Disclaimer: The characters from Chronicles of Riddick are not owned by Keltic Rave. She is making no money or profit from this, it is intended for entertainment purposes only.
A/N I know this is a very short chapter, very short but it adds to the drama of the situation.
The life of Sirrah McCormic
Chapter 4
Fight or not?
The chamber was circular, dark, and very depressing. The air was heavy from past experiences like pain and hopelessness. The metallic taste of blood hung in the air, along with the bitter tang of fear and oddly enough the smell of sulfur was also present. All very odd since none of the robots that had exited the very room in which I stood had been injured. Not true Ashe, think, why didn't the last person leave this room, he could be buried underneath the floorboards. Or he could already be floating outside in the cold dark frozen space. Still thinking morbid thoughts, I look around the room. Other then the same architecture that decorates every bloody space in the ship there are four booths and a circular platform in the middle. All I know is that I don't want to stand on that space, don't want to know what powers the quasi dead have or learn what made them quasi dead in the first place.
A person enters the room, a stranger. Also one of the autonomic robots that populate the ship. Are they all like this? Are there no free thinking beings still living or does this conversion destroy everything that makes my people unique and human?
Do I want to convert? I am afraid, my entire life I have strived to be different. Not a sheep, not a lamb to the slaughter of fashion and trends. Differently thinking and proud, I am unique. Do I want to give that up? To live a half life, a life of damned subservance and utter banal existance only? To exist not even live life. Do I even have a choice?
The stranger walks up to me. He is larger than me, stronger. He grabs hold of my arm and pulls. My arms strain but it has the same effect as if trying to lift a hundred pounds of lead. Completely nothing and I don't have a choice but to move where he directs me. To the single platform the only place where every fiber of my being does not want to be. My heart slams in my chest and my pulse races, I can taste the metallic taste of fear on the top of my tongue. My breathing quickens and I can feel my pupils dilate. Don't want to be here. I think to myself, or more like my mind screams into the silence that surrounds my consciousness. I want to run, to scream and whimper and curl in a little corner. A silent screaming voice within is telling me that this will hurt, that I will most likely wish for death before the end. Shudders wrack my body, I can feel an energy gathering in the room gathering and pulsing and drawing into a whirlwind, one that I am in the center of.
The man slave, dressed in his white robe, and shaved head takes one more look at me and a voice speaks up. Hoarse from long term disuse. "The more you fight the worse the damage will be." He blinks one last time and turns and strides out of the room, white robes stark against the dark silver of ceiling and floor. His footsteps silent on the metal floor.
A moment of crystal clarity engulfs my mind. An epiphany races through my conciousness. Words echo through space and time. Do I have any choice? It comes to me silent, deadly and beautiful, telling secrets and revealing lies. For once in my life through all the suffering I know the answer to the question that whirls around in my head.
...Yes...
One beautiful word, it sighs, overflows and leaves peace in its wake, understanding crystal clear. I have a choice. I can live, endure the pain, endure the suffering and do things for a faith that will never be my own or I can give in, become what I most fear what I most hate what is the easiest choice should I choose to follow the path well taken. It is my choice and I make it now.