by M. K. Gibson
It was all very simple and yet terrifying. I was hung on a hook like an animal.
Panic flowed like acid in my veins, heightened by the fear and magnified by the shock of what was happening to me. I heard cranks turn. The chains retracted upwards and I was lifted off the ground. All my weight now focused on the single point of the hook piercing my jaw.
I couldn’t describe the pain. It was surreal. My mind tried to comprehend being mutilated. My body went into shock almost immediately.
My toes were mere inches from the ground, inches that might as well have been miles. The golem guards stood and watched, saying nothing, awaiting orders. The glint of the braziers flickered in the corner of my eyes. I couldn’t see anything but the wall, but I heard the others.
Some were screaming. Some were begging. But all were in pain.
I expected Mastema to speak. To taunt us further. To say something villainous. But he didn’t. He just watched for a while. Once he was satisfied that we were all in pain, he told the flesh golems, “Continue the indoctrination.”
The golems added wet kindling to the braziers, forcing more smoke into the room, making us cough harder. Coughing was agony with the hooks in our mouths. Coughing and shivering made us sway upon those hooks.
The swaying. God, damn it, the swaying.
Pain . . .
The micro movements caused the hook to dig deeper, tugging at the skin, ripping the flesh wider. My body weight pulled harder on the hook. And at the apex of each swing, a moment of weightlessness. Only then the return momentum caused the pain to double. Trying to hold still caused muscles to lock up and spasm, starting the torment all over.
My jaw muscles ached as they clenched to hold still. My jaw hinge threatened to pop and dislocate. I was in agony.
We all were in agony.
And there we remained. To suffer.
Left for a full day and night.
************************
We all broke at some point. Human and demon alike. Tears. Cries. Wails and moans. The sounds echoed off the stone walls.
Even I broke. I cried out to the God that wasn’t listening. I asked forgiveness for all my sins. And there were many. So many that, again, I felt I deserved to be there.
When the braziers’ fire died down, we were left in the dark. I and the others continued to cry. Deep woeful sobs. I heard others curse, as best they could. Damning Mastema. Damning their luck. Damning themselves.
The wails of the others you couldn’t see were maddening. Couldn’t they just shut the fuck up?!
In the dark, there was no dignity. Bodily functions took over as the room began to reek of piss and shit. Despite starving, the body still needed to void itself of waste.
I just tried not to move. I tried to hold as still as possible. There is an odd sense of calm that comes over you when you have given up, when your spirit has been broken. You simply go limp and wait for the next new pain. You begin to crave it. Any sensation other than the non-stop one you currently felt. Some new pain, please. That was all I hoped for.
Hope.
Hope?
Again, I called out for hope.
Hope was not what I needed. I found something in myself to replace my hope. My hate. Cold resolve. I had several lifetimes of hate to draw from. A dark place I could draw from. I didn’t want to, but I needed to.
To survive, I had to embrace the pain. Hold it close like an old lover and miss it when it was gone. It was the only way.
Hope? Abandon all hope ye who enter here. Fuck hope. I needed the pain.
************************
The cell door clanked as it was opened. As I twisted and slowly rotated on my hook, I saw a hatch made from the stone wall shift outward and open in towards the room we were in, revealing a tunnel. Flesh golems poured out of the tunnel. One for each of us. As they entered the room, I briefly saw the long stone tunnel lit by wall torches beyond the hatch.
We were removed from the hooks by the silent, stinking constructs without dignity or circumstance. The monstrous creatures just grabbed us by our throats and unhooked us, dropping our naked bodies to the ground. The removal of the hooks re-opened our congealed and encrusted wounds. The holes in our jaws were once again open and blood began to flow.
The pain sent nauseating, brain-spike tremors through my body. We were only on the floor for a few seconds, languishing, before the giant creatures grabbed each of us by whatever body part they deemed necessary to drag us down this new stone tunnel.
My golem took me by my right upper arm and dragged me along the jagged stone floor. The only lubrication was the blood, piss, and shit from me and the other captives. When that ran out, my left thigh and hip was ripped open as I was pulled down the stone hallway.
The golem stopped outside of a cell door. It was only a small rectangular stone hatch. The golem pulled a black metal lever and the hatch opened. Inside was a small stone hole carved out of the wall. No bigger than four and half feet tall, three feet wide and three feet deep. Hewn from the thick stone walls with crude tools without consideration for comfort.
It was a tomb. A goddamn tomb. And into this tomb I was placed.
The golem shut the door and engaged the latch, locking me into darkness. There was no light. There was no sound. I could not stand, nor sit nor lie down. The stone and rock absorbed all but the loudest screams. There was nothing but me and my thoughts.
My new prison was rough and jagged. And it was blissfully silent. Once I was alone and sure the golems were not coming back, I reached into my mind.
Collective.
//ONLINE HOST//
How bad is the damage? I asked, knowing the Collective was already fast at work healing my body.
//PUNCTURE WOUND TO MANDIBLE SOFT TISSUE - INFECTION STOPPED - MINOR ABRASIONS - MEDIUM HYPOTHERMIA - QUERY: AT WHAT POINT DOES HOST WISH FOR COLLECTIVE TO ACTIVATE BODY SHIELDS//
I knew what the Collective meant. Up until now nothing had been life-threatening. Sad to say, but the damage I endured was normal for me. Beatings, punctures, and yeah, sometimes torture. But the Collective guessed, as I did, that the torture may get worse.
Collective, just hold off on the shields until absolutely necessary. They are probably going to beat us, and break our bones and God knows what else. But there are other prisoners here, and Mastema said something about an indoctrination to the flesh golems. Odds are this is how they treat all new prisoners.
//UNDERSTOOD HOST. QUERY: HOW DOES HOST INTEND TO ESCAPE CAPTIVITY///
I don’t plan on it.
//QUERY: WHY//
Because I have to let this one ride itself out.
//EXPLAIN//
Because hanging on a hook for a full day and night gave me perspective. Coming back from the ludus in Ars Amadel, I was wounded in that rocket attack. In my recovery, I was robbed. I reacted harshly. Dove right into an investigation where I was attacked again at my vault. Again, I lashed out and marched right at the scum who robbed me. All these events led me here.
//EXPLAIN FURTHER//
The Collective was a growing intelligence. It was curious and it was always learning. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. But it was something I couldn’t stop, so worrying was pointless.
The point is that I was funneled here. I let the stress of death threats, robbery, and being a land baron up to my spectacular balls in debt cloud my judgment. Cloud my vision. I see now I was not seeing. Someone, or multiple someones, wanted me here. Helpless. I’m not buying it was Andromalius. If whoever put me here wanted me dead, I’d be dead. But I’m alive. We’re alive. Which means there’s a purpose. But what purpose, I don’t know.
//COLLECTIVE UNDERSTANDS – HOSTS’ ENEMIES DESIRE HOST FOR UNKNOWN PURPOSE - HOST INTENDS FOR ENEMIES TO SHOW THEMSELVES//
Yeah, that’s my plan. So in the meantime, I am going to have to suffer. Whatever they throw at us, we have to get through it. That’s why you can’t just throw up the shield whenever they begin to hurt me. Us. If they see it,
then they will just beat us more until we are out of energy, the shields come down, and then they hurt us even worse.
//UNDERSTOOD HOST//
Good. But maybe just for now, could you activate the body shield for a few hours? Lock me in place? I asked.
This tiny room is diabolical. The Vietcong used similar methods. Put a prisoner in a tiny cramped environment, bound and contorted. The muscles lock up and the pain drives you mad. If you activate the body shield, then the shield holds me up and maybe I can get a few hours’ sleep. I know we can’t do it indefinitely, lest we run out of power. But maybe just a few good hours so I can sleep and get myself ready for what’s to come.
//AFFIRMATIVE HOST - REST//
I half leaned as best I could, balling up my legs, and then the shield went up. The energy shield held me in place, immovable. I closed my eyes and let myself drift away.
//HOST - QUERY//
Go ahead, Collective, I said, my eyes closed, trying to find some sort of comfort in this tiny hole, using my tech to let my muscles go as slack as possible. Even with the shield, I felt myself cramping up.
//WHAT IF UNKNOWN CONSPIRATORS HAVE NO GREATER PURPOSE FOR HOST BEYOND PAIN//
Then we’re fucked. And that’s when we will start looking for a way out of here. Understood?
//AFFIRMATIVE - REST WELL HOST//
Surprisingly, I did.
The next day . . .
. . . or night?
Hell, I had no awareness of time. Regardless, the indoctrination continued.
Chapter Twenty
I Screamed Until My Throat Bled
In what I could only guess was a day later, the flesh golems returned and pulled each of us out of our cramped tombs at the same time. I heard screams of pain and fear. I was tossed hard to the ground and my muscles and tendons screamed in protest. Going from a locked-up and cramped position to being forced to stretch was painful beyond belief. I grunted and winced and kept telling myself I had to tolerate this . . . for now.
Fighting back was useless. For now.
For now, I just had to endure.
All along the dim stone hallway, the golems had each of us pinned to the ground, flat on our backs and still naked. This time, there were two golems for each of us.
One of the two golems knelt beside me, one hand on my chest, the other on my manacles. The other golem had a grip on my shins. The two of them kept me, and I assumed the rest of the new prisoners, immobile. The golem that held my shins in his huge hands looked at me with his dead mismatched eyes.
“So, you come here often?” I hoarsely asked. The golem looked at me with a blank face. If it had a mind, it didn’t show it. It just looked at me as if waiting for a command.
It was eerily quiet in the hallways. Only the breathing of prisoners could be heard. The golems didn’t breathe, they only waited. The silence droned on.
Then I heard a loud snap and a horrible scream from beyond my vision, down the hallway. Then another, a snap and a scream.
And another.
And another.
Bone breaking. Simple and effective. Painful and fucking frightening. My heart started racing. Then pounding. I felt a wash of fear come over me and a cold sweat set in. Another snap and scream, this one close. That was five. Another snap followed by another gut-wrenching scream.
Six.
To my right was one of the female Lust demons. Like me, like the rest of us, she was naked. She had a lavender hue with an ever so gently flattened nose, which gave her a playful, feline face. Under normal circumstances she would have been beautiful
But as we locked eyes, all I saw was someone scared. The fear on her face showed clearly. In that moment, that very human moment, the demonic temptress looked like nothing more than a scared girl.
“Be brave,” I mouthed as we both knew one of us was about to have their bones snapped next. Her or me.
I couldn’t see the others from being pinned down. But since the Franken-fucker twins holding me down had a death-grip on my shins, as well as the Lust demon’s, my guess was the tibia.
The demoness kept her eyes on me. Right up to when the golem that held her shins just twisted his right hand and snapped the bone so that it broke through the skin. The demoness screamed and arched her back, writhing in pain. I could clearly see the reddish bone sticking out from her leg. I fought the urge to puke. For what I just saw, and for what I knew was coming next.
My golem, the one holding my shins, did the same thing and twisted his hand.
My bone didn’t break.
It just hurt like a motherfucker. I gritted my teeth and held back a scream that was threatening to erupt from deep within me.
The problem was my bones weren’t exactly bone. They hadn’t been bone for a long time. The Collective had kept me young along with transforming my body. My calcium-deposited human bone had been enhanced into a composite alloy of bone matter, dense plastic, various durable metals, and carbon nano-tubes. The Collective ensured I would be more durable than any other human, and in many ways, than most modern cyborgs.
But I still had nerve endings.
So when the golem tried to snap my leg, even with its incredible strength, nothing happened. Of course that didn’t stop it from trying again. The two constructs looked at each other, as perplexed as the walking dead could be. They cocked their heads as if listening to a voice I could not hear. Then the construct holding my chest and manacles shifted its grip to hold my hands onto my chest and placed the other hand onto my shin next to the other construct’s. In perfect synchronicity the two of them twisted in opposite directions and snapped my shin in a flash of intense white pain.
I screamed until my throat was raw. My voice joined the other prisoners in a wailing chorus of agony.
Somewhere, Mastema was smiling.
I looked down and saw my broken tibia poking through my flesh and felt my body go into shock. I just stared at it in disbelief. My head fell back hard on the stone floor as I shut my eyes as hard as I could. I felt myself going limp and I knew I was blacking out from the pain and shock as tears welled up in my eyes.
In unison, as if guided by an unseen puppet master, the golems picked each of us prisoners up and placed us back into our tiny cells. I only remember sound of the stone door locking into place. Locking me back into a place of pain and darkness. The darkness consumed consciousness as shock took over and I blacked out.
************************
A long time ago . . .
“All of you will be dead in less than seventy-two hours,” Reynolds said to the gathered rebels. “If you resist, then a force unlike any you’ve ever seen will come here and destroy you all, down to the last man, woman, and child.”
The makeshift town hall was quiet as Reynolds’s words hung in the air. After a moment, a few murmurs moved through the gathered assembly. Reynolds knew they were weighing what information he’d brought against the battles they’d already fought.
Fools.
How long did they really think they could hold out? Why could people not see that demons were the next step in our history? Reynolds took a seat on the stage and lit a cigarette while he waited for the same inevitable questions.
“How do we know he’s telling the truth?” a voice called out.
There’s the first one, Reynolds thought. “Because your leaders were already notified by the local demon archduke that they were sending a human intermediary. Which is me. I’d like to tell you that you have a chance. That you can hold out and they’ll forget about you. But it isn’t going to happen. If you surrender willingly, things will go much smoother.”
“How can you do this to your own kind?!” an older man stood and screamed at me.
And there is the second one. Reynolds sighed. “Do you really want to do this in a public session?” Reynolds asked the stronghold’s leaders, who sat opposite him on the stage.
The council’s elder leader, James Burnheim, stood. “We are a community. We have survived as a community and we sp
eak openly as a community.”
A cheer went up from the people as James smiled. Reynolds just shook his head. Idiotic nonsense. Burnheim continued, “If you wish to address the leaders, you must address the people.”
Another cheer went up as Burnheim sat with the other elders. Fine. If that’s what the people want, then so be it. It was time for truth. Reynolds stood and walked to the center of the stage.
“The old-timer over there asked me how could I do this to my own kind. And I say, what kind is that? Humans? One of these half-machine cyborgs that have been popping back up? Hmm? Anyone who studies history knows we humans have been slaughtering, enslaving, and torturing one another for our entire existence.”
“That was in the past!”
“That’s what every generation says.” Reynolds shook his head. “But you’re wrong. And demons are no different in that regard. But I believe there will come a time when there will be a balance between our kinds. Already, humans work and live in the city. Some have positions of moderate influence, run companies, and live normal lives. You can stop fighting and have all that.”
“What do they want?” asked Burnheim’s second, Walker. Burnheim shot him a look but kept his mouth shut.
“They want the rail lines,” Reynolds said and the room erupted in anger.
“No!”
“How do they know?!”
Burnheim stood once more and bellowed “Silence!” with his arms up. “How do they know about the lines?” he asked.
Because I told them. “Because it doesn’t take a genius to see your attack patterns, supply raids, and escapes follow old rail lines,” Reynolds said. “It was a only a matter of time. But you stand upon an opportunity which other humans would literally kill you over.”
“What opportunity?” Burnheim asked.
“To run your own guild. A human guild. I know about the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers. I know you’ve kept that spirit alive all through the wars. You could have a fully operational, and profitable, human-run guild with minimal demonic oversight. All you have to do is be part of the system. Transport materials like the rail lines of old and keep this new city running.”