98

The Experiment

"There was the choice of death with its direst physical agonies, or death with its most hideous moral horrors. I had been reserved for the latter. By long suffering my nerves had been unstrung, until I trembled at the sound of my own voice, and had become in every respect a fitting subject for the species of torture which awaited me." – Edgar Allan Poe, "The Pit and the Pendulum"

There were several other interviews Sato Katsu had planned that day, but before moving on to the next he took the time to set something else up for Inoue Miyako. Earlier in the day – or rather, what in the human world and Digital World was day – the Dark Man had taken the time to introduce him to those Digimon gathered for the purpose of attending to the captured Chosen Children. Sato had a variety of escalating rigors planned for each of his prisoners, but Inoue was the first to which Sato would delegate his minions. It was only fitting. She was simple. She was, as the Dark Man had put it, "too easy," and for this reason she didn't interest Sato the way the others did. He would wait to deal personally with her.

He had wanted to see Yagami Hikari first. Her importance was greater than that of the others, from a symbolic standpoint. She was Light's avatar, and it was natural that the hatred of Sato and the other creatures of Darkness should center on her. But now Sato's first session with her was over, and his thoughts turned to the other Chosen Child he had been developing a special interest in.

Earlier, Sato had been going through the security recordings – perfectly lucid in spite of the pitch blackness of the cells – to watch and note each child's response upon waking up and realizing what had happened. He'd noticed something interesting about Takaishi Takeru's behavior. If there was any difference between Takaishi's awakening and those of the other Chosen Children, it was that his grief over the loss of his partner Digimon was even more demonstrative, more violent, than the others'. This was unexpected – after all, he had lost and regained Patamon before, and should have had a stronger grasp on the fact that a Digimon's death was not necessarily permanent. When Sato had made a remark to the Dark Man about it, the other gave a characteristic shrug.

"He's afraid," the Dark Man had said. "He may be more afraid than any of the others. Humans tend to soak up whatever bad experiences they have when they're young, and he was the youngest of them all at the time. So he's got scars, and they keep itching. The fear never left, he just learned how to cover it up better." The Dark Man had chuckled, and said in a low voice, as if to himself, "Then there's the hatred that not even he knows is hidden."

Sato ran that conversation through his head now, as he walked through the darkness of the hallway adjoining Takaishi's cell. He also thought back to the dreams that he and the boy had shared over the previous nights. His mental outline of the coming meeting rapidly began to flesh itself out.

It had taken a long time for Takeru to achieve the composure needed to explore his prison. For a while the loss of Patamon, like the recurrence of a terrible nightmare, had stripped him of everything but horrified grief. But after long minutes the shock of awakening wore off, and he had begun to notice his physical condition. His body hurt, though not with the same intensity as his heart. Besides the aches caused by lying on a hard stone floor, and the chafing of his wrists from the handcuffs, there were other physical pains.

The worst was probably in his right leg, where the Pipismon had made a number of cuts with the blade on its tail. He could just barely reach them, and shuddered a little at the feel of the crusted blood, possibly mixed with sand from the desert winds. One of his hands had also been cut, and the blade had cut as well through the fabric of one sleeve and into the skin of his arm. Thankfully all of the wounds seemed to be superficial, and he found that he could still walk, though with great discomfort. What he was more worried about was the status of his friends.

He was sure – mostly sure – that they were still alive, since he himself was. Why had they all been allowed to live? What use could they be to the enemy? Would they be used as part of a plot to ensnare his brother and the other older Chosen Children? It was possible, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was some other reason as well. What it might be he didn't know. The Chosen Children's previous enemies had focused on destroying rather than capturing them.

At least, with the exception of Pinocchimon. Takeru recalled the dream of the Dark Master's mansion – his introduction, as it were, to Sato Katsu. "Come on, Takaishi-san. Let's play." Pinocchimon's game had been a dangerous one, but there had still been a spirit of twisted fun behind it. Any game played with Sato would be deadly serious. Its possibilities made Takeru's skin crawl. Sato claimed to have no compunction against doing to humans what he had done to the Digimon in those cylinders, and Takeru believed him. The prospect of what Takeru himself would face was sickening enough. But that his friends were in the same position…

That was the thought that had brought him off the floor. He couldn't sit there feeling sorry for himself and Patamon when there was still a chance that he might be able to help them. He knew, of course, that escape was not at all likely. The room was pitch black, and any exit he did manage to find was sure to be blocked off. It occurred to him that there might also be traps in this place for him to stumble into. He couldn't come up with a reason for them, but he'd seen too much of his captors' inventive cruelty to rule out the possibility.

It was just as well that he couldn't walk with ease. A mixture of discomfort and caution kept his pace slow as he began to explore his prison. Even so, it didn't take long to get a general idea. Finding a wall with one foot and working his way along it, he decided that the room was roughly in the shape of a square, with no real variation in its smooth stone floor and walls. The handcuffs prevented him from being able to determine how high the ceiling was, and he didn't really care. Instead he was disturbed by the fact that, as far as he could tell, the room had no doors or windows. Had he missed them somehow? In his state of mind he hadn't been very methodical. Or had he not found them because they didn't exist? What if this wasn't a cell – but a tomb?

Despite the space around him, a crushing claustrophobia fell on him. He moved back to the wall, stiffly but quickly. He put his back to it and felt along it with his hands. Unbroken stone everywhere. He pushed against it in several places. Minutes passed, and panic built. Had he been around the whole room yet? He didn't know. He threw himself against an unyielding wall and staggered back, feeling sick and dizzy. The cuts, the fear, the grief, hunger, and thirst had left him weaker than he had realized. He sank to a sitting position and remained there, breathing heavily.

Minutes passed, then hours. How many he would never be certain. Life dissolved into a nightmare where time had little meaning. He had no clear memory afterwards of what went through his head and what he might have done in that lightless eternity. In this place there was no keeping track of tears, and wild guesses, and creeping fears, and stumbling steps in the dark.

The first appreciable change finally came when Takeru realized that he was able to see the walls and floor of the room. He wondered if his eyes were adjusting to the darkness, then rejected the idea. But he really could see again, which was strange, considering that there was no apparent light source. He twisted about to see what was behind him, and let out a groan. He had been right. There was no door.

Numb with horror, he turned back around… and saw that an entrance of some kind had formed out of what had been a blank stone wall. There was no door, only an aperture silently widening, revealing some other space hidden in the kind of deep darkness he had awoken in. Slowly Takeru began to get to his feet, and had managed to stand up again by the time Sato Katsu stepped forward out of the blackness.

Takeru recognized him immediately. The scene reminded him again of his dream, when Sato stood in the doorway at Pinocchimon's mansion. The build and stance of the man in front of him was the same, though this time his gaunt face was visible in the dimness that lingered within the room.

"You…" Takeru whispered, his voice sounding strange and breathless after the stress of his emotional ordeal.

"Yes, Takaishi-san," Sato answered. Already the arch he had come through was closing. Takeru knew that in his current state he had no chance of slipping through it, and soon all trace of the exit was gone again. "I'm glad to make your acquaintance in person."

"Where are my friends?" Takeru asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

"That's what I'm here to talk to you about," Sato replied. Takeru braced himself for what might come next, but his hopes and fears were disappointed when Sato continued, "First, however, I have a question for you."

Takeru didn't respond, only waited in doubt.

"What do you think has happened to your friends? If you had to guess, what do you think I have done with them?"

Takeru hesitated. He could tell from the look on Sato's face and the tone of his voice that the question wasn't a frivolous taunt. The man was serious. Takeru wasn't sure how to reply. His mind had been avoiding the subject without realizing it. And the longer he looked at Sato, the surer he became that he didn't want to know the answer.

"I… I don't know," he said.

"Then I'll give you more time to think," was Sato's frigid reply, as he began to turn back to the wall from which he had entered the room.

"Wait!" Takeru said. Sato's gaze returned to him. "Probably… they're in the same situation I'm in. I don't know why you're here, but… you'll go to them as well, or you've seen them already. Right?"

"And what situation do you hope that they're in?" Sato asked. Takeru did know the answer to that question.

"I hope they're safe. I hope they escaped somehow, and you can't hurt them anymore."

"You hope that's the case, but you know it isn't," Sato said. "Hope is foolish. Not only are your friends not safe now, but they have never been safe. I have always had the power to strike at the Chosen Children. I'll tell you why I'm here, Takaishi-san. I am here to help convince you of the stupidity of hope."

Takeru shook his head. "You'll never convince me of that," he said grimly.

"I think I've already come very close," Sato answered. "We've been watching you. Hope was your defining trait – at one time. But before long, you will be stripped of it entirely." There was a moment of silence before Sato continued. "I'll tell you what we've been doing to your friends. For the most part, we've been hurting them, very badly. I've been keeping a close watch on the proceedings. It's surprising how much they can take at their age."

"But then… why not me?" Takeru asked, an angry tremor in his voice. He wasn't sure that Sato was telling the truth… but then, what reason could he give for doubting? It certainly was something Sato and his group were capable of. Did he not quite believe because he didn't want to believe? Was that hope? A trembling that was not of anger passed through him. Sato had a manner that convinced. His statements were cold, emotionless, mechanical. They were a suitable vehicle for terrible truths.

"Call it an experiment," Sato said. In the next moment his impersonal manner abruptly dropped from him. He strode forward until he stood over Takeru, who took a step backwards in surprise. Sato's face seemed to darken, and his colorless eyes burned. "I am going to break you," he said in a vicious whisper. "All of you. All twelve. And in the process I am going to see how long it takes to reveal the emptiness of those Crests you carry."

Having said it, Sato's fury ebbed out of his expression. "You see, Takaishi-san, there's no need to do to you what is being done to them. Your thoughts of your friends will be torture enough."

Takeru steadied himself. He tried to think of a reply, but all he could come up with was, "What if I don't believe you?"

"That's part of the experiment," Sato said. "The possibility of what you don't want to believe will be enough. I've seen enough of your mind to know that. That last dream was very instructive."

"How? How do you do it? And who are you working for?" Takeru demanded, grasping at a new subject. He wanted to keep the memory of that dream away from him, but it wasn't easy with the cold metal handcuffs reminding him of the nightmare keychain.

"Anything is possible through the power of a god," Sato answered with great solemnity. "Perhaps you have heard my master's name, and it meant nothing to you. But it will."

"It's… Dagomon, isn't it?" Takeru said. Sato nodded. "But… why? Even his servants wanted Hikari-chan's help to overthrow him."

Sato gave him a long look. Then slowly the expression that passed for a smile spread over his face. "Is that what she told you?" he said. "You've been misinformed. The Deep Ones have a very different use in mind…" His smile hardened as he remembered what he'd found among Takeru's emotions. "…for Hikari-chan."

"Don't call her that!" Takeru snapped, his anger rising again to the forefront.

"I'll call her what I want. For the moment, she is mine." Takeru could only glare as Sato continued. "She at least will be left relatively intact. I wouldn't want to ruin her for them."

"You—" Takeru stammered, choking on his anger. "Hurting people like this. It's – It's disgusting! You can't—"

His sentence was cut off as Sato lunged forward and seized him by the throat, lifting him entirely off the ground.

"Are you feeling left out, Takaishi-san?" Sato asked. Takeru couldn't respond. His feet kicked as he fought for air, unable to raise his cuffed hands to support himself. "Don't worry. You will share the fate of all the others eventually."

Sato let go, and in spite of his lack of breath Takeru cried out at the pain in his lacerated leg as his feet hit the floor. He tottered and fell. I won't cry, he urged himself, though he felt tears of pain and awful emotion forming in the corners of his eyes. Slowly, painfully, he got to his feet as Sato continued.

"I may let you see them again, before the end, to see the results of our work. Your brother too, once we've had a chance at him. You can hope for that, if you dare to."

"No," Takeru said between deep breaths. "He and the others will find a way to stop you."

"When they can't even enter the Digital World?"

"They'll find a way," Takeru said, drawing back up to his full height.

"That is the trap of hope," Sato answered softly. One of his arms moved without warning, the back of his fist whipped across Takeru's face. As Takeru reeled Sato's knee was thrust into his stomach, and again he fell. "You think that there is always a way," Sato continued, his voice still calm. "But I am here to teach you, Takaishi-san, that there is not."

On his back, dizzy from the blows, Takeru tried to recover, but Sato stamped one foot on his wounded leg, and the boy screamed.

"There," said Sato. "Now you have some small idea of what Hida Iori, and Yagami Hikari, and all the others are feeling." He walked halfway around the body and gave Takeru a swift kick in the ribs, knocking the air out of him. "That's enough for now. I have to attend to your friends, and see that the torture is on schedule."

Takeru groaned and coughed as Sato started to walk away.

"What's that? I couldn't make it out," Sato said, stopping to look back.

Takeru had rolled half onto his side. He coughed again, and took a ragged breath. "…I'll kill you," he whispered. Sato only smiled, and walked out of the room.

Takeru fell back on the floor, exhausted. He wanted to get up, run to the wall, pound on the concealed door… but knew it would be no use. He'd felt this before, this helplessness. Twice now he had been unable to save Patamon from death. Now he was equally powerless to save Hikari-chan and the others from something much worse.