Andrias felt disrespected.
Surely the… thing in front of him wasn't his punishment, but merely a sick joke the Core has decided to play on him.
Surely.
"Get in," Yunan's voice left no place to argue as she roughly pushed him in the direction of the cage.
Well, not a cage. A big hamster wheel. That would serve as his cage.
Truly a sick joke.
The Core looked upon him, no hint of amusement on its face, even as it stared deep into his very soul. Perhaps… Perhaps it would laugh when he got inside, then release him. Or well, not release him, probably put him into a proper cage. He kind of deserved that.
But at least he wouldn't be humiliated in… this.
"I said get in," the general repeated, shoving him one more time. From the sidelines Anne and Sasha watched, their eyes cold and unnervingly empty of all thoughts. They were watching him the same way a robot stared down its target. Awaiting his doom.
Very fair. He did deserve that.
With a sigh, he stepped into the wheel, noting how… outright dangerous the conception was. Unstable, shaky… with small gaps in the floor (or ceiling, depending on how you looked into it) that were no doubt a hazard.
The entrance shook as it was shut closed. Olivia walked up with a key and locked it. Oh.
"Walk," Core's voice was cold as it commanded him.
"Master—"
"I said walk." Pure unadulterated fear shot through him as the Core rose its voice, even if it belonged to a teenage tiny girl. Something cold and emotional made it terrifying. As if it wasn't just Core speaking… but Marcy too. But that would be impossible, wouldn't it? "Do I have to repeat myself?" Crap. He forced his legs to move through the waves of fear, at first slow, then picking up the peace.
"Is— Is this good, Master?"
"Faster."
"Y-Yes Master." He picked up the speed again, wondering if this 'walking' would turn into a jog. Did the Core want him to really run like a silly little pet inside that wheel? Would it feel sick satisfaction from seeing it? Would Yunan? Probably. Would Olivia? Even more. Would Anne? Would Sasha?
Would Marcy?
Well, it was no use thinking about the dead.
"Faster, pet. I want to see you running." Ah. Yeah, so his thought process was mostly correct.
"Yes, Master." His lungs struggled to take in air. There was not nearly enough oxygen getting through his skin, even after his armour got removed. Still, he picked up the peace, going from fast walk to a jog, and then into a faster one, hopefully that would suffice for running, because he could not conceivably go faster.
"That's alright. Keep it up." The Core turned its back to him, walking away at a brisk peace. The others stayed, watching him, for a few more seconds before following. It was only the fear of one of them coming back to watch him, that made him keep jogging. "Oh, by the way," His heart nearly stopped as the Core started speaking. "Marcy helped me design this thing. You might find it has some… libreral architectural choices." That made him freeze. Mercy helped… No, there was no way that girl was still alive— Or was there? Could she still be alive? Helping the Core in her own volition? "I hope you'll find it as fun as we do, Your Majesty."
With that the door closed, and Andreas' shoulders slumped in relief.
Relief that soon melted into horror, as he tried to slow down… and noticed that the wheel kept the same speed under his feet. What in the— He tried what he could think off, hitting the floor with his feet harder, hitting the walls of the cage, even managing to lift himself off for a few seconds by holding onto the crates, to see if the mechanism would stop if he wasn't standing on it.
But the wheel kept turning at the same speed. And he had no escape.
There was nothing to do but run, no way to get saved but wait until the Core thought he's had enough. So he ran, trying to keep his thoughts from spiraling, breathing evenly to attempt calming his struggling heart.
He was not made for exercise like that, and it was showing.
He couldn't tell time in any way, but after what he esteemed were several minutes, his legs began to grow tired. His muscles hurt, especially above his knees, on his thighs. The longer he kept running the more excruciating it felt.
But he couldn't stop.
The second thing that happened was his lungs slowly giving up on the task. He found himself coughing and then swallowing bigger gasps of air. They felt too big. His lungs ached. His heart ached too. His lungs ached more.
But he couldn't stop.
Then came the dizziness. He was probably getting dehydrated. No wonder, he was sweating so much, helplessly trying to cool off. It was a torture, his vision swimming, his legs not quite coordinating with his brain…
How long has he been running? Was it hours? Days? Or barely a few minutes? He couldn't tell. He couldn't think. He couldn't—
He slipped up.
His leg just… stopped for a second, cramping too hard to move. And then when he did move it it was too late. He fell forward, face first into the uneven floor he was running on just a second before.
It hurt.
And then it hurt more as the speed of the wheel persisted, making him roll with it, to the side and back down, to the side and back down, each repeat damaging him further. The uneven floor made a massacre of his drying skin, tearing and piercing it, getting to the layer of muscles that barely held on, tired and beaten up by repetitive falling.
His head hurt, he hit it so many times as he rolled there, tortured by a machine powered by his own legs. It hurt so much. Somehow, he was becoming even more dizzy, nauseous almost. But he couldn't throw up, not now, not when he was in a machine that couldn't be stopped. He couldn't allow himself to roll in his own stomach acid. Couldn't—
His clothes got stuck on the uneven surface of the wheel, and the turn took him up to the ceiling, before the cloth gave out, dropping him down at the hell trap.
It hurt. It hurt so much more, he was sure there was something broken, and his head—
Helpless tears rolled down his cheeks, as he tried to curl up, protecting his most delicate region. Just now it occured to him that it wasn't just a torture machine, it was also his personal gallow, guilotine, grave.
He'd die there.
The wheel turned mercilessly, damaging, damaging, damaging, breaking his bones, cracking his skin, knocking out his teeth.
And the last thing he saw before the final bump that would finish him, was the orange glow of the Core entering the room.
In that last second he didn't know what actually took him out, the repeated concussion
or the fear.