Blue flame rose from the torch. Sparks flew in every direction. A new battery housing found itself welded in place. The metal welder mask with the dark visor lifted to reveal Lauren's face. Sweat dripped from her brow, yet she felt a chill up her spine. The mask went back down and she began working again. Her hands remained steady as the next housing was pushed into place with a grunt. She shook her head angrily.

"Stupid Larox," She mumbled.

The housings she installed required a bit of extra effort but would contain the spread of corrosion if a battery leaked. It was good work, and as she lifted the visor a second time, she was satisfied enough to almost smile. A few new batteries muscled into place, the wires connected, and the airship was ready to go.

Once the welder turnec off the hanger proved too quiet. Something buzzed, an echo of activity in neighboring hangars; that was all. Horst wasn't around, Tray had left an hour ago for a meeting, and Larox was still gone.

The silence broke when the hatch opened. Boots, leather pounded the thick metal floor. Four people approached. And another sound, from behind, the drawing of firearms.

"Stop what you're doing and turn around," came the instructions of an authoritative male voice.

Lauren put the blow torch down slowly and turned around as instructed.

-----

"Did you write that program!?"

A broken relay device lay on the floor. The input cords ripped from the side. The touch screen gone shattered and dark. A piece of broken plastic with a smiley sticker was separated from the smashed tool along with other pieces of plastic covering. Drops of blood were scattered about the mess. The interrogator screamed.

"Who are you working for?"

A blur from the side telegraphed the fist that slammed against Horst's swollen cheek. Blood ran from his gum and dripped over his chin. A tooth felt loose as he pressed with his tongue. His face a leaking blueberry. More blood dripped from the gashes in his swollen lips. His left eye bloated outwards around purple and black skin.

"Name your accomplices! Now!"

A lash of hard leather met his back. Skin broke. Blood flowed from the wound. Fresh. Horst grunted at the blow. The cuffs bit his wrists. Ankles bled thickly, so that blood flowed into his boots.

"Are these yours!?"

The plastic cards were thrown at his feet, one after another, all little programs he had written. The man shook his head and left. A blonde-haired man with a wide chin and piercing blue eyes stormed in next.

"Who the hell do you think you are!?" he screamed.

His fingers clenched into Horst's hair and pulled so hard that the chair rocked back and forth. Horst's ears rang. The cards were simply a few programs written on his spare time. These people knew about it, they claimed they knew everything, so why were they freaking out now!? Why were they killing him!? Maybe it was a dumb question. Thoughts evaporated as the side of flat palm chopped the soft front of his throat.

Horst slumped in his chair and started coughing. Breaths came painfully as he coughed up blood. A full force chop would have killed him. They knew how to inflict suffering without killing, and they were good at it. Slowly, Horst shifted in his chair.

The screen lit again, the same footage they had played twenty times. The exchange of information between him and Larox, and the falsified card he had given his companion. Horst had sworn he had rigged up that camera to feed a complicated loop algorithm program, but they must of seen through it.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"You'll get yours, someday."

A baton slammed into his gut and almost knocked him over along with the stool he was cuffed to, he wheezed as air slowly returned to his lungs.

"Just wait," he whispered.

-----

Overhead fluorescent tubes provided a strong white light. Alfred Gregoire held up his glasses; there was dirt on the lens, so he blew it off and wiped it on his coat before returning it to the bridge of his slightly crooked nose. His one-eyed stare into an empty chamber continued. Fluid in the glass vessels glowed softly in a light neon blue.

A woman with mousy hair stood at his side. Helen maintained a stoic expression, though did so pleasantly. She was short. A slight smile stuck on her face, as if she was in a photograph. Small hands clasped together as fingers fumbled around each other. Alfred said nothing, he simply stared a bit longer into the chamber of glowing blue liquid that swirled about in gentle patterns.

"Do you know how many children I've created with Jim?" Helen asked.

"Three, to be exact, unless you made one more since the last," Alfred said.

"Do you know where those children are now?" she asked

"I would assume in the nursery, they are future high command so it would...."

"They're recycled material. None of them were worthy of a name. Their genetics weren't what we desired, which means they weren't suitable."

Alfred tightened his posture but didn't look away from the chamber, eventually he'd push up his glasses.

"Does it not strike you the least bit odd?" he asked.

"Odd?" Helen tilted her head slightly

"Using the same devices that devoured mankind, in order to seek out a more perfect mankind?"

"You speak like one with wisdom."

"I knew about it for some time," he said, his one eye closing, "Jim is a brilliant lad, and you are even more so, if anyone can do it, it would be one of you."

"You flatter me."

Alfred smiled lightly but quickly doused it and began to walk away. Helen turned to him, her bright brown eyes staring through him.

"I want her moved from scrubbing into my care. I have a few experiments to run."

"I will make the necessary arrangements."

"Thank you Mr. Gregoire, you've always been kind to me," she said with a soft voice and a slight smile, "I hope I can continue to count on you."

-----

Urine, excrement, and blood formed a sick smelling sludge that coated the floor. Larox pressed his hands in it, yet only collapsed again. The slimy floor was cold, even though he'd barely moved from that spot in hours. Blood laced spittle slithered from the corner of his lip.

The metallic room was empty but for viscera and a wooden chair. The door with the slender rectangular window remained still. There were probably cameras built in the ceiling even here. Larox finally managed to think of something.

He raised his arm, then he lifted his middle finger until he couldn't anymore and his arm fell back into the mess with a splatter. Open wounds laced his back. His ribs were sore, legs felt numb, head throbbed as an open laceration dripped blood.

Larox struggled, hands slipping in the mess, but this time he pushed himself up and leaned his back against the wall. A crack issued from his spine and he winced in pain. It felt like he had twisted backwards. A few things popped in place as he squirmed with a pained wince only for the door to move.

An officer with an old blue and white badge entered. He was bald at the top, with brown and gray hair on the sides. His dark brown eyes pierced, and an old face contrasted a conditioned body with muscular arms.

"So I heard you took a fancy to one of the women placed in scrubbing. Then you decided to rescue her from her assignement and bring herto your crew. So, where exactly did you think you were going to run too? Did you have a plan? Were you going to steal company property to escape with her?"

"It's wrong," Larox panted as he clung to the wall like a crab, "The whole system. You can't force people down there to die just because you have no use for them."

A kick in the gut by a steel toed boot left Larox on his side. Chunks of bloody vomit spewed from his mouth. The sounds of coughing, gagging, and retching filled the cell.

"What gives you the right to tell the High Council, who keeps us all alive and safe, that it's wrong!?"

Larox's eyes widened, his hands slowly tightened as they gripped his stomach, and his teeth clenched. He couldn't do anything, not a damn thing, his body felt like it was made of broken twigs. The other man's derisive stare was too much. Larox clenched his eyelids shut to seal himself in darkness. Why couldn't the ultimate darkness come?

"Just kill me now damnit, kill me now! I've had enough! Can't you see I've had enough!"

The officer lifted Larox's chin with the side of his boot.

"Death comes when we see fit."

-----

Two gaurds threw Lavinia onto the metal bed. The door slid and locked as they left. She pushed herself into a corner and leaned into the wall as she sat. Time passed. All nothing. No talking, no laughing, no smiling, no sound. The same dingey room with the tarry mucus oozing from the left corner and the same squeaky matress on a rusty bed frame. A white ligth flickered overhead. Lavinia sat with her head down while looking at her palms for the camera.