Orphaned Warrior (Dragon Spawn Chronicles Book 5), page 15
“I don’t have any genetic or cybernetic augmentations.”
Vance leaned in. A threat flared in his eyes. “You must.”
Jori almost denied it but remembered how violently Vance had reacted the last time he’d contradicted him. His heart thumped and he swallowed down the lump in his throat. “My ancestors were genetically altered. Nearly all the lines in my family tree lead back to someone who had enhancements before the MEGA Injunction.”
Vance didn’t reply but seemed to accept the response. “Where did your sentio ability come from?”
“My mother, and she inherited it from her mother who inherited it from her father, and so on to a natural origin.”
“Could she see animals?”
The way Vance’s lips pressed together made Jori fidget. Although this man had said he wanted a challenge, perhaps he hated how someone had a skill he didn’t.
“I don’t know,” Jori replied carefully. “My mother never mentioned it and I never met my grandmother.”
“Hmm.” Vance stared at nothing. Jori waited in tense silence until the man spoke. “Your ability to tolerate pain. Did that come from your Jintal master or did your ancestors have that talent as well?”
Jori gulped at where this conversation might be headed. “I suspect a little of both. Senshi warriors are expected to endure pain. Their lives could depend on it. So it’s possible the skill has built over generations and the Jintal training enhanced it further.”
“Hmm. Yes.” Vance stared off once again.
Moments passed. Jori waited, not willing to break the tense silence.
Vance sprang to his feet with a suddenness that sent Jori jerking backward far enough to tip his chair. He grabbed the table and steadied himself.
“Let’s conduct a test.”
Jori’s chest constricted. Damn it. He thought he’d gotten his fear of this man under control. What the hell was he afraid of, anyway? His Jintal teacher, Master Bunmi, had never made him feel this frightened and that man had once smashed his hand with a hammer. His father had always scared him too, but Jori had learned to suppress it with a stubborn anger. Not even when Father stabbed him in the heart had he been this nervous.
Vance headed to the rear bedroom. The sound of rummaging followed. Jori stayed glued to his chair, gripping the edges of his seat.
Vance returned and Jori turned ice cold at the lightning rod in his hand.
“Let’s see who can handle the most.”
Jori’s pulse tripped into a patter. He was familiar with the device, having had to endure it from his father. But in Vance’s hands, it looked like the serrated canine of a deep-sea monster. Not that it was sharp or pointy. It was exactly what its name implied—a rod that emitted an electric shock. Only this shock was a little different because it focused on pain receptors and didn’t leave a mark.
If it had been Father holding that rod, Jori would’ve stood in an at ease stance and jutted his chin. And he would’ve gritted his teeth and endured.
He attempted to do that now. He rose from his chair and attempted to stand tall. His hands shook, even after clasping them behind his back. His chest caved in rather than pushed out and his eyes widened as Vance stuck it into his midsection.
Jori willed out a yell to cover his cry. It came out between his clenched teeth in a tone that bordered on hysteria. He unclasped his arms, intending to protect himself from the seizing pang, but forced them to stay at his back.
Vance pulled the rod away. Jori breathed through the residual pain. Then to his surprise, the man turned the device onto himself.
Vance’s eyes hardened. His lips pressed. Jori sensed his hurt, but the man showed no other signs of it affecting him.
Crazy chima.
This went back and forth. Jori managed well enough, but not like he used to. His terror built up, making it more difficult to endure. After the fourth round, tears filled his eyes. He panted through his nose. Vance smiled and struck himself. Not a single thing about his demeanor changed.
Jori yelped in the fifth round. He tried to choke back the sob that followed, but it came unbidden. His entire body shook from both pain and fear. He wanted to curl up on the floor, just like he used to do from his father’s abuse. This was far worse, though. Father’s fury would dwindle. He’d storm out when his anger had been spent. But Vance didn’t hurt him out of anger. The look on his face was one of boundless joy.
His father was mean. His condonement of torture and dismissal of life was cruel. But he never got any pleasure from those things.
Vance poked him with the rod again. White hot agony shot through his gut and radiated throughout his body, all the way to the tips of his fingers. It was constant—an endless ocean of suffering. He collapsed under the pressure. Despite his best effort, he curled into a fetal position and whimpered.
If Vance reacted, Jori didn’t notice. He struggled to regain control of himself, but the pain searing throughout him didn’t go away. His muscles convulsed.
Vance grabbed him by his collar. The hallway passed in a blur of tears and acute discomfort as his feet dragged along the floor. He managed to stand when Vance brought him into the conveyor, but he couldn’t straighten.
The car stopped and opened. Despite his hijacked brain, Jori recognized the infirmary. His body still didn’t work, so Vance tossed him out. Jori smacked the floor like a wet towel, the impact sharpening his lingering pain like a knife through flesh.
Someone gasped and rushed over. Alarm poured from Doctor Stephen Stenson. “What did you do?”
“I’m very disappointed in you,” Vance said to Jori, his voice as cold as the polar caps on Zanzoria. “I expect better next time.”
The doctor’s emotions bloomed with disgust and anger. “Next time?”
Vance didn’t reply. The conveyor shut.
“That fiend!” the doctor shouted as he hefted Jori up onto a gurney. “This is insufferable!”
Jori agreed but didn’t respond. He synchronized his breaths with the ebb and flow of the throbbing, like Master Bunmi had taught him. “Embrace the pain. It’s neither good nor bad. It’s just your body speaking to you. Listen to it. Listen. Listen,” the master had always said, his words like a soothing mantra.
He listened until the spasms resonated with every other bodily sensation, from the cool air on his skin to the warm blood coursing through his veins. No room for pity or anger and no time to plot his revenge. That would come later.
26 – Meaning of Time
The warmth of the healing bed lights did nothing to ease Jori’s suffering. He was no longer in physical pain, but the situation had swelled to hopelessness. Despite his best efforts, he had no ideas on how to fight or outsmart the psychopathic madman. Nor was there any reasoning, begging, or arguing—and so no options but to endure and do whatever he was told.
The bed beeped. Jori didn’t bother opening the lid. What was the point? In here or out there, he was stuck in an oppressive situation.
His senses alerted him to someone entering the recovery room. Doctor Stephen Stenson’s lifeforce was a welcome respite, even if he carried the same level of despondency.
The hood of his bed rose. Stephen smiled, pity etched his eyes. “Doing better?”
“Not really.” Jori sat up with a groan.
The doctor put his hand on Jori’s shoulder. “I know the man is horrible, but most days won’t be like this.”
“I must get away from here.”
Anguish furrowed the doctor’s brow. “I’m not sure that’s possible. Besides, it’s not always this bad. And you have friends here.”
Jori’s sinuses burned. Holding back his despair was getting more difficult with each passing day. “I’m grateful for you, but I’d rather die than live like this.”
Doctor Stenson glanced down. Shame radiated off him like gamma rays.
Celine entered with a bright smile. “Time for more tests!”
Stephen’s emotions plummeted further. His brows tipped apologetically. “Please forgive her. She no longer comprehends what this means.”
Jori’s breath hitched. “And what does it mean? What’s the next test?”
“More pain,” Stephen mumbled, his eyes remaining downcast.
The room seemed to shrink, suffocating him. “H-he already tested that!”
“He wants us to monitor you this time.”
Stephen’s tears prompted his own. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes to keep the enormous swell of emotions from dragging him under. “W-who’s inflicting this damned torture?”
“Vance,” Stephen mumbled.
Jori’s chin quivered. Why couldn’t it be one of these cyber people? Hell, he’d even handle it better if Stephen did it.
What am I saying? Ultimately, it’d be Vance’s doing no matter what. And why should this frighten him anyway? The pain wouldn’t last forever.
He imagined Vance and his father together and let the image inflame his temper. Fuck them! He’d endure and he’d overcome, just like he always did. And he’d fight, too. He didn’t care what Zaina thought of him. He’d stand up to this chima and refuse to cooperate. Sure, Vance would probably hurt him anyway. But he was no coward, and he wouldn’t be cowed.
“I won’t go.”
Stephen’s throat bobbed. “You must.”
Jori leaned in and glowered. “No.”
“B-but you have to. Vance expects you in fifteen minutes. That’s not enough time.”
Jori blinked. “Not enough time for what?”
The doctor bit his nails and glanced about. His hesitation wafted off him like smoke from a fire. “Promise me you’ll go.”
Jori pulled back. “What?”
Stephen grabbed his shoulder. “Swear you’ll do what he says!”
“Why should I?” Jori yanked away. “You know what he’s about to do to me.”
“Yes.” The doctor bobbed his head. “But he’ll do it no matter what. And it’ll be worse if you resist, so promise me!”
Jori scowled.
Stephen raised his palms into a prayer. “Please. Just promise—and trust me.”
The word trust gave Jori pause. Doctor Stephen Stenson was a good man. It was in the core of his lifeforce. He also radiated distress, but something else was embedded within it too.
“Please.” The man’s brows twisted in desperation.
“Alright. I promise I’ll do what he says—this time.”
The doctor wiped his hand down his now sweaty face. “This time. But only because there’s not enough time.”
Jori frowned. Stephen had mentioned that already, but what did he mean? “Not enough for what?”
The doctor bit his fingernails again. “I must,” he muttered to himself. “I can’t let this go on.” After a few incoherent mumbles, he faced Jori with a glint of determination. “The more time between a decision to act and the act itself, the harder it is to predict.”
Jori straightened as the meaning clicked into place. He had suspected more time gave him longer to prepare but perhaps spacetime—for that is what he guessed Vance’s ability somehow relied upon—would bend only so much. I can use that. “How long?”
The doctor opened his mouth to speak, but a beep from Celine’s tablet made him yelp. Jori’s heart did the same. The noise could’ve been a coincidence, but he imagined Vance might’ve caused it as a warning.
Stephen waved his palm in frantic paranoia. “No. That’s enough. I won’t say any more.”
Jori didn’t push it. The doctor had just taken a significant risk—one Vance might’ve foreseen. He dipped his head in thanks, hoping neither Stephen nor Celine would suffer the consequences.
He had two bits of information now. One, Vance’s ability to sense emotions likely didn’t work with his premonitions. Two, there could be a limit to how far into the future he could see. This second piece was still incomplete. After all, time always progressed forward so Vance would eventually see it. How did the time between the decision to act and the act itself tie into it?
He wouldn’t resist just yet. But he would when it mattered—when he had a better chance of success. As soon as he recouped from this next bout of torture, he’d conduct his own experiments.
With his resolve solidified, he hopped off the bed. His fear remained but it cowered in the corner like a whipped dog.
Doctor Stephen Stenson led him out of the recovery area and through a maze of narrow hallways. Before long, they entered a room with an oversized metal chair in the center. The hairs on Jori’s arms stood on end.
A skullcap hung above the chair. Robotic appendages splayed like spider legs from either side of the seatback. They terminated in three-fingered hands holding various menacing instruments. The needles sent a shiver down his spine. The knives turned him to ice. The saws triggered an overpowering desire to flee. When Master Bunmi had been forced to teach him how to endure pain, the jagged implements had been the worst.
Even though this was a less diabolical version of the torture chair his father had, both stubbornness and hopelessness kept him rooted to the floor.
Stephen prodded him. “You have to sit. Vance will expect me to make you, and…” He sighed. “Please don’t make me.”
Jori considered not doing it out of spite. After all, this man’s reluctance to stand up for himself was one reason Vance got away with doing whatever he wanted.
No. That wasn’t fair. Stephen was a victim too, and he wasn’t just protecting himself. Being obstinate would only get them all in trouble.
Jori clenched his jaw and willed his feet to move.
“The original purpose of this was as a dentist’s chair,” Stephen said, not doing a good job of hiding his jittering reluctance. “A patient reclines while the dentist works on his teeth.”
Despite the added modified repair bot and straps, Jori forced himself to see it that way. Removal of the padded cushions leaving just the metal skeleton didn’t help. Jori’s hands tremored. He managed a step. Then another. The shaking ran up his arms, then took over his entire body. He stumbled. Grasping the cold steel armrests saved him from crashing into the contraption. His gut twisted as though someone wrung it like a wet rag.
Jori turned and eased down—or tried to. His knees gave out and he plopped onto the hard seat with a clack and a creak. The doctor lifted his legs onto the rests and strapped them in. Jori’s body tingled from within, like a million spikes running through his blood. Stephen emanated a reluctance strong enough to escape the gravitational pull of a star, but he continued on, tightening the straps over his wrists.
Jori attempted to calm himself by regulating his breathing. The pinch in his gut eased, but the clang of metal as the doctor manipulated the head-strap shot up his adrenaline.
The sensation spiked further when the entry hissed open.
“Is he ready?” Vance said.
Jori’s bottom lip trembled. He glowered at the gleefulness on Vance’s face and summoned his courage.
Stephen sniffled and dabbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “I-I just need to attach the electrodes.”
“Good.” Vance tapped on the console on the other side of the small room.
The doctor placed the electrodes under his shirt and on his chest. Then Stephen wiped the clear snot from under his nose and stepped away. “H-he’s ready.”
Vance peered down at Jori with an utter lack of compassion and dipped his head. While the doctor prepped the machine, Jori gathered his resolve and confronted his abuser. “Why are you doing this? And don’t say because I’m like you, because I’m not.”
Vance’s lips spread but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Maybe not yet. But you will be. A few cybernetic enhancements, and perhaps you’ll finally present some real competition.”
Terror clutched Jori’s heart. “I will never agree to augmentations.”
“Look at you. Your fear makes you weak. A simple chip can fix that.”
“Never.”
Vance’s eyes blazed, but he didn’t reply.
A whine from a moving robotic arm redirected Jori’s trepidation and he let out a similar sound. An arm with a drill drew in from his right side. Jori’s throat caught as it neared his face.
“N-no.” Doctor Stephen Stenson wrung his hands. “You can’t maim him.”
“I can do whatever I want.”
“B-but, Sir. If we damage something important, we’ll have to replace it with cybernetics. And I thought MEGA-Man’s plans for him would make this a bad idea.”
Jori’s gratitude for the doctor turned into a question. How much of MEGA-Man’s plan did Stephen know?
“Good point,” Vance replied without emotion.
Jori eased out a breath as the drill moved downward.
Vance positioned it over his upper arm. “This will bore down to the bone.”
Stephen yipped.
“Problem, Doctor?” Vance asked. “Muscle and bone are easy to fix, right?”
The doctor grimaced but nodded.
Jori decided to be strong enough for both of them. Yes, this would hurt like hell, but he reminded himself it would end. He clenched his jaw in determination and hoped his bravery would give Stephen a bit of courage too.
*****
Time passed with no meaning. Jori was like a pebble falling into an abyss. Master Bumni teachings allowed him to separate himself from the pain. Instead of a victim, he was an outside observer, a spectator of a performance, a character in a story. Some part of him still felt it, but it was more of a dull thud than a pain—a distant echo. The only one who seemed to feel any anguish was Doctor Stenson, who blubbered through it all.
At some point, the glint in Vance’s eyes shifted from glee to fervent anger. That he no longer enjoyed this sadistic game gave Jori a sense of being in control. He wasn’t certain, but he believed he smiled before falling unconscious.
A ripping noise jolted him awake. Jori snapped his one good eye open. Mucus ran down Doctor Stenson’s nose. He wiped it with his sleeve, then finished removing the strap from Jori’s head.
The release of pressure broke Jori from his trance and aching waves rolled in.
“Is he done?” he asked through a thick tongue.
