All was silent, bar the icy breath of our victim, and a small leak in the ceiling; the droplets forming a pool in the far corner of the room. The air was damp, and what little breeze a small opening in the wall let in was ice cold; our victim clutched herself tightly because of this. She was tattered, and what little clothes that remained hanging on her body couldn’t succeed in covering her flesh-torn torso and thigh. Winter was near, and it goes without saying that infection was a major risk in her condition. Inside her chamber she sat, curled into herself, in her usual place at the back wall beneath the small opening that whispered lies of escape and freedom. She only ever removed herself from position to retrieve her two daily meals that were slid under the iron door opposite, only to retreat back within the minute it took to shovel the slop down her tortured throat. The slop is tasteless and satisfies fractions of her hunger; a firm reminder that Subjects are not required to feel well nourished.
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The Domos Chronicles: Abdita 3032
Science FictionThe head medical practitioner, Patrick Grayson, of the tactical defense ship Abdita 3032, was tired of the norm and seeked adventure. He got exactly what he asked for when three Special Operatives came to escort him to a meeting of a very serious ma...
