by S Mays
“And how to duplicate it,” Sverre reminded him.
“Well, that’s not up to me, but obviously such talents would come in handy, and you never know when you’ll run into others who have those same abilities. Studying them and having the knowledge to counter them is exactly what the Order was designed for,” Henry stated.
“So, what’s the giant coffin for?”
“This is a T-Mod, short for Transfer Module. Standard procedure any time a prisoner is moved to the testing facilities. Can’t be too careful with some of the things we get in here.”
The device was smaller at the bottom and expanded at the top. There was a small trapezoidal window for visibility. Henry pushed a button on the tablet he held. The front of the case swung open, accompanied by the sound of decompression.
“Has its own air supply?” Sverre inquired, standing. The guards bristled as he rose, ready for conflict.
“Yup. Like I said, some things we get in here, you can’t be too careful.”
Several of the men grasped Sverre by the arms, moving him into the device. His hands and feet were placed in loose-fitting straps which automatically constricted back into the wall of the container.
“Just relax. Nothing to worry about,” Henry said, signaling for the door to close with a button press on the tablet. “There will be some pressure as the interior lining constricts to better secure you.”
The door closed. Sverre felt the spongy walls slowly start to compress all around him. His wonder turned to panic as the movement of the substance did not abate, but continued to fill up every crevice. His panic grew as it crept all around him, compressing tighter and tighter. He’d started to think he’d been duped and had just volunteered to step into a device meant to get rid of him, when the constriction ceased. It then eased off a little.
He imagined this was what it felt like to be an arm in a blood pressure cuff. His face was mostly clear from the substance, but he could not turn his head or move any part of his body, not even a fraction. The material contracted and expanded with his breathing so he wouldn’t suffocate. Air was pumped in through a vent near the window of the containment unit. He instinctively flexed, testing a portion of his strength against the device.
Outside, a red light appeared on the side of the container, catching Henry’s attention. He glanced down at his tablet. “Holy hell, that boy is strong,” he announced to the guards, showing one of them the readout of the internal pressure Sverre had applied. “This is going to be an interesting experience,” he said as they maneuvered the T-Mod out of the room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next week was exhausting. Sverre was subjected to dozens of tests to determine the limits of his physical and mental capabilities. Each night, he collapsed into his bed and fell into a deep slumber almost immediately. The only positive in life came from the meals delivered to his cell, which were as good as the best steakhouses he’d ever visited. He wondered if all prisoners enjoyed the same fare, or if someone had pulled some strings for him, perhaps Bilford. He’d rather have had a ticket out.
Thoughts of Bilford and Jessica came back to him constantly. Each time he’d heard a noise outside of his cell, he was half-expecting Jessica to finally show up, but she didn’t. Increasingly, he felt his frustration and resentment building. Apparently, she meant a lot more to him than he did to her. Perhaps it was payback for all of his taunting and petty jokes. He thought of their brief kiss in the training room. He was sure she had some feelings for him. Then again, his sense for things like that had a history of being more wrong than right.
Often in life, he had found himself in compromising positions when he interpreted someone’s friendly gestures as something deeper. He might have the combat instincts of hundreds of people, but he had zero ability to interpret romantic intentions. He wondered if he’d ever get the chance to find out what Jessica thought about him, or if she thought of him at all.
The door opened, revealing the usual crew of guards and technicians. He’d been as cooperative as humanly possible. He hadn’t even made any wisecracks about any of the guards or attendants. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be at the facility, but there was no need to make it any worse than it needed to be.
“How’s it going today, Sverre?”
“Same as yesterday, Henry. Say, do you guys have any attractive women who work here? Or at the very least, could you pipe in a little adult entertainment into my cell, good buddy?”
Henry chuckled, making a few notes on his tablet. “I’ll see what I can do, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I’m afraid our ugly mugs are the only ones you’ll see for the near future.”
Sverre noticed the guards were on edge today. Something was up.
“What’s on the agenda today? Going to see how much I can bench, bro? More treadmills? Mr. Roboto sparring?” Sverre asked, feigning karate strikes.
Henry paused a second, giving a sideways glance to one of the guards. The guard adjusted his grip on his rifle. “No, a little bit different today. Just going to be sitting in some machines and getting some measurements.”
Something strange was going on, but there was no use asking questions. He’d learned long ago that he’d never get any real information out of anyone. He entered the pod and felt the familiar pressure begin to build around him.
He noticed they were heading in a different direction, but it was difficult to see much through the small window. Once again, he strained to try to see any other prisoners, but none presented themselves as they traveled to and from various areas throughout the building. At least in regular prisons you could peer into the cells, but everything at this facility was smooth, white, and sealed tight.
Ten minutes later, they arrived inside of a new room. This one was completely different from any others he’d seen. The pressure diminished, and the door to his transport opened with a “shhhhh” as the air pressure equalized. He worked his jaw in order to get his ears to pop.
The room was huge. He noticed the area he was in was bare except for a metal chair in the middle, which was surrounded by a large, transparent cube. This area was lower than the surrounding room. Above was a circular area that opened up into an even larger space. People peered down at them from behind workstations, monitors, and other instrumentation. Machinery lined every open spot on the walls. The layout reminded him of the observation rooms where surgery was performed and would-be doctors watched medical demonstrations. Now, that thought made him nervous.
One of the transparent walls that surrounded the chair lowered into the floor. Henry placed his hand on Sverre’s shoulder, nodding toward the now accessible chair. Sverre moved into the chamber, lowering himself into the chair. It was clinically cold, extremely hard and uncomfortable. Grasping the arms of the chair, he wasn’t surprised when metal clamps locked his arms into place. He looked at Henry.
“The clamps are more for your protection than ours, bud. Don’t worry.”
Henry stepped outside, and the wall slid back into place. There was utter silence now. Several of the observers bustled about, getting ready for whatever was about to occur. A shadow enveloped his body. He looked up to see a large metallic sphere lowering from above. It was silver, roughly six feet in diameter. It stopped several inches above the box.
The lights in the chamber dimmed. Some of the observers lowered goggles or visors over their eyes. A faint hum reverberated through the chamber, which was unusual because of the soundproofing. After a few moments, he realized the vibrations seemed to be emanating from his own body. The sound was building slowly. A general sense of discomfort spread throughout his body, but he couldn’t pinpoint the source. It was as if a giant tuning fork was placed near his eardrum, but the fork was gargantuan, vibrating his joints, bones, and organs.
As the intensity increased, his vision blurred. He tensed his muscles, attempting to stifle the vibrations. He then noticed that none of his clothing or hair was moving, meaning whatever the sensation was, it was not physical. Was the sensation spiritual or m
ental?
The sensation abruptly intensified. The world spun as if he was blacking out. The pain was unbearable. Just as he felt he was losing consciousness, everything calmed. His vision cleared.
He looked around, noticing that many of the researchers were moving about excitedly. He felt buoyant, at peace. The shackles no longer bit into his arms. Glancing down, he noticed he was free of the chair, but not in the manner he had expected. It felt as if he were growing taller by the second, but then he realized he was levitating. His head bumped into something, causing him to raise his hands to push against the obstruction. He was pressed against the top of the cube.
He glanced back down again, realizing with shock that he could now see through his body. Yet below, he saw himself still seated in the chair, head lolled to the side, unconscious (he hoped). He attempted to push away from the ceiling, but some force kept drawing him upward.
Despite his incorporeal state, he couldn’t pass through the material. The sphere was drawing his spirit out of his body like some kind of spectral magnet. Just as he began to ponder the situation, there was a loud rushing sound, similar to the feeling of a train blasting by someone standing near the tracks. He was being violently drawn downward, back into his body.
He awoke slowly, with a pounding headache. He grasped about, attempting to figure out where he was, before realizing he was back in his room. He patted himself down to make sure he had physical form. Everything was intact and in working order. How long had he been asleep? What had that machine done to him? His entire body ached, but it was his willpower that was drained the most.
The wrenching feeling from the machine was the worst thing he’d ever endured. It was as if his very being was being torn apart. He suspected that if something had gone wrong, that might have happened to him.
Whatever it was, he was desperately thinking of a way to avoid going through that process again. The prospect of being locked away from the world indefinitely was maddening enough, but this new procedure was something else.
An image of him ripping away his collar appeared in his mind for a split second, and it worried him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Unfortunately, Sverre was forced to endure the chamber frequently. Each subsequent visit separated him from his body more easily, but the pain was no longer bearable. If anything, it became worse in each instance. It also took more out of him, as he needed longer periods of rest.
He became more despondent and less motivated over the next few weeks. Plans of escape faded away. He lost track of time, becoming obsessed with his door. He’d glance fearfully at it, knowing that when it opened, it meant enduring that agony again. Twice, he had lashed out at his captors, only to be sedated by his collar instantly. He’d awaken to find himself strapped into the same chair in that room. They would only start the process once he was conscious.
Too much time had passed. He knew they would arrive soon, and he almost cried at the thought. He wiped away the gathering tears, determined to hold on to at least a bit of pride. That was when the door opened.
The awakening process was akin to waking up with a hangover. Some nausea, extremely bad headache, and a general sense of disorientation that took way too long to overcome. Not that he’d been drunk often, except that one time at Kent’s house when Kent’s dad was out of town and they decided to try mixing up some drinks from a recipe book they’d found in Kent’s dad’s bar. Since they were out of cola, they’d substituted apple juice. That was the last time he’d drunk apple juice. He cupped his hand to his mouth and belched slightly. Wrong time to flash back to that memory.
He noticed a tray of food across the room and stepped out of bed to retrieve it but paused to steady himself. He was getting weaker each time he went through the process in the chamber. He slept longer after each torturous subjugation. Judging by how hungry he was, he figured it must have been two days since the last visit. Perhaps in an upcoming visit, he simply wouldn’t wake up? He sat down, waiting for the nausea to pass.
“Prisoner 19631, please consume your food,” the familiar voice ordered. He jumped, startled by the interruption. Eva’s bedside manner was atrocious.
“Why? Worried I might not have the strength to go on with your torturing of me?” he responded. There was no answer. The lights in the room dimmed a bit. The screen on the wall near his bed faded to black. Was it a power outage? He glanced at the door, but it remained firmly shut.
“No, I’d just hate to see you lose any more of those gorgeous muscles.”
“What did you say?” Sverre asked, dumbfounded.
“I’ve had my eye on you for a while, and mmm, I tell ya, I like what I see,” Eva replied.
“Did you pick up a computer virus or something?”
“Oh, no, honey. I’m no computer program. I’m as real as you are.”
This was not the same entity that had monotonously hounded him since he’d arrived.
“Yeah, I’ve hacked into Eva’s mainframe and I’m running the show at the moment. I’ve only got a few seconds, but I wanted you to know you’ve got a friend on the inside, and I’ve got a plan to get us both out of here.”
“But wait, who are —” Sverre started to ask.
“No time, gotta go. Hang in there, buff stuff.”
The screen on the wall blinked for a second before returning to the normal menu. Sverre pondered a moment, then asked, “Eva, do you still think I’m hot?”
“Room temperature is currently seventy degrees, and your body temperature is 98.1. If you wish, I can lower the room temperature slightly if you are uncomfortable.”
He wondered who his “friend” on the inside could be. Someone sent by Bilford or Jess? It seemed like the only logical conclusion, as no one else even knew where he was. Perhaps they’d heard about the experiments and had finally decided to rescue him.
If there was going to be an escape attempt, he’d have to prepare. He looked at his semi-clothed body and realized he’d probably lost fifteen pounds since his arrival. He stepped out of bed, dropped to the floor, and began a set of push-ups. For the first time in weeks, he felt a surge of hope.
It was another five days before he heard from his mysterious benefactor again. Once again, the power fluctuated in his room.
“Hey, there. I see you’ve been hitting it hard,” Eva stated.
“I figured we are both going to need to be in top shape if we are getting out of this place.”
“No doubt about that. But don’t make any mistake about it, you’re the muscle in this operation, and I’m the brains. You just follow my directions, and hopefully, we’ll make it out of here without needing to fight. Because, let me tell ya, you don’t want to fight your way out of here.”
“No argument from me,” Sverre agreed.
“Okay, first off, you can call me Izzy. It takes a lot of effort for me to do this, so we can only talk for short bits.”
“Why are you getting me out of here? Did Bilford or Jessica send you?”
“No one sent me. I’m locked up here, the same as you. And don’t get it twisted, bucko. I’m not getting you out of here — you’re getting me out of here. You just happen to benefit from our arrangement. If the demonically possessed girl in the cell next to yours could get the job done, I’d be talking to her. Unfortunately, she’d probably devour my life force as soon as the door to her cell opened. You just happen to be the most suitable person for this job that I can trust in here. I’ve seen your records, and I know what you can do. I’m going to need some muscle in case the plan doesn’t pan out the way I’ve got it figured, and you’re the lucky noob.”
“I guess I appreciate your honesty, even if you seem like a bit of a jerk,” Sverre said, slightly offended.
“Hey, now, don’t be like that, sweet buns. I’m just letting you know what’s what. That way, there’s no surprises down the road. Nothing says we can’t be good, good friends.”
It was difficult to determine minor tone changes and inflections in Eva’s voice, so Sverre wa
sn’t quite sure how to take that. The way she said it made him uncomfortable.
“Time’s getting short again. Just wanted to let you know to keep doing what you’ve been doing, get rested, and soon we’re bustin’ out of here. Ciao.”
“Do you know when?” Sverre asked quickly.
“It is currently 10:24 p.m., prisoner 19631,” Eva responded.
“Sheesh, I hate when she does that,” Sverre said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Two weeks later, it happened. Sverre awoke, sensing something was different. The air was too still. He put his hand in front of the small vent slits that supplied his room with air. There was no airflow. He tapped the monitor on the wall, which remained black. He quickly dressed and waited by the door.
He’d expected at least one or two more conversations with Izzy, but this might be what he was waiting for. The minutes ticked by slowly. He began to sweat in the stifling room. His door cracked slightly, barely opening. There was grunting from the other side.
Grabbing the edge of the door, he slammed it into the wall, ready to attack whoever it was. He almost tripped over the figure that was on the other side. The main lights were out, but the red emergency lights provided minimal illumination.
“What the…? Watch it, buddy!” a female voice yelled.
Sverre backed up and looked down, then down some more. In front of him was a short blonde girl, probably in her late-twenties, looking up at him. She was probably five feet tall and overweight. Her hair was cut short, but that was probably a result of facility regulation rather than her own choice. She had her hands on her hips, looking up at him with a bemused smirk.
