A/N: Taking a reprieve from Dreams. Not to worry though, I am not
abandoning it. This is just, well, I'm not sure what it is. Scary brain.
Warning: Contains some mild violence. Worse may come this way, but maybe not. Depending on how the story writes itself. Rated PG -13 just to be safe.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Invader Zim, (except plushies, shirts, key rings, ect.)
Here we go!
*****
Chapter One: Morning.
*****
A shock runs through my body, jolting me into consciousness. I glare at my guard in contempt. He merely smirks at me. Like all of the guards my captors favour me with, he is a brute of a man. All muscle mixed with just enough brain to make him dangerous. And like all of my guards, he loves his cattle prod.
I can smell his pungent sweat as he leans close towards me.
He snarls, "Get up!"
He waves his cattle prod as an unspoken threat, forcing me to hurry.
*****
I sit up rapidly and blink several times at the harsh lights, fumbling for my multi-function, protective lenses. It had been one of my first major inventions, providing radio, video, a microcomputer, a phone/modem, and were prescription if need be. They have become the favourite of scientists worldwide, or so I'm told. Mine are permanently disabled now, serving only as prescription protective lenses. Without them, I am nearly blind.
Unconsciously my thoughts drift to Dib. He has inherited my weak eyes, and my insatiable desire to learn, though, from what I have seen and heard, he has developed a taste for the paranormal. I stifle a chuckle at that. My captors were hoping he would become their next victim. I don't doubt that by the time he's old enough, they will force him down this path. They have a nasty way of doing that. My father, my father's father, and who knows far back into my family lineage, we all shared this horrid fate. No doubt, my children's mother's family carried the same fate. My poor children are doomed.
I am pulled from my shallow daydream as another shock runs through my body, eliciting a slight hoarse scream. My guard lets out a rather unmanly giggle. Again I glare at him but he merely shrugs.
"You were taking to long."
Stupid moron.
***** I pull myself up from the uncomfortable cot with some effort, stretching my sore muscles. Personal comfort is not one of my captors' stronger points. As usual my daily uniform sits pressed and ready for wear on top of the simple desk my captors had provided for my 'comfort'. At night I am kept in pretty meager surroundings, a bright constantly lit room with white walls and a one-way observation window. The furnishings are sparse, containing one flimsy twin cot, bolted to the ground and covered with paper- thin sheets and a thread worn blanket. A metal desk and swivel chair set are set in a corner. Both are also bolted to the ground. That pretty much sums it. I am provided with a sheet of paper and a crayon every night. What they expect me to do with that is beyond me. Usually I simply come 'home' to sleep, to exhausted from work to do much else.
*****
I slip out of the flimsy nightwear, a simple gown really, and into my uniform as quickly as I can, very much aware of my guard's stare. I can sense the leer on his face. I hated them, my guards, even more than my taunting captors. I am never left alone, even when I shower or use the Lavatory. I am constantly watched. It is humiliating. Degrading. My captors act like they are afraid of me, of what I might do. I think they just do it to keep me in my place.
'We own you.'
They will never own me. I may be forced to do their bidding, but I am my own man. I hold on to hope. Hope for my children's futures, and pride of my children's accomplishments. They think they use my children against me now, but as long as my children are alive and well, with the chance at a free life, they have no hold.
*****
Finally dressed, I turn towards my guard, holding my hands in front of me like the prisoner I am. I know what to expect, and the guard doesn't disappoint me. The handcuffs are slapped on with surprising speed, quickly followed by foot chains. Where he keeps them on his person are beyond me. I have never really seen where he pulls them from, but I don't doubt that his black padded uniform holds many secrets beyond the mere stun gun, tazer and cattle prod. They never take chances that I might try to flee, an unlikely event, since I wouldn't know were to go anyway, they blindfold me whenever I leave this room.
Once, I asked why they went to such extremes. I was told that I am to valuable to chance injury or death in an escape attempt.
To valuable for what? Did my discoveries and inventions hold that much importance?
I cannot fathom why they would. After all, there are assuredly more scientists and inventors with creations and discoveries greater than mine. I doubt I am the only one who created the cure for such illnesses as cancer or the common cold. I haven't seen much of the outside world, but I've no doubt that there has been amazing technological and medical advances. After all, they have granted me access to such wonders as the complete map of the human genome, and though I have improved on some of the technology, I have been given new and interesting tools and computer programs to assist me in my work.
My work.
It is my pleasure and my pain.
My pleasure?
I can escape my captors though my work. My mind is free to create the illusion I am working from my own pleasure. As long as it involves work, I have complete command over the assistants they provide me with, though communicating with them can at times be very difficult. My captors saw to that.
My pain?
'You will finish this project today!'
I have no choice in what I am to create, discover, invent, just as I have no control over the established deadline. My captors are reasonable, and often give me ample time to complete their demands, but when I fail to comply with their expectations, they are not above torture. The only saving grace is the torture, either physical or mental, never involves harming my children.
They cut my tongue in half once, shortly after they brought me here. Punishment for a failed escape attempt. Now their punishments take on a less noticeable form. They know how to torture someone without visibly harming the body or irreversibly damaging the mind. They try hard to never let me forget that they are powerful and deadly and I am powerless and weak against them.
*****
Blind and submissive I am led by the arm down the familiar hall. Thirty steps, turn right, fifty steps, into the elevator, 51.42 seconds down, two steps out, turn right, fourteen steps, turn left, twenty-three steps turn right, into the second elevator, 4.5 minutes down, 5 steps forward to the transport car, (a hydro fueled creation of my own devise), 1minute 3 seconds ride to a third elevator, 2 minutes down, then 15 steps to my 'work'.
*****
My guard never once lets go of my arm until I am within the locked labs. His shift ends here and a new guard takes his place.
This guard smells of some sort of cheep cologne. I recognize him as one of the main guards. Out of all of my guards, he is my favourite. In fact, I must admit to liking him. He doesn't favour his cattle prod like the rest. In fact, he uses his sparingly.
Silently he pulls the blindfold from my face before unlocking my chains. As usual, his dark face is unreadable. He studies me for a moment then leads me towards the restroom. Just part of my morning ritual. Lavatory first, where I can use the facilities to eliminate waste and attend to personal grooming, then off to the lab cafeteria where I am fed breakfast, a puréed protein drink and a hot cup of coffee.
Since the tongue incident, I don't eat much solid food. The food is not the greatest, but it is better than being strapped down and force-fed through an IV. I found that out the hard way. At least the coffee is good.
*****
When I am finished defecating, I find an electric shaver waiting for me on the counter above the sink. I look at the reflection in the mirror. Sickly pale skin and golden brown eyes stare back at me. My black hair spikes in its defiant manner and I am again reminded of my son. He inherited my looks, and although I have never met their mother outside of videotapes of my children's births, (they impregnated her thru artificial insemination with my extracted semen), I know that my daughter has inherited her mother's looks.
Yes, they allowed me to watch the birth of my children. I was even allowed to see them on a regular basis until Gaz turned two.
They are nine months apart. The sick bastards barely give their poor mother a chance to recover from childbirth before forcing her into another pregnancy. Their mother died giving birth to Gaz. I watched as the doctors blotched the caesarian. I wept for nearly one week for this woman I never met, the mother of my children. I don't even know her name. I am convinced now that her death was a blessing in disguise. They would have probably force yet another child upon her as soon as they could. I am surprised there hasn't been another female to take her place. Surprised and thankful. I have heard rumors however. I cannot begin to tell you how much that frightens me.
The fact that Gaz survived the wretched birth is astounding. By all rights she should have been dead, or at least suffered from brain damage, yet she has surpassed even her genius brother in testing. Undoubtedly she will be a formidable force to recon with when they come to 'harvest' her.
Harvest.
Heh!
That's what they call this. When they take an unsuspecting soul and subject them to indignities none should be forced to endure.
My guard taps his foot on the ground, an indication he wishes for me to hurry. I comply.
Within mere moments I am clean-shaven and ready to start the day.
Silently he leads me to the cafeteria. Together we sit at one of the small tables. The cafeteria is the only place where my guards are allowed to sit with me, and this is the only guard who does. Together we sit in silence and drink coffee. I suppose that is another reason why I like him more than the rest. He is not afraid to sit and have coffee with me. He treats me like I'm human.
Neither of us talk, I for a more noticeable reason, and him, well, he never has been one for words.
Although he does no more than drink his coffee as I consume my morning meal, it is a time I relish. It is at these times when I can pretend to have a normal life. I can pretend I am at a restraunte with a friend, a silent one, but a friend nonetheless. Perhaps this guard is the only friend I have.
*****
A/N: Atrocious, ain't it?
Warning: Contains some mild violence. Worse may come this way, but maybe not. Depending on how the story writes itself. Rated PG -13 just to be safe.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Invader Zim, (except plushies, shirts, key rings, ect.)
Here we go!
*****
Chapter One: Morning.
*****
A shock runs through my body, jolting me into consciousness. I glare at my guard in contempt. He merely smirks at me. Like all of the guards my captors favour me with, he is a brute of a man. All muscle mixed with just enough brain to make him dangerous. And like all of my guards, he loves his cattle prod.
I can smell his pungent sweat as he leans close towards me.
He snarls, "Get up!"
He waves his cattle prod as an unspoken threat, forcing me to hurry.
*****
I sit up rapidly and blink several times at the harsh lights, fumbling for my multi-function, protective lenses. It had been one of my first major inventions, providing radio, video, a microcomputer, a phone/modem, and were prescription if need be. They have become the favourite of scientists worldwide, or so I'm told. Mine are permanently disabled now, serving only as prescription protective lenses. Without them, I am nearly blind.
Unconsciously my thoughts drift to Dib. He has inherited my weak eyes, and my insatiable desire to learn, though, from what I have seen and heard, he has developed a taste for the paranormal. I stifle a chuckle at that. My captors were hoping he would become their next victim. I don't doubt that by the time he's old enough, they will force him down this path. They have a nasty way of doing that. My father, my father's father, and who knows far back into my family lineage, we all shared this horrid fate. No doubt, my children's mother's family carried the same fate. My poor children are doomed.
I am pulled from my shallow daydream as another shock runs through my body, eliciting a slight hoarse scream. My guard lets out a rather unmanly giggle. Again I glare at him but he merely shrugs.
"You were taking to long."
Stupid moron.
***** I pull myself up from the uncomfortable cot with some effort, stretching my sore muscles. Personal comfort is not one of my captors' stronger points. As usual my daily uniform sits pressed and ready for wear on top of the simple desk my captors had provided for my 'comfort'. At night I am kept in pretty meager surroundings, a bright constantly lit room with white walls and a one-way observation window. The furnishings are sparse, containing one flimsy twin cot, bolted to the ground and covered with paper- thin sheets and a thread worn blanket. A metal desk and swivel chair set are set in a corner. Both are also bolted to the ground. That pretty much sums it. I am provided with a sheet of paper and a crayon every night. What they expect me to do with that is beyond me. Usually I simply come 'home' to sleep, to exhausted from work to do much else.
*****
I slip out of the flimsy nightwear, a simple gown really, and into my uniform as quickly as I can, very much aware of my guard's stare. I can sense the leer on his face. I hated them, my guards, even more than my taunting captors. I am never left alone, even when I shower or use the Lavatory. I am constantly watched. It is humiliating. Degrading. My captors act like they are afraid of me, of what I might do. I think they just do it to keep me in my place.
'We own you.'
They will never own me. I may be forced to do their bidding, but I am my own man. I hold on to hope. Hope for my children's futures, and pride of my children's accomplishments. They think they use my children against me now, but as long as my children are alive and well, with the chance at a free life, they have no hold.
*****
Finally dressed, I turn towards my guard, holding my hands in front of me like the prisoner I am. I know what to expect, and the guard doesn't disappoint me. The handcuffs are slapped on with surprising speed, quickly followed by foot chains. Where he keeps them on his person are beyond me. I have never really seen where he pulls them from, but I don't doubt that his black padded uniform holds many secrets beyond the mere stun gun, tazer and cattle prod. They never take chances that I might try to flee, an unlikely event, since I wouldn't know were to go anyway, they blindfold me whenever I leave this room.
Once, I asked why they went to such extremes. I was told that I am to valuable to chance injury or death in an escape attempt.
To valuable for what? Did my discoveries and inventions hold that much importance?
I cannot fathom why they would. After all, there are assuredly more scientists and inventors with creations and discoveries greater than mine. I doubt I am the only one who created the cure for such illnesses as cancer or the common cold. I haven't seen much of the outside world, but I've no doubt that there has been amazing technological and medical advances. After all, they have granted me access to such wonders as the complete map of the human genome, and though I have improved on some of the technology, I have been given new and interesting tools and computer programs to assist me in my work.
My work.
It is my pleasure and my pain.
My pleasure?
I can escape my captors though my work. My mind is free to create the illusion I am working from my own pleasure. As long as it involves work, I have complete command over the assistants they provide me with, though communicating with them can at times be very difficult. My captors saw to that.
My pain?
'You will finish this project today!'
I have no choice in what I am to create, discover, invent, just as I have no control over the established deadline. My captors are reasonable, and often give me ample time to complete their demands, but when I fail to comply with their expectations, they are not above torture. The only saving grace is the torture, either physical or mental, never involves harming my children.
They cut my tongue in half once, shortly after they brought me here. Punishment for a failed escape attempt. Now their punishments take on a less noticeable form. They know how to torture someone without visibly harming the body or irreversibly damaging the mind. They try hard to never let me forget that they are powerful and deadly and I am powerless and weak against them.
*****
Blind and submissive I am led by the arm down the familiar hall. Thirty steps, turn right, fifty steps, into the elevator, 51.42 seconds down, two steps out, turn right, fourteen steps, turn left, twenty-three steps turn right, into the second elevator, 4.5 minutes down, 5 steps forward to the transport car, (a hydro fueled creation of my own devise), 1minute 3 seconds ride to a third elevator, 2 minutes down, then 15 steps to my 'work'.
*****
My guard never once lets go of my arm until I am within the locked labs. His shift ends here and a new guard takes his place.
This guard smells of some sort of cheep cologne. I recognize him as one of the main guards. Out of all of my guards, he is my favourite. In fact, I must admit to liking him. He doesn't favour his cattle prod like the rest. In fact, he uses his sparingly.
Silently he pulls the blindfold from my face before unlocking my chains. As usual, his dark face is unreadable. He studies me for a moment then leads me towards the restroom. Just part of my morning ritual. Lavatory first, where I can use the facilities to eliminate waste and attend to personal grooming, then off to the lab cafeteria where I am fed breakfast, a puréed protein drink and a hot cup of coffee.
Since the tongue incident, I don't eat much solid food. The food is not the greatest, but it is better than being strapped down and force-fed through an IV. I found that out the hard way. At least the coffee is good.
*****
When I am finished defecating, I find an electric shaver waiting for me on the counter above the sink. I look at the reflection in the mirror. Sickly pale skin and golden brown eyes stare back at me. My black hair spikes in its defiant manner and I am again reminded of my son. He inherited my looks, and although I have never met their mother outside of videotapes of my children's births, (they impregnated her thru artificial insemination with my extracted semen), I know that my daughter has inherited her mother's looks.
Yes, they allowed me to watch the birth of my children. I was even allowed to see them on a regular basis until Gaz turned two.
They are nine months apart. The sick bastards barely give their poor mother a chance to recover from childbirth before forcing her into another pregnancy. Their mother died giving birth to Gaz. I watched as the doctors blotched the caesarian. I wept for nearly one week for this woman I never met, the mother of my children. I don't even know her name. I am convinced now that her death was a blessing in disguise. They would have probably force yet another child upon her as soon as they could. I am surprised there hasn't been another female to take her place. Surprised and thankful. I have heard rumors however. I cannot begin to tell you how much that frightens me.
The fact that Gaz survived the wretched birth is astounding. By all rights she should have been dead, or at least suffered from brain damage, yet she has surpassed even her genius brother in testing. Undoubtedly she will be a formidable force to recon with when they come to 'harvest' her.
Harvest.
Heh!
That's what they call this. When they take an unsuspecting soul and subject them to indignities none should be forced to endure.
My guard taps his foot on the ground, an indication he wishes for me to hurry. I comply.
Within mere moments I am clean-shaven and ready to start the day.
Silently he leads me to the cafeteria. Together we sit at one of the small tables. The cafeteria is the only place where my guards are allowed to sit with me, and this is the only guard who does. Together we sit in silence and drink coffee. I suppose that is another reason why I like him more than the rest. He is not afraid to sit and have coffee with me. He treats me like I'm human.
Neither of us talk, I for a more noticeable reason, and him, well, he never has been one for words.
Although he does no more than drink his coffee as I consume my morning meal, it is a time I relish. It is at these times when I can pretend to have a normal life. I can pretend I am at a restraunte with a friend, a silent one, but a friend nonetheless. Perhaps this guard is the only friend I have.
*****
A/N: Atrocious, ain't it?