A/N: Sequel to Compulsion. Still contains graphic depictions of cheating. If that's not your thing, no shade, just maybe click something else.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"You're not supposed to be here." Chloe's voice is a shaky rasp, but it's laced with the now somewhat diluted, yet still demanding tone she'd used on Beca earlier. The intoxicating mix of those two opposing qualities meeting makes Beca's knees weak.
“W-wait Handler Wiley, wait--” 847481 yelped in pain and arched his back as shocks rolled through him again. When they stopped he went limp, pressing his forehead to the cold floor and gasping around his heavy tears.
“You have another minute to compose yourself,” Handler Wiley said calmly. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to eat today.”
“No, I do, I do, please I -- I want to eat.”
“Hmm. 48 seconds.”
Training had been going well that morning. ‘481 knew all his positions and got through every test Handler Wiley tried to throw at him. He passed the virtual CPR tests where he had to prove he could stay calm, even if a child entrusted to his care was severely injured and bleeding. His hands shook a little when the virtual three year old lost consciousness due to blood loss, but he still managed to go through the motions until the simulation ended.
Handler Wiley had taken him back to his room to take a nap before meal time, as a reward for doing so well the past few days. ‘481 hoped that he’d have the shock collar taken off soon.
He’d done everything right. He was even a little proud of himself for keeping calm. He’d felt totally fine.
And then he didn’t.
His heart rate had picked up all of a sudden, pounding so hard it hurt his chest. He’d tried the breathing exercises Handler Wiley taught him but the more he concentrated, the faster and shallower his breathing got. Awful, grating panic started to eat him alive and he couldn’t remember how to make it stop. Tears stung his eyes and spilled over, animalistic whining starting in the back of his throat. He’d squeezed his eyes shut and bit his fist, trying his hardest to make it all stop but he just couldn’t. His mind was all jumbled up, every thought a terrified buzzing echoing in his ears.
That was when Handler Wiley had started to shock him.
He didn’t like the 'tantrums’ ‘481 had every so often. He was too old for them and needed to learn how to get a hold of himself. It was pathetic.
847481 smacked his head into the ground, losing control of his body as another shock hit him. A strangled cry ripped from his throat, the hot feeling consuming his chest getting even worse. Sweat ran down his skin despite the constant shivering.
“Meal time starts in about eight minutes, ‘481. Can you stop your crying within eight minutes, or are you going to wait until tomorrow to eat?”
‘481 sobbed, pushing himself up to rest against the wall. He looked up at his handler with tear filled eyes, trying his best to show how desperate he was. “P-p-please Han-handler. Please huh-help me.” The hot feeling grew heavier on his chest, pushing all the air from his lungs. Is this what it feels like to die? ‘481 wondered. Am I going to die in here? A new wave of panic overcame him and he cut off a wail that had forced its way from his throat. “Please help me!” he cried.
Handler Wiley didn’t move a muscle. “No. You need to learn to control yourself. If you do this with your prospectives, you’ll be sent right back here to be refurbished. Do you really want that ‘481?”
‘481 frantically shook his head. He’d heard of what refurbs went through, and he did not want that to be him. He didn’t want to go on the Drip again and have the serums used on him and have everything re-hammered into his brain and meet the director--
Another shock ran through his body. ‘481 squeezed his hands into fists, skin breaking beneath his fingernails as it passed. His lungs froze up for a moment, and he took a deep breath in when they unfroze.
He had to get himself under control. What did Handler Wiley always tell himself to do? He had to think of something to stop it, but what was it? What was it what was it what was it what was the thing to make it all go away?? Handler Wiley lazily pointed the remote at him again, ready to send another shock to the dreaded collar.
‘481 sucked in the deepest breath he could and held it. His lungs immediately burned, mind screaming at him to get more oxygen. He stared at Handler Wiley with his eyebrows darn together, corners of his mouth turned down. His chest jerked instinctually for air, but he kept his jaw locked tight.
Handler Wiley lowered the remote. “What are you doing?” He knelt next to the trainee, taking his chin in his hands. “Knock it off, ‘481. Breathe.”
Somehow, he felt his heartbeat begin to slow. His chest hurt even more, his body wanting him to breathe more than ever, but he refused, continuing to stare down his handler.
Handler Wiley shook his shoulders. “Breathe. Now 847481!” He slapped him. “Stop it!”
‘481 suffered through Handler Wiley’s manhandling of him right up until black spots danced in front of his vision, and then let it all out, gasping for air. He fell back against the wall and closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. His eyes flew open at the harsh slap that snapped his neck to the side.
"You do not disobey me trainee!” he yelled, hitting him again.
He uselessly held his hands up in defense, head ducked. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I can be good!”
His handler stood again, toying with the remote and watching him. He checked his watch. “You'll have to prove it to me. For now though, no nap and no food. You don't get to disobey me like that.”
Tears pricked ‘481's eyes. "Handler--" he cut himself off and ducked his head as Handler Wiley held up the remote threateningly. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Handler Wiley took out his phone and swiped lazily at the screen before placing it back in his pocket and glaring at '481. "If you were really sorry then you would change how you act." He opened the door. "Have a good rest of your night, trainee."
'481 didn't even get one sob out before the vents turned on, blasting freezing air on him from every direction. His already aching body tensed up, curling into a ball like that would stop the attack. It wasn't long before he couldn't even move his fingers, his ears throbbing in pain from the cold. He was shocked his tears weren't freezing on his cheeks.
It would have to stop eventually right? They wouldn't actually let him die there... right?
Right. The vents eventually closed, letting '481 relax slightly, thinking the punishment was over.
