Tordan 1.0: Episode 1: Cyborg Warriors

by Immortal Angel

  But I don’t see her that way.

  His processor paused.

  Why don’t I see her that way?

  His mind slid to how she carried herself, even in chains. She never begged, nor wept. And even after 375 days, she kept her silence. Refused to betray her elven people, even to end her own suffering.

  I…admire her.

  And yet, it had become something more.

  When he could, he snuck her extra food and water. In a moment of extreme weakness, he had covered her in one of his old shirts. Two days ago he had even distracted his Cyborg brethren from their task of torturing her.

  None of these things make sense — unless I am malfunctioning.

  Going against the chip should be impossible, even to do the smallest tasks. Especially inside the mountain fortress, where the Ardak’s mind control signal was the strongest. And yet, lately…he’d felt almost as if his chip had less and less control over his behaviors. Which is impossible.

  He should ask to be reassigned. He should push the little female out of his mind. But instead, he counted the moments until he would see her again. Each time he saw her, he felt a little more free.

  “Tordan?” Roian, his best friend, hurried down the tunnel into his private cave at the end.

  “What?”

  “The General is in a killing mood. We must make sure we don’t give the Ardaks cause to punish us today.”

  Haven’t we been punished enough?

  He and his fellow Cyborgs had been experiments, chips inserted at the backs of their necks which made them lose their memories, their limbs and parts replaced at the will of the General to make them better workers.

  Then the voices had begun. And after a while, he’d begun to lose hope.

  Until now.

  “Keep working. Keep moving. Never slow. Never stop.”

  He let himself hear the voices, forced his face to remain blank. “I will go to my post.”

  The briefest hint of relief reflected on Roian’s face. “One last time. I heard you may be reassigned after today. Perhaps you could ask for mining duty again, rather than the prison.”

  Tordan frowned. “Why am I being reassigned?”

  “Didn’t you hear? The Ardak General is going to execute the elf.”

  No, he hadn’t heard. Because as his control over the chip improved, he’d learned to tune out the voices of the others.

  But if it’s true, I can’t let it happen.

  He moved toward Roian, who was blocking the tunnel that would take him to the prison cells.

  Suddenly, Roian abruptly straightened. His eyes glowed red and his face went blank. Forced override.

  I hate when they do that. Forced override made them nothing more than machines.

  “Cyborg T.O.R.D.A.N. Report to your post at once,” Roian instructed in a monotone voice.

  “I’m on my way.” Tordan pushed the other Cyborg aside, heading for the prison.

  As he sprinted down the twisting tunnels, all he could think of was her. And how, even if he utilized the chip to push his legs past their limit, if she was to be executed today, he couldn’t reach her in time.

  The Cyborg stepped in and stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed.

  Her gaze swept over his enormous, muscular form. How can such evil exist in a being?

  He appears to be nothing more than a man. But he’s not.

  Before a year ago, she never would have believed in Cyborgs. How is it possible to control a man with a blinking light at the back of his neck? Even magic couldn’t suppress free will for long. But magic is natural, and something tells me that the chip is as unnatural as a thing can be.

  At first, she’d thought the Cyborgs were lying, that they were simply following orders. But she’d had so many interactions with them that she’d realized they had no will of their own left.

  An awful smile curved the Cyborg’s lips and he grasped her by the hair, dragging her toward the door.

  We’re leaving the cell?

  Aielle gripped his arm with both hands, trying to lessen the pain on her scalp. As much as she wanted to let him simply drag her along like a rag doll, her mind elsewhere, the pain always brought her back to the present. At least for the first few hours. After that, my mind will be free to fly into blackness.

  The Cyborg yanked her down the hall, and she tried to peer into other cells, but they were all sealed. He drug her into a large room, which looked like a torture chamber. There were all manner of devices hanging on the walls — knives, spikes, cutters in all sizes, and some technological devices, as well. Sprays of old blood decorated the walls, pools of it on the floor. She’d seen some of these tools before, when she’d been tortured in her cell. Others looked more advanced and she could only guess at their use.

  Why do they use medieval tools when they have such advanced technology?

  Maybe the Cyborgs don’t know how to use it.

  As the Cyborg encased her wrists in the shackles hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room, her gaze went over to the corner. A smell reached her nose, making her almost delirious with need.

  Water.

  Her focus narrowed; every cell in her entire body drawn to the scent of the liquid life. She hadn’t seen that much water since her imprisonment. She couldn’t see herself, but she knew her golden hair hung lifeless, and the green fire of magic in her eyes had long since disappeared.

  I need that water.

  She forced herself to look away.

  I can’t let them know my secret.

  The door opened again and another Cyborg walked in. Her heart sank into her stomach when she saw his face.

  Budut.

  He enjoys every ounce of pain he inflicts. She’d had several torture sessions with him where he didn’t even ask any questions.

  He leaned back against the wall, crossing his large arms in front of his chest. His gaze swept over her and a look of immense satisfaction twisted the sharp lines of his face. “You look ready for some fun.”

  When she didn’t answer him, anger flashed in his pale eyes and he stalked in her direction with the predatory air of a voracious jungle beast. And I thought the Ardaks were monsters. He strode to the far wall and picked up a whip. He uses the ancient tools because he enjoys it.

  When he turned back, he noticed her glance at the water. He laughed. “Feeling a little parched, are you?”

  Internally, she felt a sense of satisfaction. The Cyborg thought he was torturing her as he used the instruments — but he would never know that the real torture was the proximity to water she could smell but never touch or taste. He can’t know how important water is to me. That I draw my magic from it.

  He flicked his wrist and the lash burned across the front of her legs. Internally, she flinched, but bit down any sound of shock. This is nothing; he didn’t even break my skin. Yet.

  Aielle refused to give in to his taunts. I’ve told them nothing in over a year. And he won’t find out anything else today.

  He flicked his wrist again three more times, but she didn’t give any signs of pain even though her flesh acknowledged it. Her pain tolerance had grown with practice. Her mind had grown better and better at separating itself from the wounds on her body.

  With one swift movement, he reached out and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back.

  She couldn’t control her gasp at the pain in her neck.

  Budut’s face was above her and his eyes bored into hers. “Growing fond of the pain, are we?” he asked silkily. His tongue reached out and licked up the side of her face, leaving a wet trail. “So defiant! I love torturing you. Breaking you with my whips. If the general didn’t have plans for you, I would keep you for myself, just to hear you scream.”

  Aielle marveled at how far she had come. Her body used to shake with rage when he would say these things to her, but now she simply hung there.

  Let him do his worst. You can control nothing, except your reactions.

  And the more you give, the more he’ll ta
ke from you.

  He backed away and started whipping her legs and back, leaving marks at first, then lines tinged with blood.

  To her surprise, he stopped abruptly. “I wish we could chip you. Then you would have to tell me what you know.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, the chip also makes you lose your memories. So that option is unworkable.” His voice dripped with disappointment. He crossed the torture chamber and took down three small, thin spikes from a nail on the wall. He turned toward her, caressing them lovingly. “Today, we’re going to try something new.”

  Her eyes widened as he walked back to her, standing by her hand.

  “Do you know what these are for?”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of an answer either way.

  Budut caressed her fingers, then took one of the spikes and slid it under her nail sharply, so she could feel the bite. “These little spikes will give you the most delicious pain.” His voice was thick with anticipation. “I will give you one last chance to tell me the answers I want. Where is the crystal?” The question was shouted into her ears.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I will never tell you.”

  He raised the hammer and her entire body cringed in terror. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

  He hit the end and shoved the spike under her nail.

  Pain shot up her arm and to her brain, and with it the certainty that she could never, ever tell them where the crystals were. Or how to bypass the shields.

  If I give in to the torture, they will hurt my people like this. And worse. These creatures are merciless monsters, and I am all that stands between them and my people.

  So I must be strong. No matter what I must endure.

  The torture continued. More whips, more questions, two more spikes shoved under trembling fingernails, until she blacked out and felt no more.

  Budut is going to die, Tordan thought as he peered through the tiny slit in the door of his prisoner’s cell. She appeared to be barely breathing, her temperature far below normal on his visual heat scanner.

  His entire frame was shaking with adrenaline and rage, and he inhaled sharp breaths.

  He’d been told in hushed tones what Budut had done to her when he arrived. The torturer was so sadistic that even the other Cyborgs avoided him.

  But the little elf was not dead, as he had feared. She is still there in her cell, her body rising and falling as she breathes. Thank the gods.

  He hadn’t needed to rush through the winding maze of tunnels in a killing rage. He heard a noise and looked over, his eyes narrowing as Budut strutted down the hall toward him.

  Maybe a killing rage is still needed. Budut is a rarity among us, one who didn’t require programming to become a killing machine. “Tordan.” He grinned. “You missed the fun.”

  Tordan gritted his teeth. “Shut up, Budut.” Quit talking, so I don’t have to kill you yet. Because he definitely planned on killing Budut at some point. He wondered how the other Cyborg still seemed to feel such pleasurable emotion despite the chip. Maybe it doesn’t work on sadistic assholes.

  Budut either didn’t hear him, or didn’t care. “I thoroughly enjoyed finally making that elf break.”

  Time seemed to stand still and his vision darkened. “She told you the secrets of her people?” He couldn’t hide his disbelief. What did you do to break her, you bastard?

  Budut glared. “I might not have gotten that information from her, but after a year of trying, I was finally told not to hold back. I got the screams I was looking for. I enjoyed every second of driving those spikes one by one under her—”

  Tordan spun, his hand wrapping around the other male’s throat.

  “Never kill unless instructed or to defend the king.” The command broke into his mind, the chip trying to exert control over his body. But he pushed it back, controlling his own actions.

  Budut’s eyes widened. He clawed at the hand that was crushing the life from his body, but Tordan only squeezed harder, letting his rage flow through his fingers. He felt no mercy, no remorse at what he was doing. When at last he heard the sound of bones crunching, and saw the other male’s eyes deaden, he let go. The torturer’s body crumpled to the ground.

  Today, I killed because I wanted to. A feeling of power surged through him. Budut deserved what he got. But this feeling…this freedom…it’s not something I have time to consider.

  Tordan moved quickly, picking up the body and moving with purpose to the pits at the end of the row of cells. Opening the grate, he tossed the body inside. A few moments later, water splashed, and then the hissing of the water beasts filled his ears.

  The cats won’t know what I have done. No one will know.

  Except me.

  A slow sense of satisfaction spread through him.

  “Keep working. Keep moving. Never slow. Never stop.” He heard the voices in his mind, but this time, he didn’t have to obey them.

  There was no longer any doubt, his programming had indeed failed, and he knew exactly who was to blame. The elven prisoner.

  Now the only question was what he would do about it.

  Aielle awoke back in her cell, her mind snapping to awareness as intense pain flared to life.

  Oh gods, are my fingers on fire?

  Slowly, she raised her hand so she could see her mangled fingers. Two of the nails were gone, but the third was still attached on one side. She shuddered, lowering her hand to rest on the freezing stone. I’m going to have to pull out that nail myself.

  She realized she was shivering, so she weakly unwrapped the shirt she used as a pillow and pulled it over her. Then she heard the clank of the tin dinner tray and realized the noise must have awakened her. The metal crack was open, and he was looking for her.

  Every night, after carefully pushing her tray through the door, gray eyes appeared through the crack, searching for hers. They never spoke more than those words, and he never stayed more than a few seconds, but that small connection warmed her soul in a way that she hadn’t felt since before her capture.

  Can’t get to the door tonight. Otherwise my skin will tear in a hundred places.

  She wanted to cry, but she had no tears left.

  "Eat up, little one." The roughly spoken words were the same every evening, but she waited in anticipation to hear them anyway.

  They were the only words resembling kindness that had been spoken to her in over three hundred days.

  She whispered her usual, “Thank you," her parched lips barely moving. She didn’t think the sound made it to the door.

  There was a pause and the hole in the door stayed open.

  He’s checking on me.

  Her chest tightened. Am I so desperate that I’m beginning to think he really cares? She berated herself for the thousandth time.

  Aielle knew that she should hate him. He might have been one of the mountain people before the invasion — but he was a slave of the Ardaks now. He’s probably as helpless as you are in this situation. You can’t hate him. But you can’t trust him, either.

  The other guards rarely used the opening, simply throwing, or even kicking her meals under the door, allowing what little she had to spill upon the floor. She mourned each loss, not of the gruel but of the precious water, which brought with it the scent of the open air and sunlight.

  Sometimes when her guard was missing for several days, the other guards forgot to feed her. On more than a few of those occasions, she’d been so hungry and thirsty that she’d considered eating the few roaches and mice that came from the cracks in the walls, hoping for some of the remains.

  But not him. Not the special guard. He carefully placed the tray so her water stayed intact. Sometimes there was even extra water.

  She snuggled deeper into the shirt that covered her. She was fairly certain it had been from him. As well as other small items after the torture had been at its worst.

  She couldn’t prove it was the guard who checked on her who gave things to her. But who else could it be?


  Aielle wondered what the rest of him looked like.

  Is he handsome? The largest race on Aurora, the men of the Mountain Realm had stood head and shoulders over even her race. They were known for their dark hair and eyes, and rugged good looks. The strength of their men had been legend, their enormous, muscular bodies carving out the mountains, trading their bounty of precious gems and metals for all the races to enjoy.

  The Cyborg torturers she’d seen had a beauty that would have been handsome if it hadn’t been so dark and terrifying. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine him, as she had a thousand times before. But it was impossible. The pain was too intense.

  And besides, the guilt was too much. If I had accomplished my mission, stolen the crystal, they would be free. We would all be free.

  The hole in the door seemed to stay open forever. Much longer than usual.

  But finally, it slid slowly shut.

  A solitary tear leaked out of the corner of her eye before she found her way back into the comfort of sleep.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Aielle's swallow stuck in her throat as the loud bangs on the cell door echoed through her cell like a death knell. All of the prisoners knew what they meant. Three knocks in the morning means death by nightfall.

  The Cyborgs liked to torture them with the knowledge that they had only a few hours left to live.

  Did our shields fail? Did the Ardaks finally capture my people? She thought desperately. And then the worst thought imaginable crept in. Did they get our crystal?

  As much as her injured hands still burned and her body ached, she forced herself to sit up a little straighter. I can control only myself. If I must die, I will die with dignity.

  She had been one of the most powerful healers among her people, and trained to be a warrior. When they had first invaded, she had wanted to fight against the Ardaks on the battlefield, but their warriors were so fierce, she had been convinced that the secret mission would be the better option.

  Where history will show I failed. Her heart wrenched. I led all my warriors to their deaths, including myself. I failed my father and my people. And left the mountain people to their doom. We were their last hope.