She/her | 23 | Minors DNI! | Certified nerd, hobbyist traditional and digital artist, fanfic writer and small time Youtuber (AO3: sky_maiden; YouTube: skymaiden32) | Juggling uni and social life | Fandoms: Thunderbirds, Cookie Run
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A plotless idea where the entire family visits Thunderbird Five’s gravity ring "to help with maintenance" but also to bond with John. hello @thunder-tober !
Ring
Space is beautiful. Just ask John.
Consentual solitude in not only the middle of nowhere, but in the middle of almost nothing. With his only friend being a machine that tried to kill him, and his main communication to his family being digital.
How John could live this way, Scott will never understand. None of them truly understands it. Not even Alan. But they all wanted to know.
It was noticeable in the way Gordon fearfully hovered closely to John’s tether, yet bravely looked out into the abyss anyways. The way Virgil scanned the stars, looking for the colours in his mind that could perfectly replicate the art before his eyes. Alan showed it in the way that he didn’t even need a tether, the teen’s suit is practically built to prevent drifting away, Alan’s best form of control is when he is in space. Space to Alan is like the ocean to Gordon, but Alan doesn’t realise it yet. Scott smiles.
It was nice to have all the brothers up here. John admitted it to Scott in private. He didn’t need to though, Scott could see it in the way the astronaut coherently spoke to his family without the nuisance of his gravity induced headache.
Helping with maintenance on the gravity ring was just an excuse, and while they all know it, none of them will admit it. In an hour, they will be eating together as the earth slowly turns beneath them.
Listen, I wasn't going to do Day Two because I didn't have any ideas. Then I ended up with three. This one was the most compelling... and it ended up just not making sense. It got away from me and I'm not entirely happy with how it ended up being written. There is probably a better story to be told here, but this is just over 2,000 words so it's the best it can be.
All I can say is John is about to go on a very bumpy ride.
John Tracy gets to undertake a solo rescue mission. Destination? The new GDF space fort named the Castellum. Things quickly turn sour.
Words: 2,479
Rating: M
Universe: TAG
Triggers: Whump / Threats of Violence / Minor Violence
AO3 link here.
Other Days: 1
The relationship John Tracy had with venturing out into the field was two fold; part of him enjoyed his solitary work on Thunderbird Five and the idea of heading out into the Danger Zone would sometimes fill him with dread; but on the other hand, there were certain events that had him excited to jump head first into the action.
There were elements of his work that set him so far apart from the rest of his brothers that John often felt like the odd one out—when they were out there, boots on the ground, so to speak, and he was far way, thousands of miles up in orbit, alone and overseeing everything through his monitors and hologrammatic scans, it was hard not to feel singled out.
Balancing the two feelings was, for the most part, easy enough. John savoured his time on Thunderbird Five, and it often made him appreciate the few trips to the Danger Zone that he did take much more. He could come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t like his brothers, in the sense that he took pleasure in watching the world from space. None of his brothers could understand what drew him to that ‘life of solitude’, but that was okay. They didn’t need to understand it. They respected it and that was enough.
It had been five weeks since John had last taken part, hands-on, in a mission. Via the space elevator he had travelled back to the island for his usual monthly visit and had subsequently been caught up in a rescue involving an oil rig in the North Sea. For his brothers it was just another Tuesday. For John it had been exhilarating. There was a thrill to being in the middle of the action, and whilst his soul might not have called for it as often as his brothers’ did, when he was in the right mood for an operation, he couldn’t deny he enjoyed it… As far as one could enjoy a rescue, that is.
This time, at least, the situation was in his proverbial backyard.
The Castellum was a magnificent feat of engineering. It rivalled Brains’s own work on the Estrella Hotel, though John wouldn’t have openly said it. Brains had been extremely vocal about the main architect of the GDF’s new space fort, and his sour relationship with the man had been made extremely clear. When the rescue call had come through, and Brains’s hologram had joined the rest of the team, he’d made no point of hiding how he wasn’t surprised there’d been a disaster.
“S-Shoddy workmanship that would rival even Langstrom Fis-Fischler,” he remarked under his breath, though John had caught every word and had smirked.
Why the GDF had gone with Ezra Dodd rather than Brains, no-one knew. And, at that moment in time, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was sorting out the disaster that had unfolded.
The plan was discussed: John would take the lead and head out to the Castellum first, and Alan would fly up in Three to join him. Everyone seemed happy with the plan.
John had strapped his exo-suit to his body, opened the airlock and had been whisked out into the inky blackness of space without hesitation.
A full, metal circle that was suspended in geostationary orbit was his destination. It was like an intergalactic ring, otherworldly and alien, the sun glinting silver off the bodywork whenever it caught; the sight was spectacular. John would have envied anyone who had the chance to work in the Castellum had he not been blessed with Thunderbird Five.
As he grew nearer, he tapped the comms unit on his wrist. “Castellum, this is John Tracy of International Rescue. I’m approaching airlock B.”
Static. Then, a few seconds later than he’d have liked, a response came. “Roger that, John Tracy of International Rescue. Airlock B will be open to you.”
It took a few more minutes before he was safely onboard the Castellum. Red lights accompanied intermittent sirens from the very first room he found himself in. John slid his helmet off, clicked it onto his belt, and was greeted by a rather tall man with shoulder length blonde hair.
He advanced towards John with an impossibly wide grin—pleased, no doubt, that help had finally come. “Mr Tracy?” A single blonde curl fell over his face, covering one eye. He tucked it behind his ear with one hand, whilst the other extended out towards John. “I’m Ezra Dodd.”
“The architect.”
Ezra nodded, his smile growing even wider at the recognition. “I was the only one on board when, well—” He gestured to the lights that were flashing wildly. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“You were right to call us,” John reassured him.
Ezra gestured for him to follow as he began to lead him through the fort. Along the way, sparks flew out from various consoles dotted in some of the hallways.
“What exactly did happen?” John asked, following behind Ezra closely.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Ezra admittedly, a little meekly, “but I think it might have something to do with the work that I was carrying out.”
The Castellum was, thankfully, empty for the time being. According to the GDF, personnel were supposed to begin transferring next month. At least that narrowed down the possible casualties.
“Everything went kaput!” The architect explained, leading John down more winding hallways.
He figured, given the ring-like shape, that every hallway was somewhat winding.
“What work was it you were carrying out?”
“Last minute adjustments, spot checking, essential maintenance, that sort of thing. It wasn’t anything drastic.”
John wasn’t sure how certain Ezra was of that statement. The man bowed his head away from him as if in shame, but as Ezra led him into a large, central control room, John decided to drop any further questions. The answers would show themselves eventually.
A massive wall of glass covered one entire section of the new room. There was nothing beyond the window save for the infinite black of space beyond. The current positioning of the Castellum meant that neither Earth nor the Moon could be seen from this particular window, and John felt a peculiar feeling of homesickness.
It must have been visible on his face, as Ezra sidled up to him and asked, “You feeling alright?”
John hadn’t even realised he’d been staring out of the window until Ezra’s voice had broken him out of it. He cleared his throat, smiled, and replied, “Absolutely. Now, let’s take a look at these controls.”
Desks were stationed in a similar fashion to the old control centre at Houston. John had routinely trained in the space whilst gaining his space wings. Each desk controlled a different aspect of whatever mission was being handled. Here, in preparation for the GDF’s new STRIKE initiative, there were additional computers, all set up for different mission parameters.
His first station was the general engineer’s department. John tapped away, swiping through various system diagnostics. “So what is the problem exactly? Life support is nominal. The gravity is clearly working. There’s nothing on this that is sounding any alarms.”
The next station was one of the newly constructed STRIKE computers. Again, John typed and swiped, bypassing various firewalls in his attempt to get through and see if there was any damage.
“Is the STRIKE system operational yet?”
“Partly,” Ezra clarified. He’d taken a seat in a nearby swivel chair. His hands were up, behind his head. His legs stretched out and crossed at his ankles. He was still grinning. For a man who had called International Rescue, he seemed fairly unfazed by the situation.
It took John a few more minutes than he’d anticipated, but he’d eventually broken through the system’s defences. “Will it cause a problem if this place goes into meltdown?”
Ezra shook his head, but John could have sworn there was a glint that flashed in the man’s eyes. “I don’t think it’ll go into a meltdown.”
“You don’t even know what the problem is. How can you be so sure—?”
John had been too occupied searching the system to realise that Ezra had stood up. He’d been too focused to hear the footsteps advancing. The icy barrel of Ezra’s gun was shocking against John’s pale skin. He felt its presence before he heard it click. “I had been hoping for some more time to arrange things before you asked stupid questions, John Tracy, but alas.”
“What are you—?”
“Ah-ah-ah.” Ezra cut him off. “You’ve asked far too many questions already. Up.”
John rose steadily. With a gun pressed into his back, he didn’t have much of a choice.
“Hands up, too. Wouldn’t want you to make the mistake of calling your little brothers for help.”
He had to live in the hope that Ezra was unaware that one of his brothers was already on his way. Alan. Flying head-first into a trap. John contemplated warning Ezra. If he didn’t want to be disturbed, maybe he could convince him to send Alan away… but there was always the chance he wouldn’t. There was always the chance that he’d hurt him. John couldn’t allow that. Not Alan.
The secret remained as such.
“Dodd,” John tried to plead, “whatever it is that you think you’re going to accomplish by—”
“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Ezra snapped back. “One more unprompted word from you and I’ll blast your brains out, got it?”
Carefully, John nodded. He raised his hands as instructed and said nothing more.
Ezra nodded to the far side of the control room. “Over there. Now.”
He did as he was told, though his mind was already set ablaze with a thousand different avenues he could potentially take to try and stop whatever crazed plan Ezra Dodd had. He also sifted through the thousand different ways those ideas could go wrong, most of them ending up with him as a corpse. Without knowing exactly what Ezra Dodd had planned, John was powerless to countermove him.
For now, John figured, playing along was the best course of action.
“Sit.” Ezra commanded when John reached one of the chairs. He didn’t allow him to get comfortable before he restrained him. “There. Now, I’ll be taking this.” Ezra plucked the comms device off John’s wrist. “We’re a little early, all thanks to you and your stupid curiosity, but the fireworks should be starting soon!”
“Fireworks?” Despite the warnings, John couldn’t help himself. “What—”
The unnaturally wide smile Ezra had been wearing since John had docked was wiped off his face in an instant. Fury replaced it and John barely registered the butt of the gun before Ezra crashed it into the side of his face.
────୨ৎ────
Two minutes until launch.
John’s head hurt. At least his brains hadn’t been blown out, he supposed. He blinked his eyes open only to find a blurry scene before him: Ezra, who had now swapped the grey jumpsuit he’d been wearing for an exo-suit of his own, was running around different controls. He was fast, faster than what John’s bleary eyes could keep up with, but he hadn’t yet realised that John had come to.
That soon changed when John tested out the cuffs that were still keeping him locked to that chair.
Ezra’s head whipped around at the sound, that grin more sinister than before. “Our man of the hour awakens!”
Even if John had wanted to ask Ezra the millions of questions that swarmed his fuzzy head, he couldn’t. Tape covered his lips, restricting his ability to speak just as much as the cuffs were restricting his ability to move.
The crazed man in front of him seemed thrilled. “Before you ask: yes, this was all part of the plan, and no, your brothers have no idea what’s happening. One of them tried to call in, but I let it go to voicemail.”
One minute until launch.
It felt wrong to feel relief because, whilst Alan was safe for now, he would have worked out that something was wrong the second his comms went unanswered, and he’d be no doubt working with the rest of the team to try and discover what it was that had gone wrong.
Ezra continued to hop between consoles, flicking buttons and typing commands into the computers. And still, John tried to break himself free. He tried to protest, tried to question the architect who was so clearly off his rocker, but it was all so useless. Never before had he felt so powerless.
Only once Ezra was finished with the consoles did he venture over to John. He crouched in front of him, that wide smile on his lips once again. “Let me break it down for you. In less than a minute, STRIKE will be active for the very first time, only it won’t be working for the GDF as intended. It won’t be tracking down rogue criminals for them. It won’t be organising data and creating profiles—incredibly Draconian too, if you ask me. You see, John Tracy, STRIKE has always been my baby, and it will always work for me.”
John’s eyes must have flashed the confusion he was currently feeling, for Ezra chuckled, “It’s simple, really. I was the one who sold the idea of STRIKE to the GDF. I was the one who convinced them to build this Castellum, this fortified ring, in space, all for one single purpose.”
When John mumbled something behind the tape, Ezra rolled his eyes. He reached forward and pulled the tape off, leaving John with his lips red and sore and tingling.
He pushed past the pain. “You’re insane.”
“All geniuses are,” Ezra countered, unaffected by his insult.
“You won’t get away with it.”
“Oh, I think I will, because there won’t be any trace back to me. Aren’t you wondering why I called you out here?”
Ezra clicked a button on a palm-shaped device, and John’s likeness popped up in hologrammatic form on the large windows.
This is John Tracy of International Rescue, the hologrammatic figure said in a voice all too similar to John’s.
“I’ve been planning this for a very long time,” Ezra explained, standing to his full height. “Months and months have gone into this plan. Years, in fact.”
“Why?” John barely spluttered the question out.
Ezra shrugged. “I needed someone to take the blame. You were an easy target.”
Launch initiated.
The ground beneath them rumbled as missiles were blasted from the Castellum. Glee filled Ezra’s entire being, it radiated off the madman, but John’s eyes only glared at him.
“But I’m afraid it’s time for me to fly.” He began to head towards the exit, a mocking salute being offered towards John as he reached the doorway. “Send Brains my regards, won’t you? Though I suppose I’ll be seeing him before you do.”
please leave your father alone in his flirting. it gives me something to distract the mysterons with. they try to act high and mighty. but in truth they like to know the latest gossip.
Virgil's trapped in his exosuit after a fall. Scott's on his way to rescue him but everyone else gets to suffer with the consequences. Tagging @thunder-tober because tis officially the month of October on the other side of the world now.
Trapped
If Virgil had a nickle for every time his technology has ever betrayed him, he’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.
“I’m almost there, Virge.” Scott repeated.
That’s the eighth time Scott’s said that in the past twenty minutes. Virgil counted.
“For the eighth time, Scott. I’m not going anywhere.” He groaned back.
His exosuit failed him. It’s never failed him before. He was striding along a cliff face, looking for survivors when the aftershock happened. The shake was so vigorous that his metal exosuit completely tipped right off the edge, tumbling over all the wrong spots before finally landing at the bottom, heavy boulders toppled over him, each hit causing heavy grunts that force the wind out of his diaphragm.
At least the metal served well to protect him from the impact, but now he can’t reach the emergency release hatch. He’s stiff on the ground, limbs sprawled in awkward directions, waiting for Scott to come find him.
“I think I found a route. Nearly there.”
“For the ninth time, Scott-”
“-Virgil, Scott! Oh my god! Shut up!” John cut them off with a whine, “I can’t hear Alan over you two!”
There were two grins on John’s end. The spaceman didn’t have to see it to know it.
“Hey, Virgil.”
Virgil couldn’t help the growing grin on his face. “Yeah, Scott?”
“I’m nearly there.”
The cackle that he let out was partially involuntary as John growled into the comms. “I will mute you both if you continue with this!”
“…”
“…”
“For the tenth time Scott-” His voice wavered in amusement.
Now, there were three angry growls in the comms. Two of which belonged to the beloved youngests who were currently in the middle of securing the foundation of all nearby structures that threaten to collapse.
“That’s it. I warned you.” John sighed.
The next thing he knew, the line was cut. So, John stuck to his word. At least it was-
“-Hey Virgil!” A familiar voice. While somewhat fainter than the version that originally called from in his ears, “Guess what!?” it called.
Relief flooded him in a flurry. “What is it Scott!?” He grinned, attempting to lift his head, but a stinging sensation brought it back down in an instant.
“I think I’m there!” The elder starts up his jet pack and launches himself through the cavern, not looking down at the depths below him until he finally makes it to his injured brother’s ledge. “Hey!” He smiles, scanning the brother’s eyes.
“Scotty!” Greets Virgil in return.
“Alright, Virge, Let me get the medscan on you first and then I'll have you out of here in a second.”
Scott is in trouble because am I really writing the first prompt for Thundertober and having any of the other characters put in peril? Of course not!
This one came to me almost fully formed (unlike some others this Thundertober, but that’s for another day (tomorrow)).
Please be mindful of the tags! It isn't graphic but it's still a little rough!
What value does the human mind have? And how far are some people willing to go to extract what they want? Scott Tracy is about to find out.
Words: 3,291
Rating: M
Universe: TAG (could fit TOS too)
Triggers: Whump / Minor Violence / Implied Torture / Implied Medical Procedures / Non-Consensual Drug Use / Kidnapping
AO3 link here.
Flames blazed and seared his skin. Everything was blurry, distorted by the smoke that was filling the cabin, but Scott didn’t have to see the flames to know that they were there. He could feel the burning fire that was coursing through him, from fingertips to toes.
A hand darted out in front of him, broken, bent and broken beyond repair. The sleeve of his uniform once reached his wrist. Now it was burned and torn to his elbow. Scott pushed the ramifications of all that was happening to the back of his very fuzzy mind. His fingers reached the comms unit in front of him through memory alone, and clicked it once to switch it on. Static rang out above the crescendo of molten steel twisting, collapsing around him. He prayed someone—anyone—would answer him.
But nobody did.
The comms remained silent, save for the crackling of static. A terrifying reminder that he was truly alone.
Scott tried to scream then. He was burning alive, his skin scorched from the hot flames of fire that now consumed the entire cabin. The only saving grace had been his helmet. It was still secured on his head, the respirator still working; the only thing keeping him from succumbing to the grey smog that fogged his vision. But time was running out. How long before the combustable materials of his aircraft blew?
His mouth opened, his will to yell strong, but… nothing came out. His vocal chords did not respond to that will of his and he was met with pure silence. Scott strained. Again and again he tried to get a sound out, willing his scream to materialise.
But it never did.
And suddenly, for the first time in his life, Scott began to feel the uneasy sense of claustrophobia creeping in.
Despite his inability to do so, Scott continued to try and scream. He continued to push that communications button in the hope that someone would eventually pick up. It would be a cruel hand of fate dealt to him if this was how it all ended.
Tears were running down his face, hot and stinging. He had to get out. This nightmare had to end at some point, one way or another.
He wasn’t sure how long he was stuck in that torment. Five minutes? Thirty? An hour? It felt endless, as though he was on some sort of merry-go-around and there was no way of stopping the ride.
But, between sobs of pure fear, eventually something clicked.
He fought past the pain of burning alive to realise that he hadn’t been burnt to a crisp yet. The flames were licking the bare skin that had been uncovered from his torn up uniform, but there were no burn marks to be found. His hand, bent at an awkward angle and that looked entirely inhuman now, still had full feeling in it. He could move it fairly well, his fingers responding to his mental commands to wiggle. It didn’t hurt. Perhaps it felt a little numb, but his whole body felt that way. And not numb in the same way one becomes after the body has given in to natural exhaustion. This was different.
This was unnatural.
“… so I really must insist you cease this at once, Doctor Coates!”
The voice reverberated around him like it was from a dream. It vibrated through his bones, had him feeling lightheaded.
“You know what the Examiner said,” that otherworldly voice continued. “You know he isn’t ready for the final stages yet.”
Scott tried to block out the unfamiliar voices. It proved impossible, but so had his ability to scream and he’d still stubbornly persisted with that.
“All it takes is a few gentle pushes. Nudges, if you like, in the right direction.” This voice was a different one to the first. Soft. Gentle. Feminine sounding. Matronly, almost.
Scott found her tone soothing. He didn’t like that.
“If you push it too far, you’ll ruin the whole project!”
“Have a little faith in me, Evan.” The woman’s voice simpered. “I am the Examiner’s favourite for a reason.”
A tugging sensation gripped his body and Scott felt as though his very essence was being ripped out of him. He fought against it as best he could, unwilling to give in to such a strange force so easily.
“I’m ending this now, before you break him like you did the last one!” The first voice—Evan—proclaimed.
For the briefest moment, the tugging ceased. Scott had never felt so relieved.
But when it started again, it was worse. This time when he screamed, he could hear himself. Only his cries sounded like they were a thousand lightyears away from him, separated from his very body. Scott understood that they were his. He’d heard himself screaming before, when waking from night terrors especially.
As the tugging grew even stronger, his screams became louder, less ethereal.
So too did the voices.
“Stop it!” The woman’s voice was hoarse as she yelled. “Stop it! Evan, you’re ruining everything!”
Up and up and up.
Scott felt as though he was ascending and, for the briefest, most unsettling of moments, he wondered if this was how the journey to the afterlife felt.
Up and up and up.
The light he was reaching for unnerved him. He wasn’t ready for it all to end yet.
Up and up and up.
There was still so much he hadn’t done, still so much he hadn’t resolved.
Up and up and up.
He couldn’t be dying!
Not yet!
────୨ৎ────
The fact that he wasn’t dead should have been a blessing, then.
It wasn’t.
Beeps and buzzing filled the air around him. Phantom pain from the burning-that-wasn’t-really-burning still radiated from his arms, his legs, his whole body. His head thumped with a gentle rhythm. If if wasn’t so agonising, he might have found it somewhat comforting.
Real.
Wherever he was now, it was real.
The cabin, the fire, the smoke… That had been a dream.
No. It had been a memory.
Now that he was out of it, Scott could recognise that. It had been a memory which he’d thought he’d been able to squander years ago, hidden away from himself for the rest of time. Clearly he’d been mistaken.
He opened his mouth to try and call for his brother. Nothing but a weak whimper came out. But Virgil was usually around somewhere. They had danced this dance so many times before after turbulent missions. Whether he’d fallen asleep in the chair beside Scott’s infirmary bed, or whether he’d popped up to the kitchen to fetch himself a snack, Virgil was always waiting for him to wake up from his unconscious state.
But as Scott blinked his eyes open, he was greeted only by a singular, powerful light that had been directed straight at his face. It made it impossible for him to see a foot in front of him.
His attempts to move were thwarted by the cuffs that were secured around his wrists, keeping him pinned to the bed. His ankles were similarly restrained and, after a few more attempts at wriggling, Scott realised, in his hazy state, that his head and his waist had been strapped down to the bed too.
Trapped.
“You stupid fool!” The same woman’s voice who had invaded his dreams (or would ‘drug-induced nightmares’ be more apt?) carried across the room with a bite. “Look what you’ve done!”
The two figures were too far away for Scott to see anything more than people-shaped, shadowy blurs. His heart-rate picked up, signalled by the machine to his left.
He wasn’t at home, in the medbay.
Virgil wasn’t nearby.
He wasn’t somewhere safe.
As more of his senses returned to him, as more energy was mustered, Scott began to thrash against the bonds that held him in place. It was futile, he knew, but he continued regardless.
In his periphery he saw the two figures advance towards him slowly.
“I couldn’t allow you to continue,” Evan explained as he reached Scott’s bed. His hand reached out, palm flattening across the band over Scott’s forehead. “This one has to remain intact.”
“But if I could just dig a little deeper, go a little further, I could find out the trigger. I could unravel the process and then we could really—” Doctor Coates was cut off by Evan’s glare. She didn’t say anything further.
Evan turned his attention back to Scott, and with a voice that dripped venom, he spoke in a low volume barely above a whisper, “You should try and get some rest, Tracy. You’ll need all your energy for tomorrow. The Examiner is thrilled at the prospect of finally meeting you.”
There was no room for protest. Doctor Coates procured a vial, tapped it once to rid the liquid of any lingering bubbles, and then pushed the syringe needle into the side of Scott’s head. He was hit with a wave of nausea as his vision began to blur.
Drugged, he presumed, again.
Uselessly he began to blabber his pleas, but nothing coherent came out. The last thing he saw before his body caved to the drugs was Evan’s unnerving, arachnean smile.
────୨ৎ────
He was sitting when he awoke this time, though his hands and feet were still tightly secured, preventing any sort of escape.
Perspire dripped from his face, sweating out the remnants of whatever Doctor Coates had drugged him with. Scott was still dizzy, still fighting back the need to vomit. His skin tingled and his bones felt as though they’d been drilled through. He lifted his head from where it had dropped to his chest.
Unlike the previous room, this one had no light. Scott blinked various times in order to double check that it wasn’t that his eyes had stopped working. They hadn’t, thankfully, and whilst they continued to adjust to the darkness he began to notice certain shapes in the shadows. Furniture mainly, though it was sparse; a desk; another chair; a bookshelf; some drawers; a blacked-out window and curtains; a rug; another desk.
Scott struggled again.
Useless.
He sagged in his seat, fuzzy brain rushing through a sea of thoughts in his mind.
Where was he? How did he end up here? Who was behind all of this? And, most importantly, why? How long had he been here, wherever it was? How much longer would he be staying, either by choice or, more likely, force? Would whoever was behind this eventually show their face? Was there a possibility of him pleading his case with someone?
At least one of those questions was answered when the scuff of a shoe behind him made his hair stand on end. He wasn’t alone.
“It is always so entertaining to see them wrestle with their situation.”
Scott assumed the deep voice belonged to the same person as the sound of the shoe. Whoever it was stood just out of his periphery. He doubted it was accidental. Even in the dimness of the room, Scott would have been able to ascertain a size, a height, possibly more, and coupled with the voice, he’d be able to picture the sort of person it all belonged to. With only a rough, British accent to go on, Scott’s mental image of the man, for now, was mostly vacant. Clearly they didn’t want him getting any sort of upper hand.
“And you have been the most entertaining so far,” the voice continued. “Your screams have echoed through the entire complex. I’d never seen—heard—such a defiant creature before. I knew from the beginning that you were going to be special. You haven’t disappointed me so far.” Footsteps were muffled by the plush rug as the man stepped into Scott’s sights. “I’m sure you won’t start to disappoint me now, hm?”
If the man had been trying to remain a mystery by keeping out of his view for so long, it had been pointless. Even with the shadow of the man in front of him, Scott couldn’t make out much. He was reasonably tall and reasonably well-built. From his shape and stature alone there wasn’t anything that Scott would have claimed was noteworthy.
But then the man crouched in front of him and Scott’s heart flipped. Perhaps his hair was just close shaven and not actually bald. If this was the Hood…
No. It couldn’t have been. The Hood didn’t have a voice so gravelly, so like stone. His was slippery and laced with far more sneers than this man’s had been.
The darkness of the room meant he couldn’t discern any further features. The man’s hazel eyes remained a mystery, as did the fullness of his mouth, the scar across his right cheek, the recent bruising on his left. His little eyebrow slit and his enviously high cheekbones were unknown to Scott. All he saw was a round head, everything else obscured by the darkness in the room.
“You won’t disappoint me, will you?” The man repeated. His hand rested on top of Scott’s, his fingers curling around and squeezing.
Scott winced, instinctively trying to pull his hand away from the torment. He had no choice but to endure it, however. Shackled to the arms of the chair he was trapped in, Scott physically couldn’t pull away.
It humoured the man. His fingers tightened and he chuckled softly. “It’s a simple question. Coates didn’t fry your brain that badly. Evan wouldn’t have allowed it.”
His blood ran cold at the mention of the two names he’d since forgotten. Doctor Coates, the matronly-sounding woman, who had been trying to “nudge” and “push” him, almost to the point of “breaking” him. Evan, the stern man with the spider-like grin, who had interfered and had stopped her from ruining their “project”.
“Where am I?” Scott’s voice croaked. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d used it beyond simply screaming. “What’s happening?”
The man ceased the squeezing but his palm remained on top of Scott’s hand. “If you’re expecting me to give you any answers before you’ve even attempted to answer mine, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
Scott exhaled sharply. “How can I promise to not be a disappointment when I don’t know what is expected of me?”
There was a twitch in the man’s expression. An amused grin? Or an irritated frown? In such poor lighting, Scott couldn’t work it out.
“You’re currently a member of the Facility. All you need to know about what is expected of you is that we require your full cooperation. There’s nothing else you need to trouble yourself about, Mr. Tracy. Everything else is…” He paused deliberately, allowing the weight of his words, the implication of his words, to settle. “… taken care of.”
“What is the Facility?”
“You don’t need to know that.”
Anger rose up alongside the fear that continued to churn. “I think I’ll be the decider of what I need to know!”
“Trust me, you don’t want that.” The man’s fingers began to dance delicately over the skin of Scott’s hand. It made him shiver. “It’s better for you if you aren’t burdened with the silly little details. It makes the process so much smoother.”
“Process?”
But the man chose to ignore his question. His hand left Scott’s and he stood back to his full height. “No, I don’t think you’ll be a disappointment to me, Scott Tracy. Your mind is…” He trailed off, as though he struggled to find the words. “It’s so very colourful. It’s mesmerising. It’s… harrowing. We can use that.”
Scott shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Though he couldn’t understand exactly what all the man’s words meant, he had the unnerving feeling they weren’t good. “Who are you?”
“You may call me the Examiner.”
“And you’re in charge?”
“Of the Facility? In a way. Everyone has a boss, Scott Tracy. Even you.”
If nothing else about his situation filled him with dread, that certainly worked like a charm. “Is that supposed to be you?”
“No.” The man turned his back on Scott and began to stroll towards the shadow of the desk. “I’m only here to watch over the proceedings. To examine everything that happens. I report back to my boss. He reports to his. We have a very rigid chain of command, one I’m sure you’d appreciate if you were in a better position to understand.”
Scott couldn’t help the quirk of his lips. “Try me.”
“Sometimes,” the Examiner continued, ignoring Scott’s words, “the procedures can go sideways. Unexpected problems can occur. When working with the mind, it is to be expected. After a few months of probing, subjects can simply cease to be. But you, Scott Tracy? You’ve not broken yet.”
A shiver went up Scott’s spine.
“Your mind is immense. It’s strong. It’s…”
“Mesmerising? Harrowing?” He echoed the Examiner’s previous words back to him, biting each syllable.
The man chuckled. “Forgive me, it is just so rare to see someone like you pass through these walls. You are special, Scott Tracy, and I had to see for myself just why that was.”
Everything that happened next went by in a blur. The Examiner clicked his fingers. Doors behind him swung open, light cascading into the room so bright that Scott winced. Two sets of boots marched inside, unshackled him from the chair and lifted him to his feet. Whilst he was still dazed from the sudden light that had filtered in, the moved him towards the second desk.
Only it wasn’t another desk.
It had been a gurney.
Before Scott could even attempt to break free of the guards’ grip, they’d re-secured all four of his limbs to the bed.
“You must forgive them, too,” the Examiner crooned as he approached. Scott noticed all the man’s features now, committing them to memory in case he needed to divulge details at a later date. The scar, the bruise, the brow cut, the cheekbones, the eye colour, the smoothness of his head. “The guards here can be rather brutish sometimes, but needs must, and all that.”
“Let me go!” Scott yelled, thrashing at his restraints yet again. He was beginning to get tired of being tied down.
“I’m afraid that just isn’t possible at the moment. You see, we need you, Scott Tracy. Well, we need your mind, to be more precise.”
“Why?”
The Examiner hushed him, his fingers sliding through his hair in what was supposed to be a soothing manner. Scott was anything but soothed. He was infuriated. He was terrified. He was… oddly beginning to feel more calm.
With the light now penetrating the room, he could see the Examiner’s lips lift into a satisfied grin. “See? It’s not so hard, is it? To give in? To surrender?” His gravelly voice became softer as he whispered. “Surrender to me like you surrendered to Komandor Kaminski and I promise this will all be over in the blink of an eye.”
Scott’s breathing eased, though the name brought forth a new wave of fear underneath the summoned calm the Examiner seemed to bring. Kaminiski, the brutishly efficient madman, was a name that Scott had buried far deeper than he had of the memories of the burning cockpit Doctor Coates had forced him to remember.
But as quickly as that uncovered fear had been rediscovered, it faded again, masked by the serenity that the Examiner was exuding.
None of it made any sense to him but Scott wasn’t sure he necessarily wanted any of it to make any sense anymore. The answers to his questions were unimportant. All he cared about was that sweet, undisturbed peace that the Examiner continued to bring.
“Do you see how easy this is?” He asked, voice as velvet soft as his could be. “Now we can begin.”
