Page 36 of Torn from the Alien Commander

Enlightenment

The collar shifts backto orange, loosening my muscles, allowing me to breathe normally as the mind-numbing agony lifts. It feels strange without the pain now, filling me with an unusual sense of lightness, like I’m floating, lost without my anchor of intense suffering.

“Where do these masks come from?” The fragile one asks, waving my warvisor against the window. “The Scythians? It’s obvious you beasts lack the capacity for such technology.”

“The Gods.” I smirk at him, enjoying the look of exasperation on his face.

“The Gods,” the fragile one repeats, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Such nonsense! The beasts all say the same thing.Perhaps they have a leader caste we’ve yet to encounter?” he deliberates, looking towards his leader.

“Unlikely, they operate simple clan structures with the Fallen as their masters,” the soulless one replies, glancing towards my warvisor. “And those devices surpass even their ability.”

The fragile one turns to me with anger, his soft, round face twisting. “What is the secret of its stealth ability? How do you communicate over such vast distances, immune to countermeasures? How do the sensors function? Tell me, I demand to know!”

Our blessed warvisors, the envy of the known universe, none have figured out its secrets partly due to our noble Seekers’ sacred duty to return all lost ones, no matter the cost. The fragile one’s questions hang heavy in the air, his greedy Nebian thirst for knowledge written in his desperate glare. But there are no answers, only more questions.

“Each one’s a blessing from the Gods,” I intone, locking eyes on his stunned visage. My collar glows red again, scorching pain tears my gaze away, jolting me stiff as arcweave as the familiar waves of agony course through me.

The fragile one stalks closer to the window, impotent fury twisting his chubby face, making him appear comical. “You think you’re so clever, hiding behind your masks? But we Nebians have already surpassed it with our NeuroLink. We too can interface directly with each other and even with our technology,” he states in a hurried jumble of heated words. “A step beyond your masks, our ingenuity knows no bounds!”

My collar shifts to blissful orange, the secret to its automatic changing now obvious, yet the Nebian’s revelation leaves me stunned. “You’ve networked your minds? You are voiding fools to do such a thing,” I declare, overwhelmed with disbelief. “The Scythians are experts on cyber-organic integration. They will breach your network, then your minds.”

“Silence beast! You speak on matters your primitive brain cannot comprehend,” the fragile one roars, shaking with tiny silly fury. “Our laser technology is superior, our ships are superior, our battlesuits are superior. We are superior. If not for their overwhelming numbers and you, the Klendathian rabble, we would’ve already won this war!”

“I tire of this.” The soulless one stands, his face twisting with disdain. “It’s clear the barbarian has no knowledge of technology. But what he does know may reveal the Fallen’s intentions.”

“I’ve told you everything I know!” I call out, my voice growing desperate. Seeing the look in his soulless eyes, I know he’s on the verge of escalating my suffering to new heights.

“Last chance. What were your orders? Who were your targets?” the soulless one asks, with a tone hard as arcweave. The unanswerable questions stab my beating heart with icy anxiety.

“To forge an alliance!” I repeat, my breath quickening, sweat dripping anew.

The soulless one frowns. “So be it.” He nods toward the fragile one, who turns his attention to the ominous surgical robot. “Slice the rest of his arm off... slowly, piece by piece.”

The hulking robot hums to life, its mechanical limbs moving with powerful grace, typical of Nebian tech. My heart thunders in my chest as terror grips me, watching it stalk towards me with a laser cutter sparking red, a promise of agony.

Horror and frantic desperation urge me to speak, the words spilling from my lips. “What you do here is a dishonor to me and your entire species. I came in peace for an alliance, and this is how you respond!”

The soulless one spits, “Void your honor. What I do, I do for my people’s survival.”

I almost don’t hear him, only seeing the sleek, horrible machine before me. Its head focuses on the stump of my left arm, the phantom pain of it throbbing madly. With a raised laser cutter poised above, I close my eyes, grasping for Maru-Tok with desperation, the only solace left to me. But my frantic terror and awful anticipation of pain sends it spiraling out of my reach.

Lancing, cutting agony pierces my consciousness, obliterating all thoughts to pieces, leaving me nothing but maddening suffering. The laser makes a slow, torturous cut through my flesh, a few inches from my stump, just below my elbow joint. I roar out in torment, my mind driven to the point of madness, the Rush spilling from my eyes, desperate to escape, desperate to end it. But the orange-lit collar holds me firm.

The scent of my burned flesh and seared blood reaches my nose as the sliver of flesh plops to the ground, giving me a fleeting, merciful reprieve. “What were your orders? Who were your targets?” The soulless one repeats, his level tone at odds with my manic mind reeling from suffering and hazy consciousness.

“An... an alliance,” I stammer out between gulping breaths, shaking to the core, knowing my body is about to burn once again.

As expected, the machine renews its torture, lighting up my mind with agonizing suffering. The cut another inch further up my hateful destroyed arm. Wishing it gone entirely to rid me of this unbearable agony. My breathing becomes erratic, like my chest might burst, hoping it does. Then, when I fear I might pass out, the disc of my arm slaps to the ground.

I throw my head back, gulping for seared air, savoring a merciful moment devoid of brutal torture. “What were your orders? Who were your targets?” the monster in Nebian form repeats. I take my time answering, desperate for these preciousseconds of bliss before I’m plunged once again into the depths of unending suffering.

“I... I,” I stutter, buying time, noticing the gleaming red laser poised another inch above my ruined arm. “Came for an important mission,” I rasp out, each word a struggle.

“Go on,” the soulless one presses.

“To deliver highchairs,” I finish with manic laughter, enjoying the pathetic fleeting defiance, the closest thing to victory left to me.

My laughter only intensifies as the laser cuts again into my flesh, the blinding red stinging my eyes. A blight to my life. It takes from me inch by inch, leaving me awash in unbearable torment. Already I can sense my mind teetering, lost in unimaginable pain, desperation and a useless burning hatred that clenches my teeth with such ferocity, I taste blood.

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