by T. C. Edge
It looked barbaric. A knife on one side, deeply serrated and notched with protruding teeth that looked to be serrated too. A curved hook on the other, extendable with a little press on a sliding mechanism on the handle.
Kira would have recoiled if she could. She couldn’t, locked tight as she was and unable to move. A sense of dread swept through her as the guard stepped forward, eroding the short space between them. The other guard to her right now moved in too. He reached out and ripped open the bottom of her shirt, revealing her midsection of pale, sensitive flesh.
He stepped back, and the torturer took his position. He lingered menacingly, setting his dark brown eyes on Kira, whose wrath was now being slowly defeated by the sheer horror of the situation. It was enough for her to shut her eyes tight, grit her teeth, and pray it didn’t last too long.
Nothing happened.
She kept her eyes closed, the darkness now her ally.
Still, nothing happened.
She could hear the man breathing, feel the hot air pressed from his lungs. It drew closer, then closer still, then so near she felt she could snap her jaws and remove his nose.
The thought was compelling. Her eyes jumped open and she saw him right there. She opened her mouth and snapped like a feral dog, her teeth just missing the man’s flesh and jutting together in an unpleasant crack.
Her face blazed again.
“Just do it already! If you’re gonna cut me, then cut me!”
Wrath was pushing back fear once more. She stared right into the calm eyes of the man right before her. It was a staring contest that she wasn’t going to lose. For a few long moments, she set her gaze firm and locked it in place. Then, just as he blinked, a voice came from the back of the room.
“Good…” It sounded amused and partly impressed. “Very good, Kira. Very good indeed.” It was odd too, the accent strange. It had a smooth tone and was appealingly warm.
The guard with the knife-hook stepped aside. Kira’s eyes flattened on the young, dark-haired man ahead.
His frame had finally decided to budge. He stood straight before her, tall and strong and irritatingly handsome, those tousles of black, curly hair dangling down from his head and nearing his chocolate brown eyes. Both the corners of his mouth had now joined into a grin, and the teeth behind his full lips shone bright against his tanned skin.
He stepped forward, just a touch, and inspected her form. It wasn’t as a young man admiring a young woman. It was as a farmer at the market, admiring a prize swine. He looked at Kira like she was a piece of meat, ready for the butcher.
“You know my name?” came her voice. The anger was gone. It was replaced by hate and a calm relief that he was now talking.
The man gave a little nod.
Kira immediately wondered how that was the case. Had they already met? Had she told him already? It could well be, given the state of her memory. And…there were people in this world who didn’t need you to speak to learn all about you. People who could look past your eyes and into your thoughts. People who could learn all there was to know about you without you having to utter a single word.
She knew people like that. She’d fought with, and against, people like that…
“Your name is Kira Blackstone,” the man said. “You hail from the city of Haven, and are part of the rebel forces known as the Nameless. You have been battling for years against the doctrines of the Savants, led by Director Artemis Cromwell. You have four separate genetic enhancements: vision, smell, hearing, and speed. It is a combination that we have not witnessed before.”
His face arranged itself in a subtle manner to suggest he was impressed.
“You made your first kill at the age of thirteen,” the young man went on. “You used a knife, your favourite weapon. Though you have great skill with a range of blades and firearms, it is knives that appeal to you most. You like to throw, and your enhancements permit you terrific accuracy. But it’s up-close that you prefer to be. You like to see the light leave your enemy’s eyes before you shut them for good…”
Kira’s mind filled with death, with all the people she’d killed. She felt little guilt for a single one of them. All of them deserved what they got. And it was only those who really deserved it who got the up-close-and-personal treatment.
“Is this supposed to be impressing me?” she asked. “So, you’ve been inside my head. Good for you.”
“I have no interest in impressing you, or anyone else for that matter,” replied the black haired boy with a sudden tightness to his voice. Kira thought, by the way in which he said it, that the opposite was actually true. This man craved approval.
“Then spare me the story of my life. I know who and what I am.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Kira darted her eyes back to her left. The guard still clasped tightly to the macabre instrument of torture.
“Is he going to do anything with that or not?”
The young man shook his head.
“No, he isn’t.”
“Then, what the hell is all this?!”
“Hmmmm, call it a test, I suppose. It’s important to know how you react to the threat of pain and death. Some show anger, others fear. Some try to reason, others merely cower. We are always evaluating, Kira.”
“Evaluating…for what?”
He smiled.
“For her,” he said.
Kira didn’t get a chance to ask any further questions. With a quick step, the young man moved forward, lifted his right hand, and placed it on Kira’s head, pressing down her flaming hair like water dousing a fire.
His touch sent a strange pulse through her, and all the light began to quickly fade.
“Sweet dreams, Kira Blackstone,” whispered the man.
The darkness closed in, and her mind switched off.
4
The young man with black, wavy hair watched as Kira’s eyes closed. As soon as they’d shut, a small smile emerged on his face.
“She has fire,” he said aloud. It seemed to be partly for himself and partly for the two guards either side of him. They turned and nodded deferentially. The young man was used to that.
He stepped back, and gave the two guards space to work. They moved straight in and began unchaining the various locks on the upright contraption that held the girl in place. It was obvious from the speed and manner with which they worked that this was something they did often.
Once released, Kira was hoisted easily onto one of the guard’s shoulders. He began moving towards the door, flanked by his colleague.
“How many more?” asked the black haired man as they reached the door. He didn’t turn.
“Just one, Master Domitian.”
The man called Domitian smiled wearily. It had been a long day.
“OK, bring him up, quick as you can,” he said. “I need to get out of this room.”
The guards hurried away, leaving Domitian alone. He began moving his way back towards his position by the wall, working his limbs into the very same posture he always held when new arrivals awoke. It was a well-worn routine that would serve to reveal more about his subjects’ characters.
He mused on the girl just gone. Of all the subjects he’d seen today, she was the most intriguing. There were several reasons for that.
First and most obvious of all was her gender and age, a matter of some rarity. Discovering women with gifts like her wasn’t without precedent, but those of her age were infrequent. Mostly, when Dom caught scent of someone with such power and aptitude, they’d turn out to be a man. To come across a girl of relative youth was unexpected and, if he was honest with himself, a nice change of pace.
That led, of course, to another intriguing matter - that being the enhancements the girl possessed. Over the few years he’d been doing this job, Dom hadn’t yet come across someone who had such a combination. And what he’d seen of her as he stood, waiting and watching from the alley, had coloured him impressed. Over the past few days, he’d been most excited to speak with her. T
heir interaction, Dom thought, hadn’t disappointed.
The final matter of interest with the girl was her past. As with all his subjects, Dom had entered her mind and drawn up some of the major details of her life. He did this with them all, as much as a means of satisfying his own curiosity as of performing his required duties.
Kira had surprised him again. A tracker. A spy. A rebel. A killer. She was the sort of professional warrior who would likely excel under his patronage. And her reaction here, as she was threatened so silently with torture, was the sort to show she wasn’t to be cowed like so many others.
Already today, Dom had been through the same routine with a dozen men, plus another woman called Gwyn who, unlike Kira, had displayed her more sensitive frame of mind. She’d screamed and thrashed and pleaded for answers in a way that was entirely unintelligible. Dom had been disappointed. He’d quickly determined that such a person would likely fail when under pressure.
Some of the men had been similarly frantic. He could understand it, of course. All were taken from the lands they knew. All were snatched without explanation. Many had to leave family or friends behind without the chance to say goodbye. And, above all, none had yet been told just what was going on.
Confusion, he knew, could warp a man’s mind, nothing but a slow form of mental torture.
The matter had always been of mild concern for Dom, but little more. He’d been taught to not view such people as individuals, but merely animals for the pit. So few would survive that viewing them as such would only cause distress and the sort of moral introspection that had seen others before him lose their way.
They were just sport, Dom knew. Nothing but sport…
He drew a breath and pressed the air back out, purging him of any brewing weakness. A quick circuit of the room got the blood flowing again. He sent his eyes over the table of torture instruments and quickly turned away.
Beyond the door, the clanging of metal began to sound. Footsteps, two sets of them, echoing through the hollow chamber. They grew louder until the door clicked and swung open, and the two guards reappeared, a man hoisted onto one of their sizeable shoulders.
“OK, get him set,” said Dom.
The guards set to work, fixing the final subject to the contraption, setting his limbs in place. Mercifully, the man wasn’t too large, and so only a set of minor adjustments needed to be made in order to fit him tightly in.
Once finished, a needle was jabbed into the man’s neck, and his body began to stir. Dom watched as the guards began peppering his cheeks with light slaps that grew progressively firm.
As their palms met youthful skin, they shouted, “Wake up.”
Dom yawned, and stretched his limbs for a final time before returning them to their start-position. He inspected the boy with his dark brown eyes, recalling the details he’d garnered from him just days before.
His name was Finn. A young man just nearing his twentieth year, another of the more youthful contingent Dom had gathered over the past few weeks. His face was sun-drenched in a similar manner to his own, though had a rougher quality that spoke of much time on the water. That was no surprise, given where Finn had been picked up, a small coastal settlement near the south-eastern tip of what was once North America, a place that was now wild and largely without infrastructure.
The man was a lowly fisherman’s son who wasn’t much like the others. Not a warrior. Not a soldier. Not a mercenary or assassin. He wasn’t, Dom thought, the normal type of asset he’d look to acquire.
And yet, here he was, and that said something. In fact, it said quite a lot. Dom certainly wasn’t in the habit of returning home without the best haul he could muster, and while Finn’s past had been one of relative peace, his biology held gifts no less potent than the rest.
He was a diamond in the rough, and just needed some polishing. Sometimes, such men turned out to be more than one might expect. Dom enjoyed gathering at least one project-contender along his journeys, if only to make things interesting.
He looked at Finn as he was slapped awake, the guards not shy of reddening his cheeks. Aside from his sun-kissed face, his hair had seen similar solar attention, highlighted blond from life under the blue sky and hanging rough in knotted waves. Though his eyes hadn’t yet fully opened, Dom knew them to be bright blue. He was, Dom thought, a striking young man, if a little callow. Not the sort to taste much war. A challenge, no doubt, but one Dom was keen to meet.
The girls will like him, he mused. It was a quality he was always eager to find if possible. Good looks were highly prized where he came from. A boy like Finn from across the sea would no doubt garner attention.
“Wake up!”
One of the guards was spitting louder. A slap like that of a flat oar meeting water spread through the small room. Dom couldn’t help but grimace a little as the shape of the guard’s hand appeared on Finn’s right cheek.
The boy stirred, and his eyes flickered in pain. A crack of blue light appeared behind his lids.
“What…where…who…” he croaked.
Another slap, marking his cheek brighter. His flickering eyes finally got the message and stayed open.
They went left, at the main culprit, then right to the other guard, before finally meeting Dom. There was no recognition. No one remembered meeting Dom. He always made sure of that.
A few moments of silence followed as the blond-haired boy inspected his new surroundings. Dom saw the usual surprise, confusion, and concern that followed. It was the expected reaction, though some went straight for wailing fear, and others tended to fall to their default setting of rage.
“Where…am I?” shook his voice. “Who…who are you?”
Dom tried not to roll his eyes. He’d heard the same questions again and again today.
Keeping his face casual and composed, and presenting only his side profile as always, he refused to offer an answer. He glanced at Finn but nothing more, waiting for a reaction.
The boy turned his eyes around the room. As with the rest, he quickly spotted the torture table, its utensils neatly set out.
Here it comes…Dom thought.
“Are you…going to…”
Finn’s voice cut off. It was as though he couldn’t quite believe what was happening or bring himself to say it. It was a common occurrence really. Many subjects tended to take some adjusting, and this was all new to the current batch.
Dom stayed still and silent, leaning against his wall. Playing to script, he linked eyes with the guard on the left of the room and dipped his head into a nod. The guard retreated to the torture table. Finn’s reaction was to stiffen and shudder, battling briefly with his restraints to absolutely no avail.
The quarrel lasted only a moment before Finn came to the conclusion that he wasn’t going anywhere. His body settled, though his words sprung, calling for some explanation.
Dom noted that it was pleading more than demanding. Some demanded, others pleaded. It was often a good barometer for bravery, he thought. Anyone who reacted to the situation with calm restraint and fearlessness got a mighty tick against their name.
Finn wasn’t one of them. His blue eyes sprung wider than most and his lips chattered feverishly. Dom zoned out for a few moments as the begging ensued. He offered the boy a few cursory glances that only seemed to frighten him further.
He was waiting for it. Waiting for the fear to morph into anger, for the begging to become demands. What he didn’t want were tears and whimpering. Thankfully, Finn refused that urge. His eyes stayed as dry as hot coals.
For a few minutes, the scene played out as it had a dozen times that afternoon. The guard stepped forward with his chosen implement of pain. Finn’s pleas for information continued to fall on deaf ears. Dom stood nonchalantly in place, apparently as bored as a bear in winter.
It was a part he played to perfection. And it wasn’t boredom he had to feign.
Eventually, he’d seen enough of Finn to know he needed work. He expected it to be so.
“OK,�
�� he said, “step back.”
The guards, who’d grown menacingly close and were ready to strike, immediately pulled away. Finn’s eyes creaked open and found Dom ahead, stepping in front of him.
“Disappointing,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll need to toughen up, boy. You won’t survive long like that.”
Finn’s eyes shaped left, shaped right. The panic in them refused to settle or withdraw, and the thrusting of his chest suggested hyperventilation was imminent.
“Breathe now,” suggested Dom. “Just breathe. You won’t be hurt today.”
Dom’s words didn’t seem enough to calm him. He tried a couple more times before arching his eyes knowingly towards one of the guards. The man stepped forward, drawing a needle from a pocket and pressing it into Finn’s neck. The boy’s eyelids quickly drifted shut, his heaving breaths slowing with immediate effect.
Dom released a breath. The day was over, and he could finally escape the room. He stepped towards the door, distancing himself from the boy in the contraption, and allowed himself a smile.
“Right, let him out,” he said.
The guards did as ordered without fuss or hesitation.
“Where do you want him, Master Domitian?” one asked.
Dom thought for a brief moment. Then he nodded and smiled.
“Throw him in with the red-head. They make a good pairing.”
The guards nodded their approval as Dom stretched his stride towards the door. The surface was tantalisingly close, the sea air so pleasant after spending any extended time below decks.
He didn’t much like it down here. He didn’t much like the ocean at all. It was nothing but a means to an end to Dom, a hurdle to jump and nothing more.
Oh how he wanted to get home.
5
In the depths of the ship, within its sunken heart, a change was taking place.
Merk wandered down the corridor as he always did, that whistle of his forever wishing to be set free but perpetually denied. Down here, it didn’t serve him to whistle. It was a bright and breezy sound, not suited to this dark place. He saved it for his own quarters or a stroll around the deck. But not here. Never here.
