There was water and the stench of death all around me. I didn't know whether the water was the source of the smell or not, but I was positive that the water didn't smell good regardless. It didn't taste good either. I was damn sure that it didn't taste good.
The doors to my chamber opened and I was let out. I coughed and sputtered as I rose from the water, every little wire and needle sliding out from under my skin as I climbed out of the coffin shaped device.
Ripping the mask off was always the first thing I did before anything else. Once that horrible thing was off my face, I could start taking the time to dry off and get my garments on. I called them garments, but they were really just fabric. Literally just a scratchy potato sack to cover the uncomely parts. That may be a little dramatic, but only a little.
I took a few steps before I coughed up more water. I was in a small, bricked cell with a high ceiling. There was a door, but there were no windows, which was a blessing because I hated the sounds that echoed through the halls of this god forsaken place.
As much as I would've loved to stay in the cell, I knew they were coming for me. I knew what happened next. It was the same thing every day, and even though I'd been through this countless times before, I still felt the freezing grip of terror at my throat. When I first got to CRADEX, I was sure that I'd someday become stronger than the torture, physically immune to the beatings. That notion had quickly been shattered out of my mind.
As I'd expected, the door to my cell opened to reveal two well-dressed guards. "Time to go, Urchin." I was led through the familiar halls. The guards never used restraints or violence unless a prisoner acted poorly. After seventy-nine escape attempts, I'd learned that there was a reason for that. The guards couldn't die, and there were literally no visible doors that led out of the prison. I'd never been chased during my attempts, and that was because after hours of running and searching, I just collapsed in a corner, overwhelmed with hopelessness. That was the point. It was just another piece to the process of breaking us. And I was completely and totally broken. So I just followed, as I had for the last thirty years.
Quite unfortunately, I knew the schedule very well. I knew that they were leading me to the chambers, where they would perform the same torture that they did after every mission. I was quite looking forward to it. But I've always been a poor liar.
The large metal doors opened and creaked loudly. Everything about the building, or facility rather, was designed to be deceitful. Despite the lack of maintenance and apparent modernism, CRADEX was actually quite advanced. It was a place that looked like an old castle, but beneath the guise, it was technology filled and so scientifically advanced that I'd never been able to wrap my head around how any of it truly worked. I had no idea where exactly it was located, but I knew that it wasn't part of any planet.
Beyond the doors lied the chambers. They were called that because the room was filled only with rows upon rows of little metal boxes that were about the size of a shower. I really didn't like this room, it was the worst of all tortures. Most inmates were lucky enough to avoid the chambers altogether. But those who did missions, like I did, had the honor of participating in true torment.
The boxes were all discolored and nasty on the outside, but once I was inside, it was a different story. The inside was like a scene out of a really horrifying science fiction movie. Tubes and needles. Wires and a variety of different buzzing machines. The scariest part of it was that there were vials at the top. Small viles that each had a small plastic tube attached to the bottoms. Similar to if not exactly like an IV drip. Each vile had blood in it. My blood. Each inmate who needed one, had their own personal chamber.
I was pushed inside and one of the guards strapped me to a wall. Then he began carefully inserting needles into various parts of my body.
When he was done, he closed the door and probably walked away. I wouldn't have known. Then it all began. The idea of the process was that the machine began taking away blood from your body until you had just barely enough to live. The blood would fill the viles above me. The process caused severe headaches, weakness like you can't imagine, the inability to think straight. But the worst of it, and the reason they did it, was the next part. I stared in horror as hundreds of needles inched ever closer to me. All around me, even in my back and head. They were tiny and they would go deep. They were so small that no scars were produced, but I still bled. I screamed out in agony as hundreds of tiny needles poked slowly, inches deep in my skin.
The needles caused a lot of bleeding, especially the ones in my head.
I cried every time this happened to me. The physical pain was too much for any human brain to fathom.
I felt the needles start to move and started screaming just due to the anticipation of knowing what was coming. I clamped my mouth shut and let out a gasp that got caught in my throat, turning into more of a choking sound.
The needles began randomly sliding in and out and I began screeching. I desperately hoped to die. I knew that wouldn't happen though.
The more blood I lost, the more blood that would drip from the viles and back into my system. It was barbaric. I lost and gained blood at a constant rate so that the torture could last as long as they wanted it to.
Sometimes I would be in my chamber for hours, sometimes only several minutes. There was no rhyme or reason as far as I could tell.
This time, I was in for roughly two hours. That was longer than usual. It was rare that I was tortured that way for more than an hour. When it was over, I didn't know what to do. What to think. I never did.
When my screaming ended, I was able to hear the agonized wails of others enduring the same thing. Thirty-five years ago, I may have winced or even shed tears for those pained souls, but after so long, I doubted I'd ever feel the way I could before.
I stumbled and fell to my knees as I attempted to make my way to the doors. I just wanted to be in my cell. I didn't want to do anything for a long time.
The same two guards grabbed me by my hair and yanked me to my feet. "Not so fast there, Urchin. We actually have other orders for you." Their voices were as dead as they were. Hollow and empty.
I groaned. "A mission?" I didn't want a mission. There was nothing I wanted to do less than perform a mission.
"That's right. Come on."
So I followed helplessly. The guards led me to a room lit by fire. All along the walls were paintings of grotesque creatures and all manner of unspeakable images. I looked at one that depicted a small boy watching a pile of dogs burn. That was a sad enough image, but was made worse by the boy's face. He was smiling.
The firelight was cast by torches lining the upper walls. The shadows they cast were eerie and unsettling. It always felt like there was a monster waiting to sneak up and kill me.
The room was the office of the prison warden. He was a nasty man with no hair and a shiny pale face, and I was always disgusted by how fat he was.
The man turned in his huge chair from behind his huge desk and looked at me with his huge head. "I have a brand-new mission for you." His voice was unnervingly deep, which I thought should have made him sound strong and intimidating, but it had quite the opposite effect. "It's a really really tough one."
I stayed silent. I was never sure when it was appropriate to speak to him.
"You don't like the sound of that?"
I decided that it was acceptable to answer a question. "We both know I hate missions sir."
"Well that is the point. Isn't that the point?"
"Yes. I know that sir."
"Well then brighten up mister! At least you have a purpose!"
I said nothing, and apparently he was done with that conversation because he moved on to the mission details. I clenched my jaw and waited for him to dismiss me. I hated all my missions, but this one, I was going to hate.
