Title: Lost In Darkness
Authors: Sita/T'eyla
Genre: Angst/Drama
Rating: R
AN: Thanks to Daria, Luna, Drogna, Kool-Cat, Lowenove, Exploded Pen, fiona, ally and Rusty Armour for reviewing! Here's Chapter 2, please r&r!
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Chapter 2
When Trip first saw the Researchers, he knew what Malcolm had been talking about when he'd said they looked "scary". There were three of them, each one at least seven feet tall and all clad in the same pale blue laboratory coats, their faces concealed by some kind of mask or veil. The most unsettling thing about them, however, were their voices. They sounded somehow distorted, as if they were using some kind of electronic device to produce voice-like sounds.
When Trip was first brought into the interrogation room, none of them spoke to him, though, them being thoroughly occupied with comparing their notepadds, talking to each other in low voices. One of them gave the guard an absentminded wave of his hand, and he pushed Trip towards a chair that stood in the middle of the room. When Trip made no move to sit down, the guard gave him a hard shove and he lost his balance, plopping down onto the seat rather unceremoniously.
"Hey, take it easy, buddy!" Trip said indignantly. The guard's head snapped around, and although his features had that strange blankness to them, Trip thought he looked rather surprised.
He shrugged. "Well, no need to push me around like that, is there?"
The guard's eyes actually widened in astonishment, but then his face grew as indifferent as it had been before and he resumed his military stance beside the chair.
"Shut up, midget," he growled out of the corner of his mouth and Trip had the distinct impression that his voice sounded slightly amused.
Now, I don't think this is funny, Trip thought sourly, shifting on the rather uncomfortable seat of the chair.
None of the blue-clad ones had paid any attention to the short conversation, but now one of them turned around, looking at the guard who still stood at attention beside the chair.
"These observation logs are inadequate," he said, gesturing at a padd in his hand. "Next time I expect you to be more precise in your descriptions."
The guard drew himself up even straighter. "Yessir."
The man, who seemed to be some kind of supervisor, turned to the others who were still busy with their notepadds.
"Assistants, I suggest we begin the procedure," he said, and his two subordinates abandoned their padds at once, coming up beside him. With the three veiled figures looming over him, Trip felt nervousness build a knot in his guts, and the words left his mouth before he even had the chance to think about was he was saying.
"Well I don't think much of the way you treat your guests here."
He bit his tongue. For God's sake, keep your mouth shut, he thought. This isn't getting you anywhere.
Sure enough, a second later one of the assistants slapped him hard across the face.
"You are not to speak unless we ask you a question," said the supervisor, sounding like a bad imitation of Don Corleone with that raspy voice of his. Trip shook his head, trying to stop his brain from conjuring up these crazy associations.
"Okay, okay," he muttered without thinking, and a moment later his head snapped back as a fist connected with his cheekbone.
"You are not to speak unless we ask you a question."
Alright, alright, I got it, Trip thought, straightening up in his chair. He looked up at the supervisor, who was checking something on his padd. His cheek was throbbing painfully, and the longer the silence stretched, the supervisor going through his notes and the assistants standing motionless beside him, the more Trip felt his anxiety deepen.
Well, what now, he thought, feeling the urge to shout the words out loud. This was getting stranger every minute, and along with his growing nervousness Trip felt the desperate wish to talk, to ask questions that would help him understand what was going on. But he knew it would get him nowhere. Pressing his lips together to prevent himself from provoking them even further, he fixed the supervisor with a wary look, waiting for him to do or say something. The man took his time, however, scrolling through his padd, and Trip was already about to open his mouth again when he finally raised his head.
"Describe the feelings you are currently experiencing."
"Huh?" Trip said, not believing he'd heard him right. Without warning one of the assistants stepped forward, delivering a vicious blow to his stomach. Trip doubled over, pain wrenching his guts, and for a moment he thought he was going to be sick.
"Describe the feelings you are currently experiencing."
Slowly, Trip sat up, holding his stomach. He looked up at the supervisor who was scribbling something on his padd, his voice betraying no emotion whatsoever as he repeated the order.
"What..." He felt another wave of nausea, and swallowed hard to keep himself from throwing up. "What's this supposed to be? Some kind of sick psycho game?"
Fresh pain exploded in his face as the assistant hit him again. Trip felt his lip split and tasted blood on his tongue. The pain triggered a sudden fury in him and he jumped up from his chair, lunging at the assistant who took a quick step backwards. A moment later he felt the guard's hand on his arm, forcing him back down onto the chair.
"What's wrong with you people?" Trip shouted, trying to free himself from the guard's firm grip. "What do you want, anyway?"
"It's no use," the guard said. Trip startled when he heard his voice. The man hadn't spoken in a threatening tone of voice, like one would expect of a guard talking to a rebellious prisoner, but sounded almost regretful. Trip stopped wriggling and slumped back in his chair, realizing he was only wasting his energy, putting up a useless struggle. The guard was right; it was no use and would only serve to get him into even more trouble than he already was. The supervisor, who'd retreated hastily when Trip had gotten up, stepped forward again, his notepadd ready.
"Describe the feelings you are currently experiencing."
"Well, what d'ya think?" Trip spat, wiping blood off his chin. "I'm feelin' like rippin' your ugly head off and stuffin' it up your ass, if you really wanna know!"
The supervisor scribbled something on his padd, then looked back at Trip.
"Specify."
Trip stared at him for a moment, then felt a sarcastic grin tug at the corner of his mouth. "Well, I'd be happy to show ya," he said. A moment later the assistant drove a fist into his still aching stomach and Trip gave a strangled cry, doubling over on the chair. He felt bile rise up in his throat and started retching, his stomach clenching up painfully. A particularly nasty stab of pain seared through his midriff, and he threw up, bloody vomit spattering all over the clean white tiles of the floor.
From far away he heard the supervisor's voice again.
"Specify your statement."
Trip stayed as he was, his arms wrapped around his aching belly. The worst of the nausea had passed, but he knew that if he was to sit up, the pain would get much worse than it already was. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a movement and closed his eyes tightly, his body tensing as he waited for someone to grab him and yank him upward.
"Leave me alone," he whispered. "You can see how I'm feelin'. Why can't you leave me alone?"
He felt a hand grab him by the back of his shirt, forcing him to sit up again. It felt like someone had plunged a knife into his guts and was now twisting and turning it mercilessly. Tears of pain rose in his eyes, blurring his vision and when the assistant raised his arm again to deliver another blow, Trip couldn't even find the strength to try and duck away. The man's fist crashed into his already battered face and for a moment blackness ragged his vision, making him sway on his chair.
"You are being uncooperative," the supervisor stated. "Specify your statement."
As Trip saw the assistant step forward again, arm ready to strike, he knew he couldn't take another blow like that without passing out. And although in his current state he would have welcomed any kind of obliviousness to take him away from this place, he didn't want to give in to unconsciousness just now. Who knew what they would do to him if he wasn't able to answer their questions anymore? For answers - correct answers to their sick, twisted questions - seemed to be the only thing they reacted to. Slowly he raised his eyes, arms still protectively wrapped around his waist, and forced himself to open his mouth and speak.
"I'm... I'm feelin' angry, okay?" His voice sounded hoarse, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. "I'm angry, furious... whatever you want to call it."
The supervisor noted something on his padd, then looked up again.
"Do you feel threatened?"
Trip stared at the man, hating every single aspect of his person, from the harsh indifferent voice down to that ominous mask hiding his face. When he didn't answer immediately, the assistant came forward again, raising his hand.
"Yes!" Trip yelled, shaking with pain and fury, "yes, I do feel threatened, but I'd say you already know that, you sick asshole-"
The assistant backhanded him across the face, causing his lip to start bleeding again. Trip felt dizzyness and nausea clouding up his mind, and had to clench his teeth to stop himself from throwing up again.
"You will restrict your answers to the requested information." The supervisor tucked away his padd, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I advise you to be more cooperative in the future. You are wasting our time, and in the upcoming tests your cooperation will be of utmost importance."
Trip took a deep breath, trying to stop his hands from shaking. Don't provoke them, he thought, don't give them the satisfaction...
The supervisor gave the guard a wave of his hand, and Trip felt a hand on his arm, pulling him upwards. He stumbled to his feet and almost fell when another wave of dizzyness washed over him. The guard's grip on his arm tightened, and he was being pulled towards the door. The supervisor and his assistants didn't pay him the slightest attention anymore, again comparing their notes, probably discussing the results of their "questioning".
The door of the interrogation room closed behind them, and Trip found himself stumbling along the same dimly lit corridor they had passed before. The supervisor's last remark about "upcoming tests" still lingered in his mind. It sounded like nothing he would want to know about, but still there was the nagging question what exactly the supervisor might have meant by it. Aware of the fact that this was probably a very stupid thing to do, Trip cleared his throat, addressing the guard, who hadn't once looked at him since they'd left the room.
"What... what exactly are those tests they were talkin' about?"
The guard didn't turn his head. "What do you think?" he said. "They're tests. You'll see soon enough."
This statement certainly didn't lessen Trip's anxiousness in any way, but he decided not to ask further. On rather unsteady legs he followed the guard through the corridor and tried not to think of what was about to come, concentrating on the prospect of being able to rest soon.
TBC...
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