Page 6 of Craze

Sevrin: Grab the scalpel.

I ignore him as the data loads, then I blink and absorb the information I glean from their ship, the controls beside me, and every machine connected within our vessel, Ravenger III. Any lab-level security clearance data on the ship becomes accessible. I just have to watch it scroll in my eyes and memorize the tidbits I can. I’m not sure he knows how much I can see when theyconnect me. It’s overwhelming and too much to process, but I know it might be my only thread of pull if someday I get myself in a worse situation.

The energy hums through me like I could control it all with a single thought. I’ve tried before. I can open a door, but the moment I disconnect from the chair, I lose my link.

Sevrin: Fucking grab it!

His voice screams in my head. But I let it meld with the migraine so he won’t see any reaction on my face. I can’t give it away. I won’t. The Titans can talk to one another, and it’s the most precious of their skills. My father never let me forget it.

Sevrin taps on the screen beside my head.

Command: Grab the scalpel.

I can’t stop myself when I’m plugged in, and they send the command through the computer. My hand finds the tray with the scalpel that’s always beside my chair. I fear what he will make me do with it. I might have to stab myself in the leg or cut out my eyes. But the last he’ll have to partially unstrap me for such movement. And he won’t risk that.

Every time I show promise, I’m pushed for an upgrade and put through more tests. New torture for new advancements.

“If we ever want to install the technology in ourselves, we must work out the kinks,” Sevrin remarks to Rochir. “You should heed that, soldier. Don’t mix up your priorities.”

Sevrin’s hulking body nears mine. He’s filled with augmentations that light up and hum as he moves. I wonder if he sees the irony of becoming like his enemy, the CyberTitans, the ones his kind say are machines built to serve humans who they believe are far beneath them.

Kinks.That’s something Rochir has a lot of.

Rochir grumbles as he studies the screen. He must’ve seen my thought.

“Keep her in line each time you start her up.” Sevrin taps the screen beside my chair. A command fills my vision.

Command: Left hand punch nose.

Damn. But at least it’s not the hand with the scalpel in it.

I scrunch my face, preparing for the hit.

Sevrin gets off causing pain. Rochir prefers his cock be worshiped like a god. Sevrin has forced me to dislocate my own fingers, tear out my hair, cut shapes into my flesh, and burn myself with shockbatons. Rochir just uses us women to stroke his twiggy dick until his eyes roll back in his head.

Warm blood drains from my nose. My knuckles and face throb. I strangle a groan from the pulsing agony.

Rochir grimaces. He doesn’t like blood. He just likes control. “Stop breaking the toys before you give them to me.”

Sevrin crosses his arms and leans coolly on the doorframe between an autopsy salvage table and the rack on the wall filled with arms, legs, and other parts still tarnished with old blood.

I hate them both. But I don’t let myself think it, only know it. Just as they can talk to me, command me when I’m in this chair, I can talk to their screen. I don’t want to know if Sevrin can hear me through his chip.

Shock batons are not my favorite. When tapped to the temple, they can kill a human. And Sevrin’s causes exceptional burn scars.

“You need to work out why we can’t command her remotely, only through direct connections,” Sevrin states. “No dipping your wick tonight. I need answers for the Commanders. They’re waiting for an update on our telepathic network integration implants.”

“Perhaps I need to tenderize her.” Rochir grins and sends the command again.

As my fist nears my face, a squeezing sensation in my brain makes me cry out.

“Shut up!” Rochir draws his shockbaton, ignites the tip and points it at me.

“They’re what?” Sevrin taps his earcom and faces away from me. “Then turn us around, god damnit!”

The ship slows causing Rochir to sway. It’s just enough to jab the barbs into the side of my head.

Threads of blue lighting arc slowly in my eyes. My splay windows blaze in my vision and solidify into highly organized file frames and lists, readouts and idling targeting systems.

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