Re-indoctrination

Written for the prompt : Dark Angel, Ben or Alec, confine

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X5-494 shivered at the thought of what would happen when they got back. This was bad enough. It had all gone to shit. It hadn't been his fault. He looked round the transport, saw the rest of his unit. Blank faces, not one showed a thing but he knew they all knew what was coming, just as he did. The difference was he'd already experienced it. He didn't know if he could take it again.

His nerve was weakening, the fear of what was to come building. He clenched a fist, gripping the edge of the seat, turned his head and stared blankly out of the window trying to get himself back under control before he gave away what he was really thinking.

He'd been confined before . . . they all had as part of tests and experiments, as the lab techs and doctors tried to establish just how far they could push an X5 before it would break. That had been bad, but he'd been young, a child by ordinary standards, not that Manticore had ever recognized such a state.

What was worse was what had come later. He was Ben's clone and like all the other clones of the team that had escaped he'd been confined and they'd upped the ante on the testing trying to find the root of the discord, the key that had made that unit run. He had no idea what it was. Sure, he wanted to run now, but that was experience, he'd never dreamt of it at that age.

It had happened on and off ever since. He'd been hauled in after missions, successful and not, after training or just because . . . Sometimes they gave him a reason, more often they didn't. Too often 493 was at the core of what they wanted to know. Not this time though. This time he'd be confined because the mission had gone wrong, because somebody somewhere fucked up and the unit had almost failed.

He didn't think he could take the confinement, wondered if he could be the first X5 to suicide, if maybe that was the better option. It was a thought he'd never had before but now . . .


It was too late, the transport was already pulling up at the base. Within minutes, he was being dragged out of his seat, hands and ankles cuffed so he couldn't walk properly, couldn't defend himself. A guard lashed out, hitting him with the butt of a rifle. The unit were being separated, dragged away in different directions, three guards to each soldier, abuse flying freely from these ordinaries. Not one of the X5s made a sound.


A night with the 'nomalies . . . he'd had to fight for his life more than once overnight, thankful the guards had at least freed his hands and feet so he could defend himself. There'd been no rest before they'd come for him in the morning. He'd had to stay alert to stay alive.

The guards had rechained him before hauling him through endless corridors to a lab. He saw it as he entered and pulled away, tried to stop them taking him in there. His efforts failed as he had known they would, but he couldn't give in, he couldn't just submit to this.

The capsule opened and he was shoved roughly inside. It closed, spun sideways and compressed a little. There wasn't room to stand now or lie straight out. He waited. Nothing more changed and he found a position to sit in.

He counted the seconds, building them into minutes and hours. 3600 seconds were 60 minutes. One hour. Two hours, three. Four hours in, the temperature rose a few degrees. He started to count again. 10,800 seconds passed and the capsule compressed further.

He lost track some time after the twenty-seventh hour. The temperature was too high for him to think rationally, he was dehydrating. It was all he could do to keep still and conserve both energy and moisture. There was no point in shouting for help, none would be coming. This was a test. He kept reminding himself. It was a test and he could pass it. He'd done it before. He could do it again.


494 staggered out of the capsule, weak and confused. He felt as hands grabbed at him, dragging him away. He had no idea how long had passed. He was grateful when they laid him down. The surface below him was hard but cool, his body grateful for the reprieve from the heat in the capsule. His eyes slid shut as his body began to react to the sudden change in temperature. It was just a series of uncontrolled jerks, not a real shiver, he no longer had the energy to coordinate something so ordinary. He was dimly aware of them securing his wrists, ankles, neck and waist. He wanted to fight the constriction but couldn't keep his thoughts together long enough to do anything.

His eyes opened, vision blurred in the bright light. He saw figures moving round, couldn't make out who or what they were doing. He felt a touch on his hand, the prick of a needle, blood drawn, then nothing for a while.

He lay still, dimly aware that he was waiting for something but to out of it to care. Time passed, lights dimmed and brightened and he was left alone. Then someone returned, he felt the prick of more needles, some staying in his skin, some inserted and removed quickly, almost unnoticeably. The dim recollection that he wasn't supposed to be here, that this was not his world, his life. He'd known something else before.

He pulled at his cuffs weakly, then gave up.


494 had no idea how long he'd been confined, how long it had taken to recover. He could never say how much of his life had been lost to Manticore's torture as opposed to just his training and missions. He didn't know (couldn't remember) what had happened this time, all he knew for sure was something in his past was wrong and so they had changed him, started over. Like a computer, he'd been rebooted and updated, ready to start over.

All he was left with was a lingering aversion to small spaces and a need for freedom that he couldn't really define.