The Conquering (Book #2 in The Inception Trilogy)

chapter five

**unedited**

CHAPTER FIVE

HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT'S happening to him. His thoughts are muddled with an incoherent strings of violent words. His body aches all over yet his mouth waters every time he catches the whiff of an employee walking past his cell. He can pick out single heartbeats now. He understands each of them beat to a different tune. Some are quicker and some are slower, but the ones that beat just right send chills down his spine.

He needs one of them.

No, he doesn't.

He needs to feed.

No, he doesn't.

He needs to feel the crush of a skull beneath his hands--no, he doesn't.

An endless battle rages in his mind, causing his head to constantly pound. He feels like it may burst any moment. He needs to make the pain stop. He doesn't know how. He grips his head as if that may help. It doesn't.

His pain pauses long enough for him to hear Master's heartbeat, his footsteps right outside. He hates that heartbeat. He hates the constant, overwhelming scent of rosemary that clings to Master. The moment he manages to get rid of the sound and smell, Master returns and so does the torment. The taunts. The pressure.

Sometimes his head is clear but most times it isn't. It steadily gets worse as the days drag on, however many that may be. He doesn't sleep but he doesn't need to. All he does is train, feed, kill, train, feed, kill. His latest victim is still slouched in the corner of his cell, leaking a putrid smell that makes his hypersensitive nose burn. He tried clawing the body to bits in hopes of diminishing that horrid aroma, but to no avail did it fade.

The many, many locks on his cell door click and crank and turn. He remains on his knees, arms extended outwards due to the shackles cemented into the wall. He could break them. He already did once. But the punishments are much crueler when he disobeys, and he doesn't want to pain to intensify anymore than it already has. He knows he's smarter than all of these pathetic workers combined--he just needs to bide his time strategically.

Three men help Master push the massive steel door to the side, then there's an extra fence laced with thorns they have to carefully remove. He watches them as he always does with cold, dead eyes and a racing mind they thankfully can see into. He drops from his knees to sit cross-legged, the cuffs around his ankles hardly complying. It takes him a moment to situate the chains and position himself just right to be comfortable.

Master offers the same placid smile as he does for every visit, and it naturally makes the experiment tilt his chin up in defiance. "Good afternoon, 748."

The experiment frowns.

Is that his name?

It feels wrong in his thoughts.

"I see you had an appetizing dinner," Master remarks, nodding to the torn-up meat in the corner. He snaps his fingers and the same three men immediately begin cleaning up. "Maybe we should teach you some table manners. It really is a hassle always cleaning up after you."

The experiment continues to blankly stare up at him.

Master claps his hands. "Right then. Shall we send you down for training? It's important you keep your physique up. Our moment is coming, but we must be patient and prepared."

One of the men cleaning accidentally knocks a chain restraining the experiment's left arm, and a low growl rumbles in his throat. The man pales and scurries to the other side, well aware that even that is not a safe distance.