Hello everyone, I started a story on the old forum, before discontinuing it due to a lack of direction for the story. I recently started writing again so, without further rambling on my behalf, I present Darkness Rising.
The guard walked slowly down the darkened hallway, occasionally pausing to look into the dimly lit cells. The outlines of sleeping bodies were sprawled out in the cells, their chests slowly rising and falling. The guard continued to walk before stopping outside the guard shack. He opened the door and greeted the supervisor before observing the row of projected images. With a flick of his hand they started to slowly cycle before his eyes. Everything appeared normal. The guard nodded to his supervisor before opening the outer door and emerging into the courtyard.
Two floors below, three men were clustered around a small metal chair. A man, if you could still recognize him as such, was strapped by his arms and legs to the chair. Blood oozed from his mouth and from numerous small cuts covering his arms and legs. A single deep gash ran along his stomach.
“What happened at the battle?”
“You bastards know damn well what happened, we were outnumbered and outmatched, it was slaughter! It…”
The man was interrupted by a club smashing into his arm, loudly cracking the bone. The prisoner shrieked in agony.
“I won’t ask you again, what happened at the battle?”
Reluctantly, the prisoner finally replied:
“The battle was a great success, with myself leading our valiant forces to triumph over the barbarian enemy.”
“Very good captain, I am glad you have chosen to believe the truth, rather than whatever false delusions you previously experienced.”
“Yes, it was my pleasure to serve my country, and our leader”
“That’s right; we must all do our duty for our country and our leader”
The leader of the bunch turned to his subordinates, instructed them to release the prisoner back to his cell once his reeducation was complete. The man was content; the reeducation had taken hours with this one, longer than any other inmate. He gave a small chuckle to himself; he would have to record this session in his somewhat infamous record book. Regardless of the time, the protocol was near perfect, even the most stubborn subject was only able to resist for a little over 8 hours before submitting. The man turned in the hallway and strode purposefully towards the warden’s office. He opened the door and began to speak before the warden had gotten a chance to look up.
“Prisoner 2055 is ready to be transferred to the mainland shuttle. His reeducation is complete.”
“Very well, I will transfer his records”
“No need, my associates will deal with all records concerning the prisoner.”
“As you wish”
The man turned and walked out, mentally taking inventory of the warden’s reactions. The warden was growing more and more suspicious of the frequent prisoner transfers, he would have been even more suspicious if he were actually aware of his own past. The current reeducation protocol ensured that no residual memories were left behind, but previous protocols were not as reliable. He made a mental note to have the warden replaced; it would be interesting to see the effects of reeducation for the second time. The man relished the challenged. He descended a flight of stairs to his small office, but not before walking past a small, heavy door. There was no window, no portal to push food through, no connection to the outside world. Inside, the man felt a strange feeling, one he was not accustomed to, yet felt every time he passed this cell. He felt the twinge of failure. Residing within this cell was the toughest prisoner he had ever encountered. Despite every trick, technique, or chemical forced upon her body, this prisoner had failed to yield. She had failed to submit to reeducation, to his story, and thus was the most dangerous prisoner to the government. The knowledge she possessed could destroy the entire system, bring about a revolution. His underlings has suggested that she be destroyed, but each time, he had refused them, telling them that it was only a matter of time before he found a way to erase her memory, to reeducate her. She was his ultimate goal, for when he conquered her, there was no other mind that could resist his treatments.
Within the cell she sat quietly, legs crossed, perched quietly on top of the prison mat. She looked up as the lights illuminated, indicating that the morning was upon the prison. She slowly got up and washed her face over the small sink. She returned to her mat and lay down, preparing to commence her ritual of staring at the ceiling. If she had not possessed the weapon that the government most feared, she would have gone insane years ago. An outsider looking into the cell through one of the nonexistent window surely would have wondered what a thirteen year old girl had done to deserve such treatment.