by P. S. Power
Discipline:
Absolute
P.S. Power
Copyright 2016
Orange Cat Publishing
Chapter one
The darkness was oppressive. Ben had never been in a place that was as quiet or completely empty of everything. Not even a little bit close. There was a silky blackness to the whole thing, and he could hear his breathing as he stood just inside the door. There was a bit of something, a low thud, behind him as the door was locked. That was his guess at any rate. He was being closed inside a tomb, and wouldn't be let out, until he was ready.
Either he passed this test, or died.
The lady that had met him earlier in the day, Glenda, hadn't exactly said it that way. No, she'd told him that it was all about seeing how he handled novel situations. Really, she'd been pretty nice about the whole idea. The plan was for him to go into this space, which had close to the best sound and light proofing possible while still being on planet Earth, and live there until they let him out. The muscular woman, who had a look about her that could indicate that she'd once been a guy, hadn't promised to let him out in a few days or anything.
Really, what she'd hinted at was far different than that. In the absolute darkness there were supposed to be several things for him to use. A bed, and a shower, as well as a toilet. Also an exercise bike. The old fashion kind that wasn't hooked up to VR road trip or anything fun or entertaining. It would, he'd been promised, just have a seat, and pedals that went around. In a circle that went nowhere.
It had been hinted at that Ben would be best served by trying to meditate, while using that antiquated thing, as much as he possibly could. She, the strange lady in gray that had met him, had told him how to clear his mind and focus on a single thing. It didn't really sound fun to him.
She'd even mentioned that it probably wouldn't be possible for him to really manage it not having the right kind of prior experience, but that if he could, the hallucinations would be easier to take. There had been rules for him as well, that he was supposed to follow, if he it was possible. That was how it had been put. Ben had to try and hold his mind together, and not go insane, while not screaming, singing, talking to himself, or masturbating more than three or four times per day.
He grinned at that last one. Not because she'd been wrong about him probably having to do that, but the very idea that he could keep it down to that low of a number. Well, these people clearly expected great things from him. That had been part of the little talk that he'd gotten.
This was a test. One that didn't measure how strong he was, or how well he could do anything normal. Just of his desire to not give up. No matter what.
That was a thing that he really wanted to do. Not let himself be what he used to. The kind of person that just folded when anything became a little tough. In short, Ben Epson was done being like everyone else in the world. At least if he could pull it off. If that meant never giving up, or in, then he’d do his best.
Feeling around he was able to orient himself rapidly enough. It was dark, and he could hear his organs working it was so silent. His mind stung with boredom already, at not having anything exciting to do for a few minutes. In his entire life Ben had possibly been a few hours without entertainment, or at least interesting sights and sounds, but nothing, even sleeping at night, had ever been so... Empty. That was, most likely, the real challenge.
Well, that, and the fact that no mention had been made of him having food. That one wasn't a surprise however. Glenda had even suggested that he had enough fat reserves to last nearly one hundred days without eating, though he wouldn't be there that long.
It didn't sound to him like they planned to get him out in a few hours. Not if he didn’t start screaming and begging to be let out, and possibly not even then. That was a thing he refused to do.
The bed was on the floor, a simple but soft mattress, with no blanket. There was a pillow however, and it was nearly the right thickness for him, so he wouldn't end up with a sore neck. The shower was off to the right, past the door, and was enclosed.
That there would be a camera in there, to watch him, just made sense however. Everyone knew they were watched, all the time. That was part of why he was there. Not that being seen was a problem for him, even if a bit of fat hung on his ample frame. About a hundred pounds more than was needed. That was close to the look now, at least for women. Men were still supposed to be fit, but not a lot of people manage it without drugs.
Apparently Ben Epson was going to give it a shot however, since, in this place, he had the option of using an exercise bike... Or not. That was near the side, across from the shower. The wall itself was smooth. Like it was made of, or covered with, a fine plastic.
Instead of worrying too much, since he'd chosen to be there, and even had orders which he intended to fulfill, he just climbed up on the bike, and peddled gently. That had been part of what that woman, the powerful seeming one who'd looked at him like he was a bit of a moron simply for being, had said. Use the bike, but don't go too fast, since he'd want to put in ten to sixteen hours a day on it. That meant pacing himself.
Which was exactly correct. The last time Ben had exercised at all, at least enough to breathe hard, there had been a missed bus involved. That had meant walking the half mile to school, instead of riding like a regular student. Sports had never been his thing, though for these people, it seemed that it was important. Fitness of body and of mind.
In a way, that was why he'd searched for them in the first place. Scouring the Free Web for months like he had, trying to find a group that not only spoke out against the government, but also had some chance, no matter how small, of actually doing something. There had been surprisingly few of them. The one he’d picked had been the only one that had correct spelling and didn’t seem to have been put together while drunk. That so many of the others had wasn’t heartening to him in the slightest, but it had made picking how to spend the rest of his life a lot easier.
How that translated into him riding a bike in a tiny dark room, his heart pounding like a drum and his breathing being louder than anything he'd heard before, Ben didn't know. So far there had only been the one woman, though the compound he was in was big. Off in the country, and surrounded by a stone wall. A monastery, or so the idea went.
Cymeds.
As far as he could tell the name didn't really mean anything. They didn't worship the great god Cymed or anything like that. It was, he'd been assured online, just their cover. They did meditate and things like that, but their goal was in gaining freedom, or at least returning a little of it, if they could. Not that it sounded likely. Then, he hadn't asked for success. Just a chance to fight, and maybe hurt the people that had hurt him.
So, if that meant sitting in the dark, or working until he couldn't any longer, then he would. Just for the off chance that someday, in one perfect moment, he could punish the government. After all, they'd killed his father. Just to shut him up.
That was the kicker there, Ben knew. The whole thing filled him with rage, too, but he tried to actually focus on a sense of there being nothing around him.
It didn't work, which was strange, the sound of the wheel turning, and his own heart beating in his ears filling the room with a soft blue glow. It was interesting and not a thing that he'd ever come across before. It also wasn't real, he didn't think. This wasn't him seeing using echoes or anything like that, or an indication that there was actual light in the place. It was, most likely, his brain painting a picture of things for him, so that he could have some kind of orientation in the middle of nothing.
After a while, the idea of screaming started to seem like one that he could get behind. There was the soft whirring of the wheel, as he gently made t
he thing move, and him. His heart, the gurgling of things inside of himself. That and whatever was going on in his mind.
He was failing, already. A thing Ben refused to let himself do.
Not that he knew what they were testing for, but being good at things hadn't really ever been his strong suit. No, his thing was kind of basic, compared to that. Ben Epson floated in life. He played virt, and went to work, actually having a job, which was rare for a twenty-five-year-old, but even that had been handed to him. Sort of.
A friend of his father's had, years before, suggested he apply there, since the man owned the place. It was automated, but someone had to check the machines, and make sure the public got to see a smiling face. If they wanted. It didn't happen often, so he just sat back, behind the counter, and played on his pad most of the time. No one thought that was strange, since they mainly did the same kind of thing, even if there was a line.
Then once or twice a day, he'd gotten up and filled a machine or two, or set up a new order of something that the computer might have missed. Like napkins. That was always wrong, for some reason. Probably because the machine tried to predict what people really needed that way, and missed that one out of ten or so people would walk off with twenty of the things.
The fact was that Ben had never really done much of anything. Being busy was a part of his world, true. There was always a song playing, and something to look at. A distraction, or a reason not to engage with other people. In a way, that trait of his, just going along with the world, had saved him when his father was arrested for activism.
Not that they called it that. The government had claimed that his father was running a child trafficking ring. They should have gone with kiddy porn, of course, as their claim. Anyone might have images and video around that could be stashed away. The man down the street could have anything like that, hidden in a thousand places, and you'd never know about it. The government would, but no one else.
David Epson was many things, but one of those was a stay in place. Ben had lived with him for twenty-three years, and he knew for a fact that his dad hadn't left their home more than once a week in all that time. Mainly to get to the local store, since he wasn't thrilled with the idea of home delivery. He felt that it would let the powers that controlled the world know a bit too much about what he did. As if the jumbo jars of peanut butter and large packages of sweet rolls wouldn’t give it away to anyone with eyes.
All he did was get online, and tell people how much the government spied on them. Suggested that they should insist on their rights being returned. Not fight for them, just request, politely. That was his father’s life.
Right up until they'd kicked the door of the place in and raided them, shooting Fluffs. Their wonderful dog. Ben had found her body when he'd come back from work that night, the whole place torn apart. The beige girl had been a part of his life for years, and was probably his only real friend. Her and his dad.
Everything was gone, as well. His things, not just his father's. Not that he'd been worried about that at the time. If it hadn't been for him being questioned by the police, Ben wouldn't have even known what had happened. He'd told them the truth, of course. That his father didn't leave the place and that, as anyone with eyes could see there was no place in the tiny apartment for a girl or boy to be kept. Much less the hundreds they seemed to be claiming.
The officer had seemed fairly sympathetic at the time, and suggested that given all of that, a mistake had probably been made. It could have even been low level harassment. The government stepping in to get the man to shut up. Scare him back into line. The man he’d talked to had suggested that openly. It wasn’t an impossible or hidden thing even.
Really, that was all it should have been, a bit of harassment, since it was so incredibly obvious that that there was no evidence of wrong doing. David had almost instantly been slated to get out after two days in lockup. Just at a local county jail, too. A place that never had any real problems, or so he’d been assured. For some reason however the jailers had told the other men there that Dave was a pedophile however, so that they'd beat him, trying to prove they were better than someone.
They had.
To death.
True, the three men that had done it were off to prison for the rest of their lives, but David was still dead and gone, for daring to speak up against those in power. His real crime being his humble asking for the ability to speak his mind, just a few times too often.
Blinking, Ben shook his head, a fine line of anger growing inside of himself. It wasn't a good thing to be reflecting on. One that came to him often, but not great to consider. Certainly it wouldn't be counted as meditation. He tried to focus on nothing, like he'd been told, but it was hard to manage.
The world was so loud, in that silent space. So full of color, in the utter darkness.
It was crazy, and probably meant to drive him that way. Except that didn't make any sense. Ben had volunteered to do his best for these people, and even if he wasn't much, a sane nothing had to be better than a crazy one. Almost as if in sympathy with his plight, his stomach burned, and growled at him, demanding food. That one just wasn't happening, so he kept pedaling for a while.
Going nowhere. Slowly, and at a sedate pace.
It had been nearly ten, possibly twenty minutes already, and Ben knew that he couldn't take much more. Not that he got a choice.
These people were going up against the government, or at least that was the plan, eventually. If they did anything for real was hard to tell, since advertizing that kind of thing would end up with a raid and everyone being locked up. Fifty men and women in mech armor would make short work of almost any group. That meant hiding what they were actually doing. By pretending to be innocent and easy going. A group of people off in the woods holding naked orgies and meditating a lot.
At least Ben hoped part of the program was going to involve that. The sex things. After all, he'd never managed to get any of that himself. For some reason he didn't think that was the case here. Looking around, seeing nothing, but what his mind made up for him, that didn't seem likely. As far as he knew there was no storehouse of hot women around that just hadn’t been mentioned yet. Glenda had been all right that way, in a sturdy and masculine way, but she was the only person that he'd seen. For all he knew, she was the entire organization.
If that was the case, then he was her slave now. Prisoner. If that was the real point, hopefully she had a generator on the bike he was working, because otherwise he didn't see how she gained from him being there. This was a real facility after all. No light or sound got in, or probably out. One psychopath could put that together, he supposed, but they were so far out in the woods that doing that wouldn't be really needed. No one would hear him scream, if she were going to torture him or whatever the plan was.
It probably wasn't that however. If he were going to be eaten, they wouldn't have him doing anything. They'd probably feed him, too. Collecting as much meat as possible. A cold chill ran down his spine then, as he considered that, which got him to smile again.
Then Ben focused, doing his best to clear his mind.
The next hours were kind of instructive, since he started to see things. It wasn't constant, and the pictures were just a variety of images from his life. A lot of them were of his old work place. The machines, and a strong scent of coffee coming to mind, along with a few of the customers that came in most often. All holding things in their hands that they looked at, instead of him. Most of them.
Then he saw his dad. It wasn't gruesome. Just how he'd looked the last time that Ben had seen him, before going off to work. Wearing a light blue shirt, and needing to shave, his beard full and mainly brown. He had a large nose, and a slightly weak chin, so was a lot like Ben himself that way. That wasn't really a giant shock. Ben was his clone, after all. In twenty years he'd be David Epson. Unless something very strange happened in his world.
"Like joining an exercise cult?" He winced, knowing that he wasn't supposed to say anythi
ng out loud. More accurately, Glenda had told him to try not to do that.
He was starting to get that one, now. The words had just come out, without him meaning to say anything.
After a long time, he got off the bike, his behind, inner thighs and lower back sore. He showered, which was done with water that matched his body temperature so exactly that there had to be monitoring going on. There was no soap, or anything like that. Not that he could find, reaching around and feeling up the walls of the shower stall. No towels either. Thankfully there was body temperature air that came from above with enough force that it felt nice, if not having any sense of warmth or coolness to it.
That lasted until he was truly dry, and he moved out of the little space, his clothing, which was just what he'd worn in that day, still damp to his touch. That had been a mistake, he realized. From then on he needed to exercise nude. Otherwise his clothing would end up reeking. Ben knew it was a small thing, but if he was there for days, or even weeks, it might make a difference to how he felt.
He was a bit sleepy, so he laid on the bed and tried to hold his mind clear, even as his middle screamed at him to eat.
The worst part was that he felt sick from not doing it.
It had been hours, after all. Probably about six, which was close to as long as he'd ever gone without food. Ben found the water fountain, and drank his fill, his round cheeks, which were hairless and smooth, getting a little damp as he did it. Then he headed back to bed, and stayed there, except when he needed to use the toilet or get water.
It seemed like forever after that, with most of his energy spent on the bike, like he'd been told would be the best plan. Never going too fast. It started to make him feel dizzy, and he spent most of his time feeling pretty ill, but that was probably just what happened if you went for too long without food. That he didn't really know that, first hand, hit him as he rode. Drinking water helped his stomach feel better, and so did riding the bike, as strange as that sounded. It wasn't his being in horrible shape that slowed that part down really. No, his fat thighs rubbing against the edge of the seat were the problem. That and how sore he was getting.