when the sun goes black (old- will probably revise)

6

Nearly two weeks passed. Frank went about his routine. Though he was excused to go and visit Party whenever he pleased, he was still expected to show up for his training and perform at the level he always did. Just another thing on his plate, really.

Sneaking him meals became a regular thing, and as it did, Party left more and more for Frank to keep as the days went by until they were essentially splitting them in half. Frank never imagined he'd be sharing meals with a prisoner, but here he was- Party always made sure he ate what he was given with a strange persistence. Why he cared so much, he couldn't fathom, but he went with it.

It was the first way, although small, Frank had defied BL/IND in a long time. He tried to justify it to himself- he was instructed to keep him alive and this was the only way. If Party refused to eat drugged food, he'd provide him enough to keep him alive, so he could do his job properly and convince him to take the pills by mouth.

He couldn't stop thinking of all the terrible things that'd happen if they found out. His logical side knew that he should just quit while he was ahead and let Party starve if he wanted to so badly.

He ignored it. He never really did that.

Their conversations were stiff and awkward, but at a glacial pace, they began to flow a bit smoother. Frank didn't snap at him when he asked questions that he'd normally consider intrusive. It was easier to try and be cordial than at war constantly.

Frank persisted in shutting him down when he started talking about the Zones, though. Every word he said made him want to hear more. Dust storms, chaos and excitement, the eccentricities, colorful outfits and extravagant plastic masks and the thrill of the fight.

More than all of that, more than the war, it was the concept of freedom. An endless desert plain, where he was nothing but his own person and could run away and never look back. All of it intrigued him.

To combat that, he threw himself into his training. If he didn't give himself enough time to think, he couldn't think bad things. He was good, and everyone else said he was great, but he could be better. He could always be better. Working tirelessly to improve would surely drive those ridiculous, intrusive thoughts out of his head.

"Excellent!" The officer chirped as the loud alarm went off, indicating the exercise was over. Heaving for breath, Frank breathed a quiet 'thank you'. His muscles were burning, a fake raygun clutched in his sweaty hand. The combat robots were faster, more agile, moving with more humanity. It took every ounce of his willpower to keep up. "Your form is looking great."

The overseer grinned at him from the other side of the room. Something about those smiles freaked him out. Drugged smiles where their lips were stretched wide over perfectly whitened teeth. It looked almost more like a caricature or grimace, than an expression of genuine joy, falling into an unsettling uncanny valley. Maybe that was why he didn't smile often. He was afraid he'd look like that.

"Thank you."

"You got hit a few times, so we'll work on your defensive strategy. She beamed. Oh, is that so? I didn't notice. The battle simulation made it so that a burst of pain would flare up wherever fake raygun shots hit, simulating what it would feel like but on a lesser scale. The best way Frank could describe it was like he'd shallowly stabbed with a burning hot fire poker, and then the wound had been sucker punched for good measure. Tingling, bruise-like pain flickered like a candle's flame as the simulation slowed to a halt.

He didn't even want to think about what simulated pain technology could be used for, if someone desired. All it took was a little prod of the nerves and they could make you feel whatever they wanted.