went out on my own, I wore a shiny helmet like this one... with an eyeball scrawled on it. Hence that name. Even based the company name, 'Eyetech' on it. The other two..."

He looked out to the side, at the beautiful image of a blue planet that became more indistinct by the moment as they rose through the atmosphere. "Were for a mistake I made that nonetheless impressed the hell out of everyone, and a joke by soldiers who referred to an old girlfriend as a Dragon."

Charis tilted her head in confusion. "That doesn't track. You killed your old girlfriend?"

"Oh, good lord, no. Sorry, translators aren't perfect. In my native language, 'Lay' can mean to have sex, while 'Slay' can mean to kill. 'Dragonslayer' could mean either someone who killed a dragon, or someone who 'laid with', dragons."

"Ahh. That sort of language doesn't always cross-translate well at first. It should get better with time. We have to deal with new languages all the time."

The shuttle began to slow down in a smooth arc; he could see a silver disk up ahead... with a vibrant golden glow coming from the top. "That's.... interesting. Are those... golden trees?"

As it settled in along the edge, docking up against a door leading into a vast grey chamber where numerous crates and smaller shuttles were stored, he lost track of the view from above; but instead saw a trio of heavily armored soldiers; in bulkier, more solid versions of the teal armor; two with golden shoulder plates and trim, a third with red; all armed, though only the gold ones had rifles on their backs.

"Welcome to your new home. While in theory you should be here the rest of your life, I sincerely doubt that will be the case. Some of your personal effects have already been delivered. Others will be en route. Try not to fall onto any more planets." She smiled; and remained seated as the door on Jason's side opened.

He shook himself a bit as the restraints lifted, and stepped out onto his feet, looking at the three armored, passive figures. The red-trimmed figure stepped forward; the two others both settled hands on their weapons. "Jason Bennet. I am Chaif Hark. I am both one of your fellow inmates, and the warden of this facility."

Jason blinked a few times. "That... How does that work?"

The figure shrugged. Jason realized that the man likely hadn't shrugged; but made whatever gesture his translator thought was equivalent. "Here, it does. I have been a prisoner here for twenty-seven years, and the Warden for twenty. I'm not allowed to leave, but I run affairs on the inside. Your file tells me you're an outsider; you got stranded here after killing some sort of giant monster?"

Jason shrugged. "Pretty much that. And... now I guess I'm a prisoner. Forever." As if.

The Warden nodded. "Well. This is a prison for the elite of society. Everyone here is by their very nature valuable, either for their genetics, their skills, or their knowledge. You will not be allowed to leave, but you may be involved in research projects, or art, or any of a number of things; and if you cooperate, your comfortable, well-fed existence can be truly luxurious."

The two guards stepped off to the side; as the Warden led Jason down a hallway. The moment they stepped through the next door, the walkway began moving; he could see the two guards, both watching them; handguns ready to shoot in moments, and of course the rifles ready in a few seconds.

He studied the one on the right for a moment. The handgun was DNA-coded to the guard, or perhaps to his gauntlet; if he picked it up, it wouldn't shoot. Such a familiar tech, whichever way it worked. The helmet might be able to get by it. The rifle on his back, and the grenades... were not. Though... it seemed they weren't explosive grenades. Gas? Sonic?

The warden coughed. Jason glanced back forward. "The guards, you probably won't see every day. You and a few dozen of your fellow prisoners on this floor will share a common area, maintained by some of the tier one prisoners." The floor seemed to slow; and stop. Jason's helmet showed him markings on the wall, invisible to the naked eye, from hidden emitters. They had stopped by a string of numbers and letters being broadcast out.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The warden tapped the wall. A door smoothly opened, revealing... what appeared to be a small house. It was as if someone had taken a chunk of strange, golden jungle, planted it in the middle of the station, and dropped a house into it. The walls... were cleverly designed screens that seemed to just be a view of the distance, with the house on a plateau... aside from two doors.

"This will be your home, for now. We will develop something more permanent over the coming weeks, and if you are cooperative, you can participate in its design. The door over there will glow golden at meal-times, and the shared space will open. You will be allowed to spend up to [two point eight six hours] for each meal there. Do you have any requests?"

"My personal effects are in the home?"

The warden nodded. "Some of them, yes. More will be delivered soon. This door leads to the rest of the station; you will hear a tone, and it will glow red when it is about to open. Do not stand near the door, or it will stun you. A guard will place any items they have deemed safe to give you."

"Nice. Then my only request would be some tools so I can fix my belongings whenever they arrive. Obviously no weapons, but whatever you're willing to give me."

The warden chuckled. "That is acceptable, however, I must warn you; everything you do in here will be watched, so avoid making weapons with the non-weapon tools we give you; we'd stimply have to stun you and take them."

***

The 'Prison Cell' was the strangest idea behind one he'd ever seen. He was aware of the sort of resort-like minimum-security prisons the wealthy often stayed in back on earth, in the US; places where everyone had privacy, comfortable beds, and often could go for an entire sentence without ever being threatened, handcuffed, or beaten.

This... was an entirely different level. This was more like Napoleon being given his own private island sort of prison. Sure, it might not be as nice as his house back at La Famiglia, with its massive underground workshop and defenses, heated pool, workout equipment... but it was nice.

The home was just that; a home. A fairly strange bathroom, which seemed to be mostly just a blank space; with appliances simply emerging from the walls; a living room, and a bedroom. It was... almost like a cabin.

Each room had a sensor in the ceiling his helmet spotted immediately... and a simple plastic tray rested on a table in the 'living room' space. It had... an electric razor. His handgun, the classic Tenner that had killed Lightning all those years ago; minus, of course, any ammunition that would make it a threat. A stack of ration bars, bottles of water; with a note attached that, his helmet translated, indicated there would be a refrigerated compartment for food and drink storage in the living area.

Unfortunately, the drive containing the SSDs and processors was absent; he would need to wait to get started on those. For the moment, he wouldn't have much to do.

Fortunately, there was also another, smaller table in the 'living room'; one which had what appeared to be a holographic display emitter, directly in front of a couch. It was... strange that this place was designed for multiple people.

He sat down on the couch-sized seat, and tapped the obvious power button. A display popped up... of a 'News' channel of some description.

The host was a six-eyed, pale-skinned alien, standing in a wide open room, wearing... robes, walking over what looked to be a miniature battle scene. Apparently loose-fitting white robes counted as professional wear here. A message popped up over the image.

Would you like to start from the beginning of this segment, or continue watching Live broadcast?

Below it were a series of buttons for entertainment, education, and news channels. He tapped the button to start from the beginning.

~This is our latest segment in the continued war against the Swarm.~ An image appeared of a small fort-like structure on an island, surrounded by ocean; pipes or cables of some sort descended into the water in every direction, and weapon turrets mounted on the walls were firing into the water.

~Ongoing operations against Swarm forces on Alpha Omnicron Epsilon five have continued for the third straight year. The local military forces have, for the most part, been crushed, but with each passing day more of their forces attempt to dislodge our forward bases.~ Images of what looked like centipedes; impossible to tell the size, from the images, but swarms of them, wielding some sort of weapon mounted on their heads, were crawling out of the water; most of them dying before reaching the walls, though most of them didn't even make it there; the water was growing steadily thicker as the video continued to play with floating corpses.

~The Purge of Alpha Omnicron Epsilon is expected to be completed within the next six days; the pre-invasion population of twenty-seven billion of the Swarm is already down into the millions, and the hostile biosphere is likely already dead. Even should our forces be forced back, the planet will be dead within months; as such, should the assaults become too effective and actually start inflicting casualties, the Admiralty simply plans to withdraw and use orbital bombardment to ensure nothing reaches the sky.~

The image shifted, showing a creature with vivid pink skin and a series of ridges running down it's head, with a set of four yellow eyes on a mostly humanoid face; its body was contained in a lighter version of the green armor he'd seen so much of, with silver trim; clearly a vaccum suit, with the helmet attached to the back of his shoulder. ~The Swarm monsters in this region had posed a threat to colonies, shipping, and primitive life forms for years, but with the loss of their homeworld, this particular breed should soon breathe its last.~

The white-skinned reporter reappeared. ~Unfortunately, its not all good news today. The Explorarium wing recently found what can only be described as a scene of horror, as a long-lost colony of our brethren was found during our slow sweep of the Upsilon sector, but too late; savage local swarmlings had already killed and consumed them.~ The imagery around him shifted to show a handful of small, ruined structures set atop a plateau in a blue-purple jungle; skeletons, almost-human ones, littered the ruins. After a few moments, the image zoomed in; to show a handful of six-limbed, scaly purple creatures with spears, staring up at whatever was taking the video.

~This latest, fortunately primitive, branch of the swarm is expected to be subject to Purge as soon as the Explorarium determines the best method to do so; in the event nothing in local wildlife is determined to be useful, it is likely that a biological agent will be employed to eradicate all life, so that a new colony can be founded; a safe colony. Those interested in joining the Colonization programs should note that this world; Upsilon-Gamma-Alpha Six; has an unusually long day, resulting in typical (150 farenheit) temperatures down to a minimum of (5 farenheit), with no seasonal variation whatsoever, and is almost perfectly standard in gravity at (0.69Gs).~

Jason stared at the display for a moment. These reptilian creatures... primitive and unable to leave their world... were considered to be part of this 'Swarm'? Was that just what they called any non-humanoid? Or just the hostile ones?

He moved through a few more news channels; apparently there were listings of viewable segments from the past month, with the 'Swarm' as a key-word.

He saw instances of open warfare; hostile alien fleets invading Republic space, even, rarely, winning sometimes. Enemy worlds being burned. But mixed in were reports of primitive settlements on distant worlds; though in one case, a band of humanoid aliens with a thick grey furry pelt were noted as 'Unknown, possible Swarmlings' who would be tested.

The Republic response to all of them was the same. Either they were of the right band of genetics to be a Republic citizen, or they were part of the 'Swarm', and needed to be eradicated.

Good lord. It was nice that he had the right general looks to be part of the Republic, so they were being nice to him. But... these people were a bunch of mass-murdering space-Nazis. And considering they already had a modest advantage over their enemies, the technology they could learn from him, the things from the Jotun, humans, and the Imperials, product of sciences that, in many ways, were more advanced than their own, might just be the edge they needed to conquer their galaxy.