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Retreat, Hell - Episode 14.5
🕑 Added 2021-07-03 14:09:22 +0000 UTCA/N: I'M NOT DEAD, I SWEAR IT!
Hey, guys! Finally got another episode for you. I wanted to have this one out before the last full episode, but didn't have time to finish it, so it's getting posted slightly out of order.
Episode 16 is coming. I'm almost done with it, just got a little polishing to do. I wanted to post the draft here for you guys, but I've been without internet for a while, and at this point I'd just be posting the full episode, just with slightly more errors. I've also put a lot of work into plotting out Tyriel's side of the story, and drafting the next few episodes of his misadventures.
Work has kept me pretty swamped, but there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Things will be slowing down a bit sometime this year, then I'll be moving again and have a much lower workload after that. Once all the move stuff is sorted early next year, I should be able to maintain my intended rate of a major episode a month, at the very least.
But enough about my boring excuses for why I haven't been able to feed your addictions, and on to the story! } ; = 8 )
Today, we're picking back up with Tyriel, and his misadventures.
Retreat Hell – Episode 14.5
With a sharp intake of breath, Tyriel snapped his eyes open. He held perfectly still while confusion reigned, and remained motionless as memory returned.
He was not pleased to find himself still alive.
Slowly, he took stock of his situation. He was lying on his back on some kind of hard board. The room was brightly lit, from square panels of light on the ceiling. The ceiling was white, and so were the walls that he could see. They were made of large, painted bricks. He was dressed, but not in his clothes.
He sat up. He was wearing a thin, orange jumpsuit. The hard board was a bench against one wall. Across the room was a door with no handle, and a slot at the bottom. It was currently closed. In another corner was a waist-height basin, and a bowl with a seat on it. They were similar to the water closet devices he saw in the human home, but stark in their austerity.
Taking a deep breath, he quietly swung his bare feet to the smooth, stone floor. He closed his eyes, and with another breath reached for the ambient mana that pervaded the universe.
Nothing.
His eyes shot open, and a brief flare of panic spiked in his heart before he stamped it back down. Mana is everywhere. It is a fundamental element of the universe. They must be repressing it.
With another breath, he closed his eyes and reached for the Umbral Planes of Pelianor. He found no connection, but wasn’t surprised. I barely held a trace connection near the portal, I wouldn’t expect it to reach wherever here is.
Not being able to reach the Umbral Planes was not particularly concerning to him. After all, his calling required him to spend much of his time in the material plane, with only brief visits to Pelianor’s sacred realms.
What concerned him was his follow-on attempt to create his own, local dreamscape. Or, rather, the failure of the attempt. Not enough mana… He frowned, trying to tap the etherium again, and again meeting no success.
He opened his eyes, looking about his cell. This will try my patience.
Shrugging, he laid back down on his bench, folding his hands on his chest. He had barely closed his eyes when a piercing, pulsating screech tore through his cell at deafening volume.
Jumping to his feet, heart racing, he stood ready for any threat.
The piercing wail cut out almost as soon as it had begun.
The slot on the door opened, and a tray of something that looked like it might be accused of food was slid through. The slot slammed shut immediately after.
His heart still slowing, Tyriel stepped over to the tray to inspect it. It was made of some rigid material, contained a gruel-like substance, and a white spoon. Nothing was metal.
Sneering in contempt, he turned away from it, only to clap his hands against his ears as the piercing wail returned. It stopped when he turned back to the tray. He glared about the room, wondering what method of scrying they were using if there was no magic available, and grudgingly picked up the tray. He was hungry, anyway.
The gruel was bland and lacking in any distinct flavor, but it was edible. It’s so bland, even a tasteless poison would give it flavor…
When he finished, a panel on the door opened, revealing a bin. He looked at it, looked at his empty tray, then turned away from the door.
The bleating wail returned immediately. Cringing, he tried to ignore it, but he felt the pulsing shriek grate through his brain. He lasted only a few minutes before he turned back to the door and threw the tray and spoon into it.
The siren stopped immediately.
With a frustrated sigh, he returned to his bench and laid down. He had no sooner closed his eyes when the wail started again. It stopped when he sat up.
He waited, but nothing else happened.
Glaring at the ceiling, he laid back down, only to be interrupted by the wail as soon as his eyes closed. He sat back up, suppressing a growl. This will try my patience, indeed.
A full day went by, or as close to one as he could estimate. The lights stayed on, and the wail kept him from sleeping. Even when he covered his ears and tried to ignore it, the volume just increased and it took on new, even more aggravating tones and undulations.
A second meal was delivered, and he ate it to keep the wail at bay. He returned his utensils when he was done, also to keep the wail at bay.
He tried to meditate, but the wail would interrupt him if he closed his eyes. It frequently interrupted him, anyway.
Sometime after his second meal, Tyriel began pacing his cell. He tried the sink, but the water only worked sometimes. He hadn’t figured out the timing, yet. “If they even have a timing for it,” he muttered to himself.
He ran his hair through his hair as he paced back and forth. “What are they trying? What is their goal? I don’t know…”
He started walking laps around his cell for a change of pace.
The third meal came and went, and still Tyriel had not slept. He dared not try. “Trying to sleep brings the wail,” he whispered, reminding himself while he sat on his bench, huddled against the wall.
He screamed in frustration, and slammed his head against the smooth, white stones. The pain brought focus, and he slammed his head again. This time, a splash of red added the first color he had seen in days. It was days, right? Has it been days?
Staring at the blood, a thought struck him, and he smiled. “I have them, now.” He reared his head back, and screaming, slammed it against the wall. He screamed again, striking harder. The wail returned, but the pain helped block it out.
He slammed his head against the wall again, painting it with more blood.
The door opened behind him, and before he could strike again, strong arms hauled him away from the wall. “Noo!” he cried, screaming in frustration and rage, but the humans were stronger than he was.
His bench scraped against the floor, then he was pinned against it. Restraints clipped around his arms and legs, and straps went over his torso. He struggled, but soon found himself completely restrained, unable to move.
Once the last of his restraints was verified secured, the humans left. Tyriel screamed again, straining against his bonds, but quickly tired himself out. He was already exhausted. Cursing them in his mind, or maybe aloud, he twitched and spasmed against his restraints until sleep took him.
***
The wail woke him again, and Tyriel once again found himself unrestrained. He had been sleeping. He was still exhausted, could not have slept for long, but what little amount it was still helped.
The wail got him up and moving again until his fourth meal was delivered. He put the utensils in the bin before the wail prompted him, and was rewarded with its absence.
He paced around his cell again, muttering to himself, trying find a mantra to help him maintain his focus. After four hundred and thirty-one laps, he tried his sink. It worked this time, and he managed several gulps of water before it cut out.
He paced the room twice more before collapsing on his bench. “What are they doing? Why?” Part of him wished they had just brought out the knives. He could deal with that.
***
The wail woke him again. He was still exhausted, but the wail had let him sleep longer today. He used the water closet, and was allowed two gulps of water before the sink cut out.
He resumed pacing.
Another meal was delivered. Mindlessly, he proceeded to the tray and sat down in front of it.
“Maybe I should count the laps between meals,” he said, halfway through the gruel.
“Maybe I should count the laps between sleeps. If they let me sleep, now. Maybe I’ll get a longer sleep today.” Growling in frustration, he through the empty tray and utensil in the waiting bin. “I need to stop talking to myself.”
He counted five hundred and eighty-eight laps before flopping down on the bench.
Sleep claimed him almost instantly.
It seemed like the wail woke him immediately after, but the stiff muscles and crick in his neck told him otherwise.
He counted a thousand and seven laps before his meal was delivered.
He tried sleeping immediately afterward, but the wail didn’t let him.
Three thousand, six hundred, twenty-three side-to-side laps later, and he was allowed to pass out on his bench.
The wail woke him for the seventh time. He was stiff, and still tired, but he could tell he slept longer than the night before. “If that was even night…”
The slot opened, and his meal was delivered. “I didn’t sleep that long…” He frowned, and proceeded to the door to retrieve his breakfast. He diligently ate it, and returned it to the bin. He was half-way through the fifth lap when the door opened.
Several humans stormed in, seizing him and pressing him against the wall. His hands and feet were shackled, and shackled to each other, and he was led from his room.
They took him down a confusing series of identical passageways, before opening an unmarked door and ushering him through.
Inside this new room was a table, two chairs, and a large mirror. They set him down in one chair, shackled him to the floor, and left.
Tyriel sat alone in silence for some time.
He was just starting to wonder if the wail would catch him if he tried sleeping there when the door opened.
A human man in an unmarked uniform walked in. He was tall, but not the tallest human Tyriel had seen. His close-cropped hair was brown, and he had brown eyes. His skin was not brown, but he also wasn’t what Tyriel would describe as pale. He calmly walked over to the table, setting down a folded sheaf of papers and a ringed book of clean paper before sitting across from Tyriel.
“Good morning. My name is John. What is your name?”
“Tyriel,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. The animal would probably call me something disgusting if I didn’t give him my name.
“How are you today, Tyriel?”
Tyriel glared at him, refusing to speak any further.
John opened his sheaf of papers, shifting a few of them around. “Tyriel, I am going to lay out the ground rules for your stay here with us. First and foremost, so long as you do not assault your guards or any other personnel, you will not be harmed. It is very important that you tell me if any of your guards mistreat you. They are not allowed to.”
He flipped over one of the pages. “Your cooperation will be appreciated, but we will not force it from you. Cooperation will be rewarded with luxuries that you do not currently have. Failure to cooperate will result in those luxuries being removed. Do you understand this?”
Tyriel narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”
“Good.” John gave him a small smile. He picked up a stylus and opened the ringed binder. “I will be asking you some questions, Tyriel, and would appreciate your cooperation in answering them. Is that okay?”
Tyriel kept his eyes narrowed, watching this ‘man’ suspiciously. “Ask your questions, human.”
“Do you have a favorite color, Tyriel?”
“No.”
John nodded, writing in his ringed binder.
“Do you play any sports?”
“No.”
“Do you like music? We might be able to provide you with some.”
“… Yes.”
Another note in his binder. “Do you have any family?”
Tyriel stared at him in silence.
He set his stylus down. “We will attempt to inform your government that you are alive and being held as a Prisoner of War. If you have family, they will be allowed to send you messages, but you will only receive messages from any family members you list.” He picked up his stylus. “Now, do you have any family?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any family that you would wish to hear from?”
Tyriel paused, considering. He opened his mouth, then closed it. “My granddaughter,” he finally said. “Anseliar.”
John made a longer note in his binder. “We will have to get some more details, but I assure you we will make every effort to contact your government.”
“They will not speak to you.”
“We will still try.”
“Then you are as stupid as we think you are.”
John flipped over one of the pages in his sheaf. “How old are you?”
Tyriel glared at him in silence, growing tired of his questions.
After the silence dragged on long enough to make it clear Tyriel wasn’t answering, the human made another note in his binder. “How long do elves live?”
“You think you are clever?” Tyriel sneered at the animal across from him. “You think your species has accomplished anything? We walked the world when all your kind were young! We knew Gahla in its entirety when your kind were still learning to use sticks. You are but insects, crawling in the mud. I was older than your nation before you animals hadnations.”
He leaned as far forward as his shackles would allow. “You will all fall before our swords. If you are lucky, we might deem you worthy to be crushed beneath our boots.”
John casually leaned back in his chair. “I think we are done here for today.” He collected his papers and closed his binder, then stood up. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
With Tyriel glaring his hatred at his back, the human turned and walked out of the room.
Tyriel was left alone in the room again. He counted twenty-two hundred fifty-three heartbeats before the guards returned to collect him. He was led down another, confusing series of identical corridors, before being deposited in his cell.
The guards pushed him backwards into his cell, removed his shackles, and then departed. He heard the rattle of several locks on the door after it slammed shut.
Turning, he found his cell had changed. The hard, wooden bench had been replaced by a simple, metal bedframe. On it sat a thin mattress, a thin blanket, and a pillow.
Tears welled in his eyes, and he screamed at the bed. He grabbed the pillow and threw it across the room, followed by the blanket, then the mattress. Still not satisfied, the frame was upended and the blanket and pillow were tossed about three more times as he raged about his cell.
His energy exhausted, he collapsed in the middle of his cell, panting as he stared about at the small mess he had made. For all his anger and rage and screaming, he was still in his cell. Still a prisoner. Still without magic.
Defeated, he stood, righted the frame and replaced the mattress. He collected the blanket and pillow, and wearily fell onto the bed. Covering himself and settling into a comfortable position, he let sleep claim him.
His sleep was undisturbed.
Comments
Adam Rosenberg
That's entirely reasonable, and I can't say I disagree. Dude has all that and more coming to him
Sbreader
I don't disagree with you. As I said in my comment I realize in the real world this is probably the most effective form of interrogation to get actual and valuable intelligence. But this is a work of fiction - involving extra-dimensional portals, magic, and elves. For me it was simply boring. And it didn't fulfill my desire as the reader for some sense of retributive justice against a child killer. I would have much preferred at least one scene of the Elf accidentally falling down the stairs 3 to 4 times on the way to be interrogated.
Adam Rosenberg
I agree about pacing and the chapter feeling a bit unfulfilling, but I can see how this method would be more utilitarian. He Expects and may have been prepared for us simply trying to beat the truth out of him, so instead we're subverting his expectations and wearing him down. I don't think he's being treated like this for the sake of it being Humane (definite Guantanamo vibes with the sleep deprivation), but it's harder for someone to resist when you don't give them anything concrete to fight back against, what are you gonna do, punch the music that's keeping you awake? And the interrogator is being Deliberately non confrontational and refusing to acknowledge his aggression. He's swinging for all he's worth and only hitting air. And sleep deprivation is a hell of a drug, especially when it comes to engendering compliance.
Sbreader
EDIT 7/18/21: While my two critiques below stand as far as this chapter in particular and the pacing in general, I wanted to add that I thoroughly enjoy this series and think the author has more potential than I could dream of. I read a lot of indie self-published authors as the e-books are usually cheap so I don't care if I spend 99¢ and don't like the book. If the premise is intriguing I'll take that risk. I can say this author does a better job of any new/independent author I've ever read at both dialog and character voice. All of the author's character's have their own unique voice. When they talk it seems natural and flows off the page. Even some seasoned and award winning authors struggle with that. The author's story is compelling, the characters have depth, and the story easily gets the reader to willingly suspend disbelief - which may be any writer's hardest task. My hope is this author will not only finish this book but turn this story in a multi-book epoch. And that they self-publish on Amazon. I really think with the right pacing this author could be one of those self-published authors that hits a homerun and could turn this into a wildly successful full-time career if they so chose. I wanted to come back to add this, if only for the author, so they know that even if I still have the opinions below - they are particular concerns about particular choices in the narrative and not an indictment or indication of what I think about their work in general. I will continue to be a paying member and to follow this story. I hope that many, many more will do the same. COMMENT: I have to be honest this wasn't what I was expecting or hoping for. This guy is a literal alien who killed an American child. The Genova Convention does not apply to extra-dimensional actors. And we're just going to play loud music. Now I know that enhanced psychological interrogation techniques in the real world get much better Intel, especially over the long term. But this is fiction. I was really looking forward to the Fae having his arrogance knocked down a peg or three. And a good punch to the nose. Or at least electroshock combined with sleep deprivation since this is fiction and he killed a little kid. Also, we've yet to see the enemies machinations or be in their main camp. 14 chapters is a long way without having at least one scene from that perspective. This chapter really did not pay off the wait for me. I hope we can see a faster pace when it comes to having more contact with the enemy and the Fae not just getting some but having their arrogance shattered even if only for a few Fae for a fleeting moment. Even Sauron had doubts.
