HUMANITY 2.0
YEAR 028, DAY 284?
The "Day 284?" is a best guess. I'll explain later.
I don't remember how many times I tried to clobber the door to my luxurious prison cell before the gas got to me. Judging by my bloody-bandaged hands when I woke up, I'd say I put a decent dent in it. I was unconscious for an interminable length of time, and unfortunately, I experienced no visitations by which 15226 furnished a means of escape. I remember dreaming – not clearly, or about what, just a few themes and ideas.
I remember dreaming of angels, then of the mountains, then of bitter cold. I remember running through a cave, trying to find some money hidden inside, and then I was in Cincinnati for some reason – playing some video game with my old roommate from near thirty years ago.
My imagination flowed from place to place. I was probably out for a few days. I finally awoke much later, feeling drained and stiff. The first thing I noticed was that I was much less comfortable this time. My wrists and ankles ached and chafed. I blinked my eyes open, waiting briefly to let them adapt then looking around.
I was in a completely different place from the first – it was a wide, rectangular room, about thirty feet long and ten wide. The floor was lined with a carpet that was my only cushion; I was lying on my side on it, and my neck felt strained. I cautiously rose up, cracking my neck once, and reached up to rub it – and I noticed the restraints.
I was bound, but not by handcuffs. Instead, each of my four limbs had a round, tightly fitted thick metal band around it, which was itself firmly attached to a one-inch steel cable. Each of the four steel cables led into small holes in the wall around me – two low holes for my legs, two high holes for my arms.
The cables were fairly slack at that moment, all touching the floor. I noticed that I was naked, too – they must have stripped me, save for the gauze wrappings on my hands and knuckles. My flaccid cock was the only limb that wasn't bound by steel restraints, which I supposed was a small blessing.
Coiled around one of the cables – the one attached to my left arm – was a small plastic tube filled with fluid. It led to an IV inserted into a vein, secured by a metal strap around the forearm. That was worrying. Bethany had said we weren't immune to poison, and most pharmaceuticals would still affect us – though if the body thought the effect was negative, likely it would have to be a far stronger dose than one would give a normal human. I tried to reach it with my right hand, but suddenly found it snapped away by the cable – abruptly going taut and then pulling it away.
Someone saw me try that and stopped it. I blinked and looked around the room again. I was against one of the smaller walls, and behind me there was a wide, simple bed. The far smaller wall had a single door on it, and the rest of the room was filled up with couches and ottomans – seemingly grabbed at random, some looking old and some new, none matching. Similarly, the walls had a few old decorations, but were otherwise painted a drab mauve color. There was a sense about the place of being hastily thrown together.
I sat up, planting my ass on the bed and focusing inward. I couldn't tell exactly how long I'd been out, but I was starving. I looked around, and noticed off to one side there was a tray with a dish on it, covered with a metal disc. I stood, and experimentally walked over – and found the cables had enough play in them that I could make it over. I hunched in front of the food, pulling the disc off the plate and seeing a basic chicken and rice dish. The smell immediately assaulted me and I nearly lost control. I resolved myself again, and sat down cross-legged. Picking up a plastic fork placed nearby, I began to eat, albeit quickly. There was a plastic thermos full of ice water, which I downed during the process.
I cleaned the plate uninterrupted. Pushing it away, I went and sat back down on the bed. What was supposed to happen here? They weren't torturing or experimenting on me, so far as I knew. I didn't taste anything odd in the food. I hoped Vanessa was okay; she was one of them, and not one of the good guys, but she was just an employee doing her job as a basic administrator. She certainly hadn't known what I was when they sent her in to deal with me – likely she'd only been told that I was some kind of international criminal with valuable intelligence and she was to negotiate terms for me to divulge it. She'd been the closest pretty face they had on payroll, and they simply used her.
I sat in place for three hours straight, alternately meditating and considering my situation. I tested the cables, and found that I could make it about one-quarter of the way across the room toward the door before I could go no further. I tried bending them, but it was no good. It was the kind of cabling they used to hold cargo ships in place; even my full-grown hominus male strength couldn't make them fray, let alone snap. I noted that, along the edges of the ceiling, were small mirrored bulbs – those would be the cameras, covering all angles of the room.
Finally, after nearly eight hours of patiently waiting, I decided to see if my captors were willing to at least talk and provide some kind of interaction before I died of boredom. Maybe they just wanted me in good shape before they tortured me? I took in a deep breath, and spoke in a booming voice. "If you're going to send someone in, I'm ready."
There was a shuffling sound outside, and some muffled voices. I waited longer, not shouting again, and after a few minutes, I heard a click. The door opened, and a man stepped in.
He looked to be in his late fifties, nearly bald. He wore a fine charcoal suit – no pinstripes, just five thousand dollars worth of wool. He wore a white shirt and a grey tie; it was a severe, basic look, forcing me to focus on his weathered face. There was an almost kind expression to him – like a stern father. He radiated authority and respect. I knew, looking at him, that I was finally seeing the true enemy. One of them, anyway. Two soldiers, in black combat gear, came in, flanking him.
The man stood there, just meeting my eyes, judging me somehow before proceeding. A third soldier entered, with a folding chair, and placed it in the center of the room – outside my reach. Smiling, the man walked to the center of the room, spun the chair around backwards, and straddled it, sitting down and folding his arms over its back, leaning towards me and smiling. He nodded toward the soldiers over one shoulder, and they filed out, then closed the door. I heard a click as it locked. He turned back to face me.
"You're Ben Stanton." He said it matter-of-factly. His voice was strong, with a kind of gravitas that I've never found. The guy looked like he ought to be out campaigning for President.
"I am." There was silence for a few moments. "You're the one who ordered them to set off the bombs at the stadium. Just to capture me."
"Yeah, we finally found something that worked, huh?" He chuckled. "Don't worry, they were mostly just for show. Only a few casualties. We didn't need a body count, just the ruckus that followed. Who knew, after – God, has it been sixteen years? – that all we needed was some rioting soccer hooligans to bring you down."
