The slot on the underside of the cell door clicked open, and a tray stacked with several plastic tubes was pushed through. Even before it had closed, D-9 had already lifted the first one to his chest cavity, shivering as the nutrient gel began to course through his veins. Hunger had become a critical part of his routine, and without his thrice-weekly cocktail of stimulants he had had to develop his own exercise routine in order to silence the muscle atrophy alarms in his head.
D-9 reached down, touching his toes before swinging his arms up to the ceiling, feeling the joints in his back crackle with the unfamiliar motion. His arm still twinged painfully from time to time, but the fibres in his arm seemed to have almost completely healed the broken bone.
D-9 leaned back against his cell door, pausing to catch his breath. Around him, Kraken Base hummed. His accommodation had no windows, but by counting his meals and listening to the rhythms of the Resistance personnel he reckoned that it was already after dark. Usually, he was let out at least twice a day, to pace up and down in the dusky half-light, but today he had been denied the opportunity. He had heard the guards talking outside. Combine aircraft, on the move nearby. Looking for something.
Night time was uncharted territory for D-9. Transhumans dosed up on Stim only ever required twelve hours or so of sleep at the end of every week, hooked up to a memory replacement device to keep them mentally pure. D-9 had not used Stim, or seen a machine, for two weeks now. Now he required sleep, and with sleep came dreams, or in most cases, nightmares.
It was in times like these that the Overwatch soldier thought again of those first few uninhibited moments of freedom. Pain, fatigue, fear. Feelings that he was still coming to terms with.
But why? Why had he not died? The people who had examined him spoke of other captives who had died within days, yet here he was, suffering only the mildest withdrawal symptoms.
He did not know how long he sat there, slumped against the door, feeling his pale, naked head resting on his bare chest, ruminating about his experience. The guards outside left at some point, as their radio had fallen silent. Soon, the familiar hum of the base faded away into nothing.
D-9 did not notice it at first. A subtle shift in the temperature of the room, as if the Arctic winds had begun to seep in under the doorjam. Then he heard it. Breathing, deep and unhurried, unlike his own faint mechanical wheezing. Slowly, he looked up, and began to wonder whether the nightmares had already begun.
A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this has taken me so long, I've been busy with school. For those who have PMd me about the state of this fiction, I may be making occasional changes to earlier parts of the story, but anything major will cause me to end this particular "act" of Malefactors and possibly continue on in a new story. Anyway, hope you haven't forgotten where you were up to, and enjoy!