The interrogation room that Pauel was brought into was slightly larger than his cell; at about eight feet by six, it allowed room for a single steel table and two matching steel chairs. The window that usually served for observation was blinded, offering little escape from the four bare durasteel walls that faced him. When Pauel was roughly thrown into a chair with his cuffs still clapped tight about his wrists, the two guards escorting him left...and as they did, Mica arrived.
The communications officer waited just outside the open door for the other two to leave, and when they did, he stepped in and began to pull off the leather gloves he wore finger-by-finger. He kicked the door closed and approached the Prophet at a slow swagger, tossing his gloves down on the table between them.
"So." he said, looking down at the man. "You're the great Apostle of the Found, are you?" Mica smirked contemptuously as he began to unbutton the sleeves of his uniform shirt. "I'm not impressed."