"What the hell!" B'Elanna exclaimed, gripping the edge of the table so hard I feared she might actually break a piece off. Tom stared, transfixed by some of the white and pink brain matter that still lie scattered across the floor while poor Harry looked like he was going to be sick. Everyone else was focused on the host, who had put the gun back into his waistband and now sat back down at the table, adjusting his suit jacket.
"If it has not been made clear to you already, you may not leave until we are finished playing." He calmly stated as if nothing had transpired. I realized now that we were in much more danger than I'd anticipated; this wasn't just a madman, this was a sociopath. Who clearly had no regard for our lives, or even the cleanliness of his establishment. If we wanted to make it out alive, we would have to be more careful, more cunning. Mourn the loss of Neelix later, save our own lives now. The only way to do this was, apparently, to just play the 'game'. "Now. I'll give you each thirty seconds to make a decision. No more, no less. Mr. Paris, would you rather shock yourself or Seven of Nine?" The pilot wrenched his gaze away from the floor and looked at the occupant sitting across from him.
"Myself." Almost immediately, little to no thought given. Tom sat up a little straighter, eyes squeezed shut, before suddenly the helmet audibly buzzed to life and the shock was delivered. The pilot took it with as much grace as he could muster, letting out no sound but breathing heavily afterwards. Thankfully, he looked relatively unharmed. It was just a shock, even if it were painful. There were worse things. Getting shot, for example.
"Next one." The headpiece was removed from Tom and twisted around B'Elanna's head instead. "Seven of Nine, would you rather shock yourself or Ms. Torres?"
"Lieutenant Torres." As I'd expected, Seven also made her decision quickly.
"Seven!" B'Elanna hissed, glaring at the ex-Borg. I had assumed that we'd all just take it ourselves and not get messy here, but clearly Seven did not share the same sentiment.
"It is a game." Little remorse in Seven's voice. "You will survive." That was a little cold and uncalled for. I glared at her from across the table, but the astrometrics officer averted my gaze. B'Elanna was shocked and then the game continued. Tuvok allowed B'Elanna to pass on the punishment to him, as he didn't want her to have to do two in a row. When it came time to decide between him and Harry, Tuvok chose to take the shock again. Externally, there was no sign that he'd been hurt, but I knew that he wasn't as unaffected by pain as we all liked to pretend.
"Are you ok, Tuvok?" Chakotay asked, to which the Vulcan gave a small nod. Harry also decided to shock himself, but he was very visibly shaken by it, resting his head on the table afterwards as he composed himself. Chakotay's turn. I felt the panic rising up in my chest as the helmet was secured over me; it made it all feel so very real. I would have sworn that it tingled already, that the volts were slowly seeping into my brain. "Don't worry, I'm not going to shock you." He mumbled, a promise to which he carried out on. I planned on taking the damage as well; everyone else had made it through, so why should I? But even still, I couldn't help but feel uneasy about it.
"Ms. Janeway," I could hear the grin in the host's voice without even looking. The sick bastard liked this. He was actually enjoying this. What kind of culture was this? "Would you rather shock yourself or Mr. Paris?"
"Shock me." Tom urged, the moment the host had finished talking. "I can take it."
"No!" I wanted to shock him, I really did. It was that survival instinct telling me to preserve my own safety. But I couldn't hurt a member of my own crew. Especially not after he'd taken the punishment once already.
"Listen to him, Kathryn." Chakotay nudged me. "We need you in good health." Me? Why me? Sure I was the Captain, but that didn't make me any more important or valuable than anyone else at the table. I was torn; which strategy was better to follow? Keep the group equally weak or protect the individuals with a better chance at surviving?
"Ten seconds." The man at the end of the table warned. I didn't want to know what happened if a decision was not met by the time limit. Neelix's fate was certainly not something I wished to experience. I closed my eyes, trying to listen to that inner voice. But it wasn't there. There was no easy decision. "Five." Alright, Jesus.
"Tom." I blurted out. I immediately regretted my decision, but it was too late. The shocks were delivered. He slumped in his seat as the helmet was removed. "Hey." I squeezed his arm lightly, trying to elicit a response.
"I'm good." He groaned, slowly sitting up. I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, but I still felt guilty. I could have prevented his pain.
"Alright, let's have a short recess." The host stood then and summoned his assistants, who removed the machine from the room. "Just relax; we'll continue on with the next round in a second." We'd all survived, but something told me it was only going to get worse from here.
"This is sick." A voice to my left. I was mildly surprised and horrified to find that it'd been Harry. "Why are you doing this?"
"Why not?" The alien man shrugged, "You want something from me, so why not take something from you as well? It's all in good fun, don't take it personally."
"We would have traded with you." The ensign continued. "You're sick!"
"Harry." I warned, not wanting his head to be blown off like the last 'guest' who tried to go against the host. The man simply waved it off, smiling. He left the room momentarily, leaving us mostly to ourselves. Assistants were putting down clear plastic on the floor, evidently not wanting to ruin more of the beautiful hardwood. At least he had priorities, even if they were in the wrong order. "Just stay strong," I tried to encourage, wanting to coach them through the game but having no idea how. "We can get through this, we just have to play as a team. You hear me? A team." This time, Seven caught my implications.
"There's no evidence to suggest this is a team-based game." She reasoned, "Our chances of survival might be greater if we played as individuals."
"The rest of us are going to make it out of here. Together." I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt. "Are any of you seriously hurt?" Next to me, Tom was shaking slightly. He was probably the worst-looking at the moment, but he'd be alright. Nobody answered my query, which was slightly reassuring. In a few minutes, the host returned carrying two items: an icepick and a long, stiff, leather whip-like rod.
"This is going to be an amusing one." The host grinned, handing me the objects before heading back to his own seat. "I think you all have a pretty good grasp of the rules by now. You'll have forty-five seconds to make your decision this round." An unpleasantly long pause, in which he made awkwardly long eye contact with each remaining player. "Kathryn, would you rather stab Chakotay in the leg with an icepick, or whip Harry three times?" I was momentarily stunned by the mere shock factor of my choices. Neither!
"Choosing to stab is potentially more lethal." Tuvok quickly came to my aid, advising me of the risks. He was right of course; there were major blood pathways in the thighs and if I struck in the wrong place, Chakotay would die for sure. Harry, on the other hand, would probably survive a couple of lashes. Maybe the decision wasn't as hard as I'd anticipated.
"I'll take the whip." God, I couldn't believe I was doing this. The host had Harry sit sideways on the chair so that the back of his uniform was fully exposed and then had me come stand right behind him. He instructed me not to go easy, or else I would be forced to hit Harry even more times. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." How could I be a captain after this?
"It's fine." Harry tried to smile, tried to be brave. "Just get it over with." I closed my eyes, raised back the arm with the whip, and then brought it down as hard as I could bring myself to. The host accepted the blow, but informed me that I'd better go a little harder or else we'd have to restart. So I gave him the two other hits, trying to ignore the way that he flinched and whimpered with pain every time the rod came down against his back. I quickly and quietly returned to my seat, a little worried that I might vomit. It was alright, I tried to tell myself. Harry would be fine. There was nothing that the Doctor couldn't fix, as long as we all made it back to the ship.
"Good." The host continued on, "Chakotay, would you rather stab Harry with an icepick, or whip him three times?"
"Now wait just a minute," Chakotay frowned, "How is that fair? Shouldn't the whip punishment move on to Tuvok?" No answer, "But Harry just had it!"
"It's fine, Commander." The ensign coughed, "I'd rather have the whip." There was nothing else to do. Now that I could see Harry's face, I felt even worse. He had bitten his lip so hard to prevent himself from screaming that blood had started to trail out the corner of his mouth, eyes tearing up and starting to go out of focus. But he'd survived. Harry crossed his arms on the table, resting his head face-down on them.
"This is where things start to get interesting. Harry: would you rather stab Tuvok with an icepick or have Chakotay whip you three more times?" Shock from around the table. Is this how the entire round would go on?
"I can take it." The brave little ensign croaked, voice only over a whisper. Yes he could take it, but for how much longer? It was then that I realized that it must be some sort of twisted punishment for Harry speaking out against the game right before the 'recess'. Vile. Just evil, plain and simple. Chakotay took his uniform jacket off so that Harry could have something the bite down on, and to soak up some of the blood. After the blows were delivered, Harry sat slumped against the table, alive but mostly unresponsive. There were streaks of wet blood on the whip now. I couldn't see Harry's back, but I really didn't want to; it must have been a mess by that point. I wished I could reach over and comfort the ensign, do anything to ease any of the pain.
"Tuvok, would you rather stab B'Elanna with an icepick or whip Harry three times?" An even more impossible question than it had been previously.
"I don't know if he can take much more of that." B'Elanna was staring at the ensign, her friend. Tuvok apparently agreed because he ultimately decided to go ahead and stab the engineer. However, the moment the blade penetrated her skin, blood began to spurt from the wound. It became very clear to us that the Vulcan had not studied up on his half-Human half-Klingon anatomy (as if either of the halves would have been easy in themselves). "Holy fucking shit! Tuvok!" The Vulcan merely stared at the wound, in a sort of panicked stupor.
"B'Elanna!" Tom quickly tore off his jacket and tossed it at Seven. "Here, tie it around her leg! Tightly! It'll slow the blood!" The ex-Borg quickly did as she was told, although it did little to ease the flow. "Oh god!" My thoughts exactly. He quickly stood up, probably intending on running around to the other side to be with the engineer. The alien man pounded his fist on the table once, scaring Tom into sitting back down. "But she's my-"
"Enough of that, we must continue the game." The host ushered for the tools to be put into B'Elanna's rapidly paling hands. She was tough, but was starting to look a little woozy from both the blood loss and the shock. "Ms. Torres, would you rather stab Seven of Nine with an icepick or whip Harry three times?"
"I'm stabbing Seven!" B'Elanna wasted little time making her decision and then thrusting the blade into the astrometrics officer's thigh. It was no secret that the two women weren't exactly on close terms, but still… it should've been a bit more difficult for her. Then again, Harry was barely conscious and Seven had shocked B'Elanna in the previous round. The engineer got lucky and the icepick went in clean, drawing little blood. Of course Seven's nanoprobes would be able to heal the wound much quicker than if the injury had been inflicted on a regular human. Seven also chose to stab Tom. Her accuracy was uncanny and it did little to no damage to the pilot… well, considering what it could have been, at least. A stab was a stab, but he wasn't going to bleed out anytime soon. And then it was the last turn.
"Mr. Paris, would you rather stab Captain Janeway with an icepick or whip Mr. Kim three times?" A devilish grin wound up the host's face as if he already knew what Tom was going to pick. I had a sickening feeling that even I knew what he was going to pick. The pilot looked helplessly down at the tools in front of him, indecisive. Like the last round, the clock wound down.
"Harry's not going to make it anyways." He reasoned, picking up the whip. "Captain, you're still healthy. Somebody has to make it back." Oh god, this was horrible. Tom slowly stood, solemnly dragging himself over to where Harry sat slumped. The ensign didn't sit up; I wasn't even sure if he was awake at this point. Tom delivered the blows, after which Harry fell out of the chair and onto the floor with a heavy thud. One of the assistants stepped forward, fingers digging into Harry's neck and proclaimed the ensign to be dead. Gasps around the table, though we'd all seen in coming. Tom dropped the weapon on the floor and returned to his spot. I saw a few tears escape his eyes. Forced to murder his best friend while his lover sat dying on the other side of the table. Really, she was practically dead; she'd already lost consciousness, propped up only by the support that Tuvok was offering. We all had it bad, but out of the living, Tom had it the worst.
"Let's take another break." The host stood up and left the room without any further interaction. Both Harry and B'Elanna were removed from the room. How much longer could we hold out against this madman?