Walking Dead Man: First Steps
By Claire Boston
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Disclaimer:
Spoilers: "Atonement"
Rating: PG, mature themes: torture
Summary: What really happened to Sandoval at the end of the aborted ANA trial, when he was returned to Zo'or on the Mothership?
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As the image of Zo'or vanished, the ANA court erupted. Ordering the guards to taken the prisoner to the nearest ID portal and return him to the Mothership immediately, the members of the court began scurrying for the exits, fearing Zo'or would unleash his rain of destruction at any moment. As the crushing bitterness of ultimate defeat settled on his shoulders, Sandoval heard the noise of the courtroom as a whirling rush of sound, leaving him feeling isolated and disconnected as the certainty of his impending death became all too real.
"Want some company?" Startled from his thoughts, Sandoval looked up to see Major Kincaid by his side as the two guards began moving him toward the portal. Wordlessly, the four of them took their places and the courtroom dissolved in a rush of light and sound. From the doorway, Dee Dee Sandoval watched them vanish, her lips curling upward in a faint smile.
As the Mothership materialized around them, Sandoval was barely aware of the squad of Volunteers who took up positions around him, dismissing the ANA guards who hurriedly departed for Earth. No one touched him; they didn't have to. After all, there was nowhere to run any more. Dimly, he realized that Kincaid was still by his side, face grim. Vaguely, he supposed that Kincaid wanted to make sure he was turned over to Zo'or. After all, Kincaid would now be Senior Protector. Somehow, the thought failed to cause the expected bitter anger; he felt numb.
Slowly, he began the long walk to the bridge.
Sitting regally in his command chair, with his usual smirk and the unnatural shining of his eyes, Zo'or looked every inch the mad emperor. As the group came to a halt in front of him, Zo'or waved to the Volunteers in dismissal. Wordlessly, they all retreated, leaving silence behind them.
For a long moment, Zo'or stared at his former Protector, while Sandoval gazed fixedly at a point just past Zo'or's shoulder. Finally, Zo'or spoke.
"Major Kincaid. You are dismissed." Although his words were directed to Kincaid, Zo'or never took his eyes off of Sandoval.
He heard Kincaid stir behind him, but there were no footsteps. Finally, Zo'or raised his eyes to Kincaid, still standing at the entrance onto the bridge.
"I said, you are dismissed, Major." Zo'or's tone was sharp; he had no patience for disobedience.
Glancing at Sandoval, Kincaid appeared about to speak, then turned wordlessly and left the bridge. As the sound of his footsteps faded, silence descended upon the bridge once again.
"So, you think to defy me. Do you understand now that you have no place to run, no one to trust, no power except that which I give you?" There was satisfaction, and something more, in the alien voice. Sandoval knew that to Zo'or, it was not only important to win, but equally important to have his enemies acknowledge that he had won. He felt the beginnings of fear creeping into the edges of his mind.
"Yes, Zo'or." The automatic words were whispered, but they were enough to cause a hint of a smile to touch Zo'or's face.
"And do you now understanding that I am your only friend, the only one who cares whether you live or die?"
"And vice-versa, Zo'or. Vice-versa." Sandoval almost whispered the words, knowing without looking that Zo'or wanted – no, needed – that acknowledgment.
"And so, as your friend, I shall forgive your betrayal, and allow you to return to my service." Jolted out of his numbness, Sandoval raised disbelieving eyes to Zo'or, as the Synod Leader continued, "In a manner of speaking, of course."
Yes, there was a definite smile on Zo'or's face now, as several pairs of footsteps sounded behind him. Turning to look behind him, Sandoval observed two armed Volunteers stepping onto the bridge. But it was the third man who caused him to gasp in stunned shock, as he recognized the face above the impeccable designer suit. It was a face he knew well, down to the impassive and emotionless eyes.
It was the face of Ronald Sandoval. His face.
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His voice hoarse from screaming, the body of Ronald Sandoval slumped back against the table as the agonizer shut off once again. Breathing heavily, he could feel the remnants of the pain in every nerve of his body. Lying helpless, oblivious to how much time had passed since this phase of his 'reeducation' had begun, he felt tears of weakness slide from under his eyelids.
Oh, he knew exactly what was happening. After all, he had used the techniques himself on many occasions. Stripped of all clothing, a subject was dressed only in the loose-fitting sensor web. With fastenings only at shoulders and waist, wrists and ankles, the web provided full-body contact for the stimulation of pain, but could be opened easily to allow an 'examiner' easier access to a subject's body for supplementary 'techniques'. The subject was restrained by a security field, which prevented voluntary movement. Of course, involuntary movement was a different matter, and Sandoval was sure he felt at least a few pulled muscles from the convulsive spasming and arching of his body.
Oh, there were easier techniques for obtaining information from a subject. The 'mental intervention' techniques that he himself had specialized in and perfected were one. They allowed for extraction of information directly from a subject's mind; unfortunately, the subject was rarely much use to anyone afterwards.
But that was not Zo'or's goal here, he knew. Zo'or wanted him to suffer, wanted him to feel humiliation and despair, wanted him to know that he had lost and Zo'or had won. Zo'or wanted to break him, to destroy his mind, and he wanted Sandoval to feel every moment of it as it happened.
Besides, mental intervention techniques weren't strictly necessary on an implant. Merely downloading and scanning his memories from his CVI would provide almost any information with very little effort. In fact, that was almost the first thing that Zo'or had ordered. Sandoval shuddered from the memory of that session, presided over by his silent doppelganger.
Suddenly, a scream was ripped from his throat as the agonizer randomly activated once again and sent surges of pain through his body. This time the intensity was stepped up another notch, and Sandoval felt a wave of shame added to his pain as he felt his bladder release. Dimly, he knew it was just going to get worse. And there was nothing he could do about it.
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Staring with satisfaction at the huddled figure on the floor of the holding cell, Zo'or smiled in satisfaction. Yes, this was going well, exactly as he wished. He nodded for the two drones to proceed. Touching the controls on the wall to lower the cell's restraint field, the two entered and lifted the semi-conscious man to his feet. He sagged against their grip, unable to support himself, and his wrists were restrained tightly together behind his back by the force cuffs. Holding him upright, they dragged him from the cell, followed by a smirking Zo'or.
As the trio entered the lab, Sandoval made an effort to raise his head. Fighting his confusion and pain, he dimly realized that he wasn't being returned to the interrogation room for another 'session'. As the two held him, waiting for further commands from their Taelon master, the scene in front of his eyes slowly began to make sense. As Zo'or moved to stand in front of the device, Sandoval began to struggle faintly, his slowly-dawning horror beginning to override the pain in his body.
"No!" he gasped hoarsely. But he could only writhe faintly in the grip of the two unfeeling drones as they carried him closer.
"Our little sessions have been most…entertaining, Agent Sandoval. However, for the moment, I have no further use for you." He was obviously enjoying the agent's struggles immensely. Addressing the two drones, he ordered, "Prepare him!"
Unspeaking, the drones released his wrists and lifted him onto a table, where he felt the pressure of another immobilization field. Lying helpless, he could only gasp as the ties on his garment were released and the loose-fitting torture device peeled away. Naked and shivering, a whimper forced itself out as the tubes were inserted in his arms and neck, the electrodes attached to temples and chest, and the support bands were fastened around his arms and waist.
Finally, it was done, and the drones stepped aside as Zo'or moved forward to stare down at him in triumph. Taking his time, he allowed his gaze to travel up and down Sandoval's nude body, remembering with pleasure the infliction of each bruise and abrasion, each blow of fist and lash of force-whip. Finally, he reached out and lightly touched Sandoval's jaw with his fingertips. The gesture was almost a caress, and Sandoval closed his eyes as his body shuddered convulsively.
"Yes, you know who is your master now. Look at me!" The words snapped at him, and Sandoval's eyes flew open, wide with fear. "For now, our time of pleasure is ended. But I may yet wish to … repeat the experience. So I shall keep you here, as you are, until such time as I may resume our … intercourse." Obviously enjoying the human's fear and helplessness, Zo'or nodded to the drones. "Proceed. However, do not administer the sedative just yet."
As one drone released the field and activated the mechanism to lift his body up, the other drone steadied
Sandoval as his faint struggles caused his body to sway.
"No! Please! Zo'or, please, don't do this! Please!" Hanging helplessly from the wires of the lift mechanism, Sandoval could only stare in horror as he was lifted up and over, then slowly lowered into the waiting stasis tank. As the fluid closed over his head, he panicked, thrashing mindlessly. At Zo'or's nod, the drone at the control panel began the flow of sedative. With a convulsive gasp, Sandoval breathed in the oxygenated fluid, eyes wide with fear. Slowly, the sedative began to take effect, and Sandoval hung suspended, feeling his body relaxing. As a strange lethargy began to spread along his body, his last sight was that of a triumphantly smiling Zo'or raising his hand to place it against the side of the tank.
Behind Zo'or, a familiar figure stepped into the room, to stand quietly by the door. As the last sparkles of his former Protector scattered and faded into the stasis matrix, Zo'or turned to the waiting figure.
"Come with me, 'Agent Sandoval'. It is time to complete the addition of the last of 'your' memories." Turning, Zo'or moved toward the room's exit.
"Yes, Zo'or," the biosurrogate answered tonelessly, following in the wake of his master.
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Continued in 'Walking Dead Man 2: Steps Along a Path'.