Hi everyone! I'm sorry for the delay in these next chapters, life keeps getting busy with work and everything. But, I'm happy to be bringing you another chapter, and I just want to say thanks again to everyone that comments, sends me messages, and even just reads my stories. It really motivates me and makes me feel good that y'all are enjoying them. Feel free to message me, and comment if you like. Otherwise, enjoy the story!
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"Please...please, stop..."
A man's moans could be heard throughout the room, bouncing off the cracked, blood-stained walls with a menacing, eerie fervor. They echoed across the entire cellar floor, empty save for the one room and a few occupants. His desperate pleas were joined by grunts, coughs, and grunts as he lay on the floor, with his back against the floor.
"Please, I'm begging you! What do you want from me?" He cried out, struggling to project his voice to an audible volume.
"You know what we want from you. We have stated it numerous times."
His clothes were started to look worn, dirty, and stained from the continuous beating he'd taken. There were cuts around his lips and the cheeks of his face, and a bruise that darkened on his arm. But other than that, there were not many visual markers of pain or violence on his body. So far, it looked like he'd been in a schoolyard fight, and suffered a few punches. But his voice, and the repetition with which he was pleading for help told another story. He was clearly in pain.
"Wait, don't hit him again. We're approaching that point." Marshall told the General, while placing his hand on his arm. The General had been readying another punch with his fist clenched tight, gripping the brass knuckles, but Marshall's firm command stopped him.
"But sir, he hasn't...
"It's fine." Marshall said as he slowly walked towards the man, and knelt until he was eye level with him. His cold glare petrified the battered man.
"Look, we don't want to have to do this. We shouldn't have to. And I don't find much pleasure in it, to be honest. I'm too old to be doing things of this nature. But you have to understand, our community, our micro-universe is at a breaking point. We are at the proverbial fork in the road, one that will decide the future of the Society for years to come. Decades, even. We need your cooperation, your vote."
The man nodded slowly, hesitantly.
"So, we have offered you a choice. After all, the Society is all about giving its citizens sovereignty and agency. And as the General stated, we have explained this choice numerous times now, yet you still do not choose. So, I will make it even easier for you, as I am low on patience, and the General is as well. As you saw, there is an election coming up, for President of the Society. Agree to vote for me, and we heal your injuries and let you go, free to live, love and explore whatever you want on this space station. If you choose not to, however, we will not only refuse to heal your injuries, but the assault will continue until you change your mind or until you can no longer take it. Am I clear?"
The General scowled at the man, and wiped off his brass knuckles, before clenching them once more in his fist.
"Okay, I understand. You have my vote, I promise." He replied with an agile, quick nod filled with nervousness.
"Good, I'm glad you've finally seen things differently. A new perspective can be refreshing. But let me warn you, just in case you're thinking doing something differently. The Society has a voting system that allows the Board to see the ID of every voter, keeping the voting affairs as organized as possible. If I find out that you left this room, arrived at the voting day, and chose differently than what you told me today, there will be judgment."
"I understand, you can count on me. Of course, I'll vote for you, it's in the best interest of the Society." The man said, stammering through some of his words. Marshall stared into his eyes for another second, before leaning on a nearby table and standing back up again.
"Good. Alright then, General, get him the healing solution, and then he's free to go." Marshall said.
The General brought the healing solution back for the man, and gave it to him. It didn't take long for the injuries to heal, thanks to Marshall's halting of the beating. If the damage had become too severe, the solution would not have worked, since it was only designed for minor cuts and bruises. However, by the time the man was sent back to the upper level and away from what remained of the Termination Chambers, he looked good as new, besides his clothes being a little stained. He was told to tell anyone that asked that he was working on something and got his clothes dirty, even though that clearly wasn't the story. Once he departed, Marshall and the General hung back for a minute to discuss a few things.
"Takes you back to the old days, doesn't it?" The General asked.
"Yea, back to when we were younger. It seemed easier back then, now I'm just too old for this shit. That was about the 10
th
one in only a few days."