494 sat shivering, slumped against one of the walls. The concrete floor below him was even colder than the chilly air. He held his eyes closed and his palms pressed against the eyelids; desperately trying to shut the bright light out. It was a small room, no more than 3 x 3 yards. The only thing breaking the monotonous white walls was the barely visible chinks around the equally white door.
Isolation.
He wasn't sure but he thought it was the tenth day. He could no longer feel hunger or thirst; his whole body was numb, powerless.
The lights switched off and the room turned pitch-black. Gratefully he pulled his hands away from his face and hugged himself tightly, trying desperately to warm himself. He had slightly less than six minutes before the light would be turned on again and he'd have to close it out yet again. Six minutes, the optimal time to prevent a human being from sleeping. For not the first time he thanked whatever powers that existed that the technique hadn't been optimised for transgenics. It would probably have had better effect with a shorter interval since the X5's didn't need several minutes to get accustomed to the dark.
The silence was complete. The only thing he could hear was his own strained breath and the beating of his heart. Even the fans to the ventilation were placed so far away the sounds didn't reach him.
His mind drifted away, back in time as it always did when he got a few minutes of rest. Back to a time before the explosion. Back to before the torture, before the pain. Back to a time when he for the first time in his life felt alive.
Back to Rachel.
Images of her played over and over in his head. Small sequences of his time with her. The memories hurt him more than he thought was possible. But even the pain in his chest couldn't force the memories away. And he didn't want them to disappear.
Rachel smiling.
She had stunned him when they first met. She had been so alive, so unconcerned and happy. Being born and raised within the walls of Manticore he was completely overwhelmed by the human mentality. He'd read about it of course, he'd studied hard and learned well. Still he felt like he knew nothing when he was faced with reality.
She had met him with a smile, a smile that had hardly left her beautiful face as long as he'd known her. She didn't care about the dirt, the poverty or the diseases. She was happy when she played the piano, happy when she was with her family, happy to be alive. That was one of the first things he'd realised after meeting her. He'd never really been alive, he lived, but he wasn't alive.
Rachel laughing.
She had shown him what it was to be human, shown him how to feel. He had learned how to laugh, how to smile. Things he had never known before. Manticore had done their best to kill all emotions in their soldiers and he had been one of the best, maybe the best.
But then he met her.
Totally inexperienced in dealing with emotions she had hit him like a ton of bricks, crashing right into his heart and refusing to let go.
Rachel talking with him.
She had shown him how much more complicated life was, how much more there was to life than Manticore had told him. She hadn't seen him as a tool, as a possession. Of course she hadn't known what he really was but she hadn't cared. She had made him realise that he could have a real life, his own life.
I love you Simon.
Pain shot through his heart as the memories assaulted him. Some time during their time together, Simon Lehane had ceased to exist. The part of 494 that now was alive, the human deep within him, had taken over. She had loved him… and he was sure he loved her too, even though no one had ever explained what love was or how it was supposed to feel. He had known it instinctively. She had shown him things he didn't even know existed.
He had tried to protest when Sandoval had told him to eliminate Robert Berrisford and his daughter Rachel. Tried to make it look like the correct tactical decision. She was unnecessary collateral damage he'd said, but they had wanted to make a point.
He should have tried harder. He should have fought them, resisted.
But he had failed, and she had paid the price. Subconsciously he knew he had paid too, and would do so even more. But he didn't care.
It was all his fault.
The low sound of pouring liquid brought him out of his memories and he hurried over to the corner where the water would appear. He crept over the floor as fast as his weakened body could move, only the faintest trace of his natural grace in his movements. He tilted his head and opened his mouth, waiting for the water to pour out from the pipe, trying to catch every single drop. He smelled the water the second before it appeared and held his head in place. It was a safety routine he had established after the first time he got some sour liquid. The first time had been a few days after he was placed in the cell, a few days to numb his reactions and make him feel safe. Make him trust that the water would be there. He hadn't done that mistake again but he still had the taste on his tongue, even though it had been several days. It wasn't much water, never enough to quench his thirst. Now he would have at least 3 hours before he would get a chance to catch his next mouthful.
Everything in the isolation cell was designed to wear you down. From the constant changes between total darkness and bright painful light. From the total lack of sound to the ever changing times when water was issued. The combination of the changing lights and the fear of missing the water, necessary to stay alive, a single time made sleep something almost impossible.
They tried to take his mind, his soul. He knew he wasn't supposed to have one, but he did. He knew that now. He had a soul just like every other human being. They tried to steal Rachel from him. Make him into the thinking drone he was before he met her.
He knew he had to get out from isolation soon. He had already been weak from months of torture when they had thrown him in there. And ten days without food and hardly any water was almost more than he could survive.
Could he do it? Could he shut down himself, the part of him that really was him, enough to pass the tests? If he showed any signs of remembering her he would go right back to re-indoctrination again. And he doubted he would survive that.
They had tried with torture, to make the pain for remembering worse than his own pain. They didn't know that was a fight they couldn't win. They had tried with drugs, tried to take his memory, to probe his brain, drill and dig into it and remove bits and pieces of what made him real. To remove her, remove Rachel.
But the memory of her was safe where they couldn't reach it.
In his heart.
He deserved to die for what he'd done, for what he did to her. But he didn't want to die. Holding on to the hope there was such a thing as a God and such a place as Heaven, he crept over to the door and hit it with a weak arm. Pleading to them to let him out. Death would be a salvation, something to look forward to. But being alive meant he would get a chance to redeem himself. Maybe, just maybe, he could earn his chance to see her again.
Holding on to that faint hope he let go as they pulled him out, finally giving in to the exhaustion. The last thing he saw was a vision of her angel-like face, surrounded by a halo of warm, yellow light. One day they would meet again.
His world went black.