The sharp click-clack of doctor Vahlen's heels on the floor announced her arrival, even before the door hissed open to reveal her. My superior was, as always, immaculate. She was an attractive woman, still quite young despite her prestigious position, yet with a formal, professional air about her. Her copper-brown hair was drawn back in a tight bun, a few strands artfully left loose to soften her otherwise perfectly ordered appearance. She wore her usual spotless knee-length white labcoat, left unzipped to the breast to display the standard-issue X-COM turtleneck beneath. Vahlen was the model of organization and order; the woman took to grooming herself with the same measured judgement and meticulous attention to detail she brought to every other aspect of her life.
"I trust we are ready to begin?" she intoned, fixing her piercing blue eyes directly on mine. Her voice was crisp, formal, with only the slightest hint of her native German accent audible in the way she stressed her 'S' sounds and softened her 'R's'.
I gave a cut nod in reply, averting my gaze under the pretense of checking my clipboard for the fifteenth time in the last hour. Doctor Vahlen expected nothing less than perfection from her staff, and had little tolerance for laziness or incompetence. I had double, triple, and even quadruple-checked everything exhaustively in preparation for this moment; I had no doubt absolutely everything was in order.
Freeing me from the withering experience of her icy-blue stare, Vahlen strode over to the containment tank that dominated the center of the lab, inspecting our prized specimen: a live alien, captured in the field and imprisoned in our lab for 'interrogation'. This particular specimen was known as a 'sectiod', and its species were by far the most common among the alien invaders. It was the spitting image of what the average person imagined an alien looked like: Gray skin, oversized head disproportionate to its shrunken body, opaque slanted oval eyes, slender, almost atrophied looking limbs... no doubt, this same species had been the very one responsible for inspiring myths and legends of 'Gray aliens' in the first place.
"Well then, let's commence the experiment." Vahlen ordered, intently studying the diminutive gray alien through the glass.
"Ma'am?" I prompted her cautiously, my hand hovering over the dial responsible for controlling the intensity of the interrogation device that we'd built into the creature's containment tank.
"Low intensity, I think, for the moment." she clarified. "We've no way of knowing just how much this specimen can take. We wouldn't want to risk hurting it... any more than necessary."
She spoke with a curiously coy tone I'd never heard the doctor use before, a tone which perhaps should have warned me of what was to come, though at the time I thought little of it. Dutifully, I turned the intensity dial to the 'low' setting, and activated the device.
Our interrogation method was as ingenious as it was barbaric. Without a common language, interrogating a captive alien had presented a unique challenge, one doctor Vahlen had risen to with aplomb. She'd devised a method of reading the thoughts of captive creatures: By passing high-voltage currents of electricity through their bodies, we were able to electronically scan their minds for images, and even gauge which imaged were associated strongly with one another. While it had proven effective, this method was highly controversial—even a low-intensity scan caused the subject agony, and the pain only increased the more we probed. The subject's death was guaranteed, and every interrogation was a race against time to retrieve as much information as possible before the captive expired. Had we been using this method to interrogate humans, we would have been war criminals, but no provision existed prohibiting their use against extraterrestrials—at least, none existed yet. I had my doubts about the ethics of what we were doing, of course, but doctor Vahlen had assured me we had little choice. To fight the aliens, we needed to understand them, and the immediate survival of the human race overruled any ethical concerns.
I watched with attentive fascination and growing horror as a pair of electrodes unfolded from the sides of the containment tank, and flared to life, brilliant blue bolts of electricity coursing between them and into the sectoid's body.
The creature let out what I could only describe as a screech of sheer agony, a screech that I felt in my mind rather than heard. It clawed at the walls of its glass prison, desperately trying to climb them, before collapsing to the ground and writhing as the streams of lightning caressed its flesh.
"The subject's vitals are spiking, doctor..." I cautioned, turning my attention back to Vahlen, only to notice something seemed off about her. Rather than regarding the spectacle with her usual clinical detachment, she seemed entranced by it. Her harsh blue eyes were wide, and the corners of her mouth had twisted into a subtle smirk. Her cheeks were flushed, and she clutched her clipboard to her chest so tightly her knuckles were turning white.
"Er... doctor?" I followed up meekly.
"Oh... of course..." she finally responded, her voice breathy and low. She let out a sigh, though one that echoed with contentment and anticipation more than it did exasperation, before gathering herself and continuing in her usual even tone. "Very well. Cut the power. A moment's reprieve, before we... continue."
The last word rolled off her tongue with an almost sultry intonation, and her body visibly shuddered as she spoke. A strange feeling took hold of me, one I struggled to place—it felt as if I was watching something private, something secret and taboo. I felt as if I'd walked in on someone changing clothes, or disturbed a couple in an intimate moment.
I deactivated the device, and the sectoid slumped onto the cold steel floor of its tank, its chest heaving with exertion. Vahlen approached the tank, her face flushed and her lips parted slightly, studying the sectoid's every twitch with rapt attention. She placed her finger against the glass, and gently traced a line down it, as if tracing the contours of the creature's alien body.
"Again." She purred, taking a deep breath and running a hand through her immaculate hair, mussing it up with an uncharacteristic disregard for her professional appearance. "Hit it again."
"Doctor, are you sure...?" I asked, but when she offered no answer, I did as she instructed. Once more I turned the intensity dial to low, and once more, the sectoid let out a psychic scream of agony as bolts of electricity scintillated across its flailing form.