"Why am I here?" I called to the darkness in front of me. The overhead light cast the rest of the room in shadow. But I knew the man was there. He waited patiently, questions ready.
"We care for your wellbeing, Lieutenant Maar."
I flinched at the rank. My head lolled from side to side as I tried to shake the feelings away. Moaning and mumbling, I could feel my spit leaking from my mouth as their drugs were pumped into me.
You resist. But you will fail. It is inevitable.
"Bullshit," I managed to get out.
"Tell us about the voices, Lieutenant Maar." The man ignored me.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
"The Voice," I start despite myself. "It calls to me. I can almost feel it. It snakes and winds and slithers; it burrows its way into my mind." I couldn't stop myself and I heard the creaking of my captor's chair as he leaned forward, waiting for me to continue; his curiosity piqued.
I started to sob. I hadn't slept in so long. Days, weeks felt drawn out like months and years. I couldn't tell anymore. Time stretched and looped, the séances merging, yet remained separate and distinct as if endlessly repeating. I felt myself begin to hyperventilate as memories of previous questionings invaded the forefront of my mind.
"The Voice. It won't let me sleep," I got between two labored breaths, my voice cracked.
"What does it say?"
We have no beginning. We have no end. We are Infinite. Millions of years after your civilization has been eradicated and forgotten, we will endure.
Shaking my head from side to side, I fight. A pathetic whimper escaped my throat. "Please," I pleaded.
The man leaned back in his chair, disappointed. He let out a soft sigh before I heard the chair legs scraping the floor as he stood up.
"We'll try again tomorrow, then."
"No, no, no!" I begged, panicked. Two arms lifted me by the underarms and my legs dangled uselessly beneath me as they dragged me away. "No!" I screamed. I fought them every step of the way as they dragged me through the facility. They never said anything, just beat me whenever I got too feisty. But it wouldn't stop me. I didn't want to go back. It just meant that I'd start over again. And again. And again...
With a solid punch to my defenseless midriff, they knocked the wind and fight out of me. Gagging and gasping for breath, they threw me back in my cell. They unfastened the restraints on my arms and left me to rot. More time passed; hours, days, weeks—I didn't know. I didn't care. I was here forever. And then my mind went blank.
I remembered digging. It was painful, but necessary. No more. They came, then. I didn't see them; the lights were out. They wrapped me forcefully in cloth and gauze and a jacket. And I couldn't hear them, either. I felt peace.
You have only delayed the inevitable. We do not die.
The Voice spoke anyway. In this new Hell, I thrashed, screamed and cried. It kept speaking and trilling. All in my head. That was the problem. I managed to feel about the room. The walls were near. And I hit it as hard as I could. My head was the problem. If I could get rid of it like my eyes and my ears. I would have peace!
By the time they reached me again, I had bled all over my clothes, the walls. But not just blood, but words. How they oozed from my wounds; festered, seeped, and wept. And I tried, and tried and tried so hard. But the Voice was in my head. It is real.
They gave me more drugs and more restraints.
I rested now against the padded walls, and I pulled my knees close and buried my ruined face in them. I rocked, and rocked and rocked. The Voice sang, then. The notes struck a chord, deep, deep, deep inside. And I found it! PEACE.
The men came back. The Voice said they would. It knew. And I knew. And they knew.
"He's useless now," one said.
"Not yet," I pictured someone stopped in front of me, kneeling, and the chimes of metal hitting metal made me speak up.
"No! No chains, no needles, no drugs! No! No more! The Voice! The Voice hates them! Let me out! Let me out!" The jingling continued. And I looked up with my sightless eyes, and saw for the first time again.
My jailer's own eyes were bright and should have been blinding. The blazing form reached out a hand and caressed my cheek. I was transfixed as his mouth widened in blazing gape:
"We are the Harbinger of your destiny."
"My God..." I pleaded. "No more, no more..."
"There is no war. There is only the Harvest."
The Voice wasn't in my head. It had sat in shadows of that room, and was with me all along. I began rocking again, and lowered my head.
"No," I drawled, "No, no, no!"
I felt a single finger lifted my chin and forced me to look into the inferno again.
"What does the Voice say now, Lieutenant Maar?"
I broke. In a familiar Voice, not my own:
"The Cycle will continue."
