@brooklynsoul
“Then wipe him, and start over.”
He knew what came next. Same as before. Compliant as they fit the mouthguard between his teeth, as the cold metal locks fastened around his body. If he fought, it was only worse. At some point in the endless years before, he’d learned that. It was easier if he was compliant. What reason did he have to fight, anyway? The machine would lower, pain would wrack his body, and in the next instant everything would be blank. Sometimes, there were flashes. He remembered cold. He remembered warmth, too, but he didn’t know why. Faces flickered like a movie reel off kilter. Pieces he could never fit together.
But the man on the bridge stayed with him.
I knew him.
It was from a mission. But that didn’t align with the emotions that face provoked. His missions were brutal efficiency. The man on the bridge was... different.
The chair laid back and he held that face in his mind, tried to memorize the details. It seemed important to remember. Maybe this one time, it would stay. His sucked in great breaths of air, preparing for the shocks. His mind couldn’t remember the pain, but his body did, and it involuntarily seized up.
I knew him.
Electricity surged through his skull, and he screamed. The sound was muffled by the mouthguard. Every nerve was on fire, every cell. Everything but the pain disappeared, and he prayed it would kill him. Death would be such sweet relief. Just when he thought he could take no more, it all stopped. Like a switch had been flipped.
Darkness. Murmuring voices. The Soldier blinked his eyes open.
“готов соблюдать,” he said.
