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The Technician's Fight, Draft 1, CH44
🕑 Added 2025-09-30 13:00:02 +0000 UTCThe music blared, and Jeremy’s eyes snapped open. “I’m awake.” He looked around, eyelids already drooping, as the orchestra quieted. He hadn’t planned on nodding off. But keeping his eyes open was difficult. He never seemed to wake up refreshed anymore.
He stood and the freezing floor helped wake him. Sitting was just asking to fall asleep again. The food panel was closed, so the hunger had to be his imagination.
“So, Jeremy,” Omar’s digitized voice asked. “Ready to continue giving your report on the cat’s anti-matter reactor?”
“What report?”
“The one you started on before you nodded off. I gave you a full five minutes of nap time as a reward. Don’t you remember?”
“I didn’t—” He had been talking with Omar about…. Not the reactor, he was confident.
“Let’s see, there’s where you left off. ‘The reactor’s output is surprisingly strong considering how little heat accumulates in the extra space that accounts for how large it is.’ I did paraphrase when I transcribed it. You know how the higher-ups like everything to sound just right. So fucking exhausting, dealing with them.”
“I never said that.” Although it sounded like something he would.
Omar chuckled. “Then how do I have this, Jeremy?”
“I don’t know. You picked it out of my mind or something.”
“Mind reading, really? Are you saying the stories are true? The cats can go in there and make you think whatever they want.”
“No, of course not. Mentalists can only read minds, not make changes.”
“Thank you for confirming that, Jeremy. Have an early dinner as your reward.”
He stared at the open panel. No, he couldn’t have revealed something. He’d been tricked.
The smell of roasted potatoes and the peppery sauce had him salivating. The taste was orgasmic. He couldn’t believe how hungry he was. The steak was medium-rare, as he loved it. Even the coffee, with its printed taste was amazing.
He was done eating too quickly.
The orchestra blared, and the tray flew off his lap as he stood.
“None of that, Jeremy. It isn’t sleep-time yet. Unless you want to tell me what the power output of the reactor is?”
“No. I’m not telling you anything.”
“Then, be sure to stay awake. And clean things up. You know how you like things tidy.”
*
“Fuck off,” he told the voice, pulling the thin pillow over his head.
The responding sigh was filled with disappointment. Then the orchestra played. Jeremy closed his eyes. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care. He’d find a way to sleep through it.
He gave up with a scream, throwing the pillow across the small room and rolled onto his back.
The orchestra ceased playing, but he knew better than to close his eyes. How many days now? Weeks? Not months. Not yet. He was confident of that. He’d counted the days, but around the eight, some of them felt like they chained up. Him sleeping nearly as soon as he woke. And the reverse, morning coming as soon as he closed his eyes. He was so out of it on some days he didn’t remember eating, while on other’s he remembered meals he couldn’t have eaten. They didn’t serve lunch twice in a row.
He took a piss, uncaring who watched. He no longer waited for dark if he needed to take a dump. At least the roll was replenished while he slept once it was low enough. He’d dreaded running out after having to use half to wipe the mess on that first day.
The floor too cold, he returned to the bed and waited for Omar to question him again.
The orchestra woke him, and woke him again. As his eyelids drooped again, the smell of food pulled him out, and he hurried to take the tray. He stared at the roasted potatoes. The steak covered in pepper sauce.
“Why the same meal?”
“What do you mean, Jeremy?”
“I had that yesterday.”
“No, yesterday, you had ribs, salad with ranch dressing, fries, and coffee. A slice of apple pie for dessert.”
“No, that was….” He tried to remember when that had been. He was certain it had been multiple days before. Except, he wasn’t entirely sure either. It hadn’t been the previous day, he wanted to argue that. But if he couldn’t remember when it had been. How confident could he be yesterday hadn’t been it?
What mattered was that he had food. So he ate. He returned the tray to the panel, then sat, his eyes drooping.
*
“Got to say I’m disappointed in you, son.” Jeremy’s father stood before him, dressed in the jeans and gray shirt he loved to be in when he was done working. “Everything me and your mother did for you, and this is where you end up. A disgrace to us. This is going to kill her, you know.”
“No!” He looked around at the darkness, his breathing slowing. Fuck that had felt real. He lay back and closed his eyes.
*
“Up and about, Jeremy. There’s a lot to do today.”
He sat up, barely able to keep his eyes open, because there was nothing to be gained by fighting the voice on that account.
“I’m up.”
“Why?” Omar’s digitized voice said. “It’s sleep-time.”
Darkness fell over the room.
Jeremy questioned it only for the time it took for his head to hit the pillow. He was so fucking tired.
*
“Oh, Jeremy,” his mother said, holding his hand. “Why?”
“I love him, Mom.”
“Love who?” Omar asked, and Jeremy glared at the ceiling.
“How about you mind your own business, Omar. I’m having a conversation here.”
“With whom?”
“Who else?” Jeremy said derisively, motioning before him. “My mother.”
There was no one there.
*
“It’s not your fault, Jeremy,” Omar crooned, while he wept uncontrollably. “It’s the cats. You know that. They’re the ones who caused this to happen. If they hadn’t twisted you so you’d choose them over your own family, she wouldn’t have—”
“Shut up,” he said between sobs. She couldn’t be dead. He refused to believe his mother had died because of him. Had died at all. This was a trick. Some sick trick on Omar’s part.
“This can all be over, you know that, Jeremy. All you need to do is answer my questions.”
“Fuck off.” He ignored the rest of what the man said and mourned his mother.
*
“No.” Jeremy said, feeling unusually energized. “I’m not telling you anything.” He didn’t remember his night. As far as his memory was concerned, it might as well not have happened, but he was full of energy, and he wasn’t giving Omar anything.
“Nothing? Really? Where did this defiance come from?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Jeremy grinned. He was going to beat his old supposed friend. No matter what he asked, he wasn’t going to—
“Up and about, Jeremy!”
The sudden sound and light wrenched him out of sleep, and he fought not to cry. He’d been winning. He was so certain of that.
He curled into ball.
He had been winning.
*
“It’s okay, Jeremy,” his mother said. “They’ll understand.”
“I can’t betray them, Mom. They’re everything to me.”
“Didn’t they say you have to do anything needed to survive and return to them?”
Had they? There were so many phrases. So many things a hunter was expected to do. That might have been one of them.
He turned his back on his mother. “I’m not betraying them.”
*
He stared at the mush on his plate. “What is this?”
“The same thing you always have for lunch.”
“No, it’s usually soup and a sandwich.”
“Are you okay, Jeremy? Maybe you’ve been here too long, your mind is playing tricks on you.”
“No. You’re trying to trick me. You’re changing things around, then saying you didn’t. You’re confusing me, so I won’t know what’s true anymore.”
“Jeremy, I’m not doing anything.”
“You put me in here!”
“Jeremy, you’re the one who demanded to be put in there.”
“What? Why?”
“To be protected, don’t you remember? You want to be safe from them, and this is the only place you feel safe.”
“No. No, that can’t be true.” But a cold lump formed at the bottom of his stomach.
What if Omar was right?
*
He almost threw up.
“What’s wrong now?” Omar asked, exasperated.
“The soup’s bad,” Jeremy said, struggling to keep his eyes open.
“It’s exactly how you asked for it, Jeremy. I told you it was a weird request, but you insisted.”
Had he? He didn’t remember making a request, but there was so much he didn’t remember right. Like how long had he been in here. Omar said only a few days, but it felt like so much longer. As for why? Because he was sick. Only he didn’t feel sick. Other than nearly throwing up.
But if he had asked for it, he really should eat it.
*
“Stop,” he whispered while crying. He didn’t know why he cried, only that he was so tired he couldn’t keep the tears from coming.
“You know what to do if you want this to stop, Jeremy,” Omar said softly. “You’re the one in control here. As soon as you answer my questions, this can end.”
“Okay,” he said, hating himself for it. But he couldn’t stand this anymore. Better putting an end to it, no matter how everyone who mattered would hate him afterward. It wasn’t like they’d see him again. The humans would never let him go. “Ask your questions.”
Omar asked, and Jeremy answered.
“I’m proud of you, Jeremy,” the man said, once he was done asking. “Lie down, you’ve earned your sleep.”
Darkness fell on the room slowly, and he closed his eyes. Hoping for the darkness to never go away, and dreading knowing the light would return.
After all, this was just a trick. Omar would never stop torturing him.
*
When the light woke him, it came with motion and sounds. He blinked the blurriness away, and the forms resolved into the worse torture Omar could have orchestrated.
“No.” It couldn’t be them. He pushed away from the hand reaching for him and against the freezing wall.
“It’s okay, Jer,” Thur said. “It’s over.”
“You’re too late,” he said, sobbing. “I told them everything.”
“I know.” The friend he’d betrayed took his hand. “It’s okay, Jer. You did nothing wrong.”
“I told them everything!”
Thur gently pulled him against him. “It’s okay, Jer. We all do.”
Comments
Kindar
as part of this specific session, the lesson is that no matter how strong willed you think you are, you don't have what it takes to resist. it's basically to demonstrate what the training is needed
Marcwolf
What is the lesson here.. That sooner or later you will talk, or resisting is futile..
