Prisoner 836

[untilyousubmit]

The Spire pulsed. Not audibly, though he perceived it as something like sound. A humming that rose and fell, unchanging and unending. It was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. It pulsed, and the shards embedded within him pulsed in time with its power.

Not today. Lucien's searing anger had knocked him out of time--no, revealed how imperfect he had been. The pulsing in his head was fitful now, still sparking with pain. He had begged for mercy, but they both knew how meaningless those words were. His contrition was total, as was expected of him. There could be no other way. He would do everything that was necessary to correct his mistake.

And he would not show how much he hurt, as he made his way to the cell. Prisoner #836 was kept isolated from the prison proper. In the other cells, there were many others, restrained for many reasons. Dangerous but valuable individuals, who posed a threat to the Spire but could not yet be killed. Disobedient guards, left to wonder when they would next be dragged to the torture chamber by the more compliant ones. For some, he did not know the reason why they languished there, only that Lucien wished it.

And then there was Prisoner #836. 836 should have been so simple--he had captured many others like him. He knew something, and retrieving the information should have been simple. All the others had broken without the collar ever activating once.

But 836 was stubborn. At first, it simply seemed like insolence. So many claimed to not remember. He had left the matter to the torturers. He had so much else to attend to.

That had been a mistake. A careless one. Whatever slow progress had been made in retrieving 836's memories had been obliterated in an instant, when the man had been found outside his cell. 836 had been dragged to a new, isolated ward, but the damage was done. A failure he now suffered for.

The ward guards straightened up as he approached. "The new prisoner. Where is he?" If they heard how raw his voice was beneath the deep distortion, they showed no sign of it.

"This way, sir." Guard 427 led him through the twisting passages in silence toward... an open cell door.

He grabbed the 427 by the collar, blank white eyes staring into terrified blue. "Sound the alarm. Find him. And when you have done so--lock yourselves in empty cells. I will deal with you later." He gave the collar one last yank as he let go, sending the man tumbling to his knees. He was already striding away, the sharp sting of his failure burning deeper into him. He had to find 836. In this moment, nothing else mattered.

Comments

[circuitcontrol]

"Except you're not letting me work." If he couldn't fight back physically, he'd have to argue twice as much to make up for it. And he was trying to take his mind off what was happening. It was a claustrophobic feeling, being restrained like this, his stomach sinking with each strap closing shut. "You want my brain, and you can't have that."

[untilyousubmit]

"Would you truly build it for him?" No. Not now, at least, permitting the prisoner access to tools and materials would end in disaster. If he remembered anything else of his skills, then 836 would use the opportunity to stage another escape attempt, or sabotage the Spire. And he personally did not have the expertise to oversee the work--he would have to reassign a specialist from the Spire construction, and there were none to spare at the moment.

"You must first be made to understand your failings, before you can be trusted." He grasped one of the prisoner's wrists in his ungloved hand, clawtips pressing against skin as he pulled the arm straight to strap it down.

[circuitcontrol]

“I’d build it.” But not for him. If he could earn some trust though, it might be worth behaving for a while, just so he’d be more likely to find a way to escape later. He’d have to consider playing docile. Although even letting this guy think he was getting his way wouldn’t sit right with him.

He tilted his head to watch the last restraints snap shut around his wrists. He couldn’t help the way his hand jerked slightly at the sensation of claws against sensitive skin, but he wasn’t fighting it.

[untilyousubmit]

"Then when I allow you to do so, you will thank me." One more. He reached behind the prisoner's neck, unhooking the collar from its leash, then taking the man by the throat and pressing him to the hard metal beneath him. There was a click as a lock caught hold of the collar, securing him in place.

"Your memories were already broken when I found you." Not all of them. Some of the destruction was his own fault. But. "You made that quite clear. But we have records. Notes on the invention, which you have not read." How else could his Lord know that he wanted this prisoner?

He was close to the prisoner now, claws scraping lightly down his cheek. "Perhaps you will earn the right to see them."

[circuitcontrol]

"What?" That was too much to take in. His mind felt so fragmented, and it had been easier to blame it on the Commandant, on the collar, on everything they'd been doing to him. But it had happened before he came here? "I know those collars steal memories. You told me!"

The collar clicked into place. Those news had upset him enough that he'd started resisting again without even realizing he was doing it, but now his movements were completely sealed off, the collar digging into his neck when he jerked forward. This was going to get really uncomfortable fast, but for now he was ignoring it. He had more important things to think about.

He needed to see those notes. He had little hope of breaking free and finding them, considering how huge this placed was. He'd need a map, or he'd need to trick the Commandant into returning them to him. And they were his. "Those notes won't help you." He couldn't say that for sure when he didn't remember them, but he hoped he'd made them difficult enough to decipher. No one else got to steal his invention.

[untilyousubmit]

"It stole less than you thought." He hadn't believed the prisoner's claims of amnesia. That had been why he'd turned 836 over to the torturers at first. And in part, he'd been right--the ramblings they eventually drew out of him contained more information than he'd admitted to knowing. But they were still obviously incomplete, full of gaps that seemed to frustrate the prisoner almost as much as they'd frustrated him.

"No. You will. Once you've learned." He pulled away. "I will see to your punishment later. For now--try to remember." He turned to leave, coiling the leash as he walked. He'd make sure a guard was posted in the hall to watch the cell. There would be no escape this time.

[circuitcontrol]

"You're leaving?" That wasn't what he'd expected at all. Part of his punishment, he was guessing. And he almost wanted to call him back, demand that he stayed so that Luca could ask him more questions. He wanted to know more about the memories he'd lost. But he wasn't foolish enough to think he'd get anywhere with that. "Guess I'll take a nap."

As if this was comfortable enough for that, but he had to get the last word in, somehow. This was already getting uncomfortable. The chest strap supported his weight at least a little, but he knew his arms would quickly start to ache, and not being able to move would make him cramp up. He flexed his muscles, tested his range of motion. Tried to see if he could reach anything that might help him get out. He was stuck.

He tried to stay calm. He had no idea how long he'd have to be here. It was really hard not to panic, but where would that get him?

The only thing he could do was focus on his invention, and try to remember details that he had no intention of sharing. Maybe he could build it in his mind.

[untilyousubmit]

A guard was assigned to the hall, and the new shift in the control center were ordered to maintain a higher standard of observance on the most dangerous prisoners. They would comply readily--they were replacing their fellows, who were now awaiting their own punishment for failing to sound the alarm. Too many for him to personally see to. He only had time to give them a lecture on their insufficient work. The punishments themselves would be carried out by other guards he found more promising.

After that, he still had hours of regular duties to attend to before he could rest. He'd had vague plans for the end of his day. A few moments of time when his services were not required, and he could relax. But the exhaustion brought on by his punishment was both mental and physical. He ate mechanically, winced his way through scrubbing himself clean in the shower, and then wasted little time in falling asleep.

He awoke some hours later. Not as rested as he'd hoped, but enough: He lay there and listened to the Spire for a few long minutes, and the pulsing hum in his head matched its rhythm once more.

He wasn't idle for long. Reading reports while he ate a ration for breakfast, dispatching orders to the watch captains, filling in more plans for the next phase of construction... and requesting that he be alerted when Prisoner #836 fell asleep.

The alert was well-timed. He'd hit the limits of his ability to think through the plans for now. Punishing something was a far more straightforward exercise. Down to the cell he went, taking a few tools with him in a case.

As expected, the prisoner was asleep. He approached quietly, setting down the case and pulling out a riding crop. For training others, he would usually select something less forgiving. But the lack of a proper collar to ease the process of submission meant he had to be more careful.

He stood there for a moment, considering his options, before giving the prisoner a stinging blow across the thighs.

[circuitcontrol]

It didn't feel like falling asleep so much as passing out. He was exhausted. His wrists hurt, which he'd expected, and his shoulders, which wasn't surprising at all. But he hadn't been prepared for how much having his neck locked into place would cause pain to shoot up his skull, triggering another migraine, making it impossible to even think. All he had was the ability to think.

He tried to focus on his invention, but he couldn't grasp it, he never could. He tried harassing the guard into talking to him, but they didn't even respond. Eventually he settled into thoughts of revenge, vague thoughts of setting traps for the Commandant and making him hurt, but he wasn't able to come up with anything concrete. They were just fantasies, unsatisfying with how unrealistic they were.

And they quickly devolved into self-pity. He knew nothing about himself, or why he couldn't remember. He'd never be able to make his invention. He might just be left to hang like this. The pain of despair somehow eased the physical pain, but it didn't exactly make him feel any better.

And eventually exhaustion won. It wasn't a deep sleep, but he still didn't wake up easily, because his body just couldn't take it. He didn't notice the Commandant entering his new cell.

He screamed at the first blow. His eyes shot open, and there were several moments of clear confusion and panic on his face, his brain trying to catch up. The pain was sharp, and then pulsating. He was staring the Commandant in the face.

"You--"

[untilyousubmit]

He caught the prisoner by the throat, just under the jaw. "You will not speak unless it is to thank me." This close he couldn't flog the prisoner, but he could still jam the handle of the crop into 836's side, grinding it into the flesh.

"You have earned this."

[circuitcontrol]

Luca flinched, and quickly shut his mouth. It was always the same - always having to thank someone for hurting him. And he was so exhausted already. But he refused to give the Commandant the satisfaction, at least this quickly, because one thing they hadn’t managed to erase from his mind was his pride. And they’d definitely tried.

His mouth was dry anyway, so talking was a waste of effort. He looked away, scared but stubborn, trying to brace himself when he knew he’d eventually break. It wasn’t a convincing facade.

[untilyousubmit]

He drew back and began again, striking across the thighs. The first few blows were carefully laid separately across the skin. It would hurt, he made sure of that, but he was holding back. Waiting. Watching the prisoner's reaction.

[circuitcontrol]

Luca kept his head turned as much to the side as his restraints allowed, though he was watching the crop out of the corner of his eye, bracing himself, wincing right before it hit, every time. He was trying not to scream again, knowing he would eventually, but wanting to make this bastard work for it. He was grunting, yelping, but he wasn't too loud. Mostly. The only thing he still had was his pride.

It didn't take long for his thighs to start burning. He wasn't sure if he was grateful that the strikes didn't overlap, or if it wouldn't have been easier to have just one small area of sharper pain instead. He jerked his legs, tried to shift. He glared harder at nothing, and tried to tell himself he wasn't about to cry.

[untilyousubmit]

He waited for the right moment, watching the prisoner's breathing and twitching, waiting for a moment when he was unfocused, unprepared.

When the came, the next blow cut an angle across the marks he'd left before.

"Thank me for your punishment." It was what he deserved. It would improve him. He should be thankful for this, and he would learn to do so.

[circuitcontrol]

This time Luca screamed. The new blow felt like fire. The old strikes were lighting up with new pain across his legs. He felt tears running down his cheeks now as he turned his head to glare at the Commandant again.

"Even if I don't mean it?" He knew he wasn't supposed to speak unless it was to say what the Commandant wanted to hear, but he couldn't resist. There was a part of him that had to question everything. But it was difficult to keep fighting when everything hurt. He hated pain. He hated discomfort. He just wanted this to be over.

But even if he gave in, the nightmare wouldn't be over. It never would be.

[untilyousubmit]

That was the wrong reply, and it would receive no response in kind. He controlled when the prisoner would have any satisfaction, any relief--and it didn't have to happen today. If 836 continued to resist, he would simply continue the torture until he judged they were approaching a hard limit, some line that could not be crossed without risking the loss of the prisoner. He would halt to allow medical examination and a minimum of recuperation.

Then the process would continue.

The blows continued, each one precise, silently administered. Thank him, and he might consider relenting.