Part X
So here I am; I've come full circle. A man is born; he learns by playing with close comrades; he loses everything; he sees the horrible things the world does to people; he becomes part of it; he leaves it all; he sees the horrible things the world does to a person; he loses everything; he learns by playing with a close comrade and waits to die.
In honesty, I do not wish to die. With my implant I can live forever and I would like to do that if I can. In Russia, we are taught by our mothers to fight against all adversaries. My mother told me that if any foe ever becomes stronger than me, fight harder and win. Death is no different
I feel the prospect of death is most frightening to me and others like me however because of the fear of the nothingness. It's not like a long sleep, it's simply nothing. I can torture and kill others without batting an eyelash and I think most of the reason why I am so good at what I do is because I control death. My American friend seems to think nothing of it. I think his whimsical aloofness has actually softened me and that terrifies me because what if, in my own aloofness, I can no longer control this cold, dark and empty mistress? I suppose I am more afraid of losing everything I am and have built in my own character than even death its self. My mother used to speak with me of heaven.
The streets and even the countryside were harsh and some winter nights, it got so bitterly cold that death was a real nemesis that we saw in the ghettos every day. A poor man turned blue as he sat there with a bottle of some unknown liquor was more frightening to me than the gang that killed my entire family. Pathetic human beings in their infinite squabble over whose ego was bigger was but a pitfall trap in the desert. I did not even worry about a fight or even being shot anymore but the prospect of a way for these nanites to fail; the horror of the black void where I did not breath, did not taste шашлы́к with pleasure anymore; that I might not have the memory of the small farm house outside of town where I played as a kid to hide the memories of the horrors I'd seen and done; this frightened me.
I looked on the human race with contempt. Torture had become easy for me over the years and when I had first met the American, the prospect of torturing him to test the capacity of our kind's device had even been quite tempting, however, the thought of any of this happening to me had not once crossed my mind. Human beings were lest than me now. Being mortal and changing, had actually made them easier to torture because it was like stepping on a bug: we were simply no longer on the same level.
It hadn't occurred to me that I could be less than equal with anyone, even those with a device, until I had run into Mitzu-sama. The American and myself had been discussing ways to infiltrate his operation without him knowing but had fallen short since we didn't know if he was one of us for sure and if he was, we had no idea as to the limits of his capabilities.
"Он мог быть слушать то, что мы говорим о, даже прямо сейчас ..." The American said.
I laughed at the thought and told him, "Боже упаси, товарищ".
I had been, what's the word... проволочки... to give the American his final exam before he went up against Mitzu-sama. There was no easy way of testing him against a foe that gave me the complete evil feeling without seeing if he could first, at the very least, separate himself enough to torture another human being. Not only that but someone innocent because an enemy is easy to justify with reasoning behind it but an innocent? That puts you on the level of calculated evil that I sincerely believe Mitzu-sama possessed.
The night had come and I had picked out the perfect candidate. In my early life, I had saved the life of an innocent whore, who more than likely did the job only to take care of her family, as many poor women in my city did, only to kill her seconds later in apathy and the adrenaline rush of torturing the man who killed my entire family. I have not thought about her in remorse or at all until this day when I pulled another girl, sold into the sex trade, so that my American friend, Sergent Ronald Moore could lose who he was and torture her into a drawn out death.
It had to be done and more than likely , I was doing her a favor as the conditions of her living would not have been as comfortable as death but there was no justification for torture except the reward of death.
There was a knock on the door.
The American went to open it.
"Привет. Я здесь для группы," said the whore.
"Да! Заходи!" said the American.
She came inside and we beckoned her to sit at the only table in the room. Immediately I sensed her fear and the device told me to enjoy it but for some reason, I felt sorry for her. Remorse was a new emotion to me and disgust was even newer. When you grow up seeing the horrors of a Russian Gulag, little phases you anymore but somehow, being near this American boy who had more than likely never known the truest evil that human beings can accomplish, I had begun to soften. That alone sickened me but this disgust came from somewhere else; something Americans refer to as empathy.
I felt sorry for her and what she must have felt like in a room with two vicious killers. In a moment of weakness, rage and disgust, if all three things are possible to feel simultaneously, I hit her over the back of the head with my pistol.
"Какого черта ты делаешь?" said the American
[I am showing you what it means to lose your humanity and understand who Mitzu-sama really is] I said in his head.
[Not like this you aren't.]
[You don't understand the danger he poses to a child-like mind like yours]
I could hear his mind struggling with the decision and feel his pulse rising as he admired her perfect, naked, feminine form. Interestingly, part of him was aroused by the prospect but his idea of torture was not malevolent but more along the lines of even playful. There were whips involved; electric shock and rubber gag balls. His idea of torture was sex play and I needed him to understand what we were really doing here.
We handcuffed her to the chair and I poured a bucket of water over her to wake her up. The water turned him on.
"Проснись шлюха!" I shouted at her.
"Please don't kill me..." "I have family that depend on me..." "Please let me go..." These were all things I had heard from prisoners of the KGB back in the hey days of the USSR. It did not phase me that she was a woman either because many assassins, spies, and enemies of the state had been women and it had not phased me a bit that my duty to the mother land was to torture and kill them but this felt wrong from somewhere I didn't have in my heart.
"What is this you do to me, whore?" I said.
She quietly sobbed.
"What pathetic creatures you humans are. You sob like an infant and yet I have seen your kind in the streets for 50 years."
She perked up and I almost forgot I still looked to be about 27.
I screamed and picked up a scalpel, and in one swift movement, too fast for the human eye to even perceive, I cut off her nipple. Now the American sent waves of horror towards me.
"Как вы это делаете, вы американские свиньи?" I screamed in a rage that overtook the room.
[Doing what? I don't know what you're talking about]
[You lie! You send your emotion to me so it is almost as if I'm feeling it myself]
[Then get out of my head you commie bastard, I don't need to deal with your apathy]
I moved toward her bleeding body to cut her again and he threw me against the wall drawing his side arm and pumping every round he had in his clip directly into her chest.
"Maybe I just don't do torture," He said in English. "I can accommodate to pretty much every ability this eye has but the idea of losing who I am and the freedom of choice that my country represents is not in me."
I was shocked; angry and terrified; thoughtless and yet full of things I wanted to say and none of these emotions or thoughts were my own.
"Эврика!" I said. Realizing the irony, I decided to speak aloud in English
"Perhaps that's your personal skill. Mitzu-Sama has such control over what he has that I can't even see him but you have composure through your resolve like none I've ever seen. I still feel remorse for this poor dead hooker in the middle of our room and in my head I know that I personally would not feel anything for her, were this my own emotion."
"Yeah... Well... I think I've learned all I want to know out of you..."
He headed for the door but I stopped him.
[You can't leave.]
[The hell I can't you crazy Ruskie]
[You don't understand. Mitzu-Sama won't be able to touch you if you can project your feelings.] He will underestimate you and this will be his break in concentration. This is our in.]
[Yeah... Well... You think we can contact this girl's family or something?]
[Stop thinking about the hooker! She's dead and her family gave her up for dead a long time ago. I've been on the other end of this thing over in Russia and for a poor family, they give her up for dead shortly after she never writes home. Yes! It's horrible but we have greater things to think about now.]
[I think a dead human being is a pretty significant thing]
[You shortsighted American fool! This is the emotion of your whole country to mourn the individual. One who isn't and never even wanted to be part of your ideals.]
There was a long silence after that and we sat on the floor and stared at the dead hooker for the rest of the night. I think at one point, he was praying. After I fell asleep, he went and buried her in the graveyard outside of town and came back to wait for me to wake up.
[You poor, broken bastard...] These words rang through my dreams for most of the night until the morning when we started to draw out the plans to go after true evil.
I feel the prospect of death is most frightening to me and others like me however because of the fear of the nothingness. It's not like a long sleep, it's simply nothing. I can torture and kill others without batting an eyelash and I think most of the reason why I am so good at what I do is because I control death. My American friend seems to think nothing of it. I think his whimsical aloofness has actually softened me and that terrifies me because what if, in my own aloofness, I can no longer control this cold, dark and empty mistress? I suppose I am more afraid of losing everything I am and have built in my own character than even death its self. My mother used to speak with me of heaven.
The streets and even the countryside were harsh and some winter nights, it got so bitterly cold that death was a real nemesis that we saw in the ghettos every day. A poor man turned blue as he sat there with a bottle of some unknown liquor was more frightening to me than the gang that killed my entire family. Pathetic human beings in their infinite squabble over whose ego was bigger was but a pitfall trap in the desert. I did not even worry about a fight or even being shot anymore but the prospect of a way for these nanites to fail; the horror of the black void where I did not breath, did not taste шашлы́к with pleasure anymore; that I might not have the memory of the small farm house outside of town where I played as a kid to hide the memories of the horrors I'd seen and done; this frightened me.
I looked on the human race with contempt. Torture had become easy for me over the years and when I had first met the American, the prospect of torturing him to test the capacity of our kind's device had even been quite tempting, however, the thought of any of this happening to me had not once crossed my mind. Human beings were lest than me now. Being mortal and changing, had actually made them easier to torture because it was like stepping on a bug: we were simply no longer on the same level.
It hadn't occurred to me that I could be less than equal with anyone, even those with a device, until I had run into Mitzu-sama. The American and myself had been discussing ways to infiltrate his operation without him knowing but had fallen short since we didn't know if he was one of us for sure and if he was, we had no idea as to the limits of his capabilities.
"Он мог быть слушать то, что мы говорим о, даже прямо сейчас ..." The American said.
I laughed at the thought and told him, "Боже упаси, товарищ".
I had been, what's the word... проволочки... to give the American his final exam before he went up against Mitzu-sama. There was no easy way of testing him against a foe that gave me the complete evil feeling without seeing if he could first, at the very least, separate himself enough to torture another human being. Not only that but someone innocent because an enemy is easy to justify with reasoning behind it but an innocent? That puts you on the level of calculated evil that I sincerely believe Mitzu-sama possessed.
The night had come and I had picked out the perfect candidate. In my early life, I had saved the life of an innocent whore, who more than likely did the job only to take care of her family, as many poor women in my city did, only to kill her seconds later in apathy and the adrenaline rush of torturing the man who killed my entire family. I have not thought about her in remorse or at all until this day when I pulled another girl, sold into the sex trade, so that my American friend, Sergent Ronald Moore could lose who he was and torture her into a drawn out death.
It had to be done and more than likely , I was doing her a favor as the conditions of her living would not have been as comfortable as death but there was no justification for torture except the reward of death.
There was a knock on the door.
The American went to open it.
"Привет. Я здесь для группы," said the whore.
"Да! Заходи!" said the American.
She came inside and we beckoned her to sit at the only table in the room. Immediately I sensed her fear and the device told me to enjoy it but for some reason, I felt sorry for her. Remorse was a new emotion to me and disgust was even newer. When you grow up seeing the horrors of a Russian Gulag, little phases you anymore but somehow, being near this American boy who had more than likely never known the truest evil that human beings can accomplish, I had begun to soften. That alone sickened me but this disgust came from somewhere else; something Americans refer to as empathy.
I felt sorry for her and what she must have felt like in a room with two vicious killers. In a moment of weakness, rage and disgust, if all three things are possible to feel simultaneously, I hit her over the back of the head with my pistol.
"Какого черта ты делаешь?" said the American
[I am showing you what it means to lose your humanity and understand who Mitzu-sama really is] I said in his head.
[Not like this you aren't.]
[You don't understand the danger he poses to a child-like mind like yours]
I could hear his mind struggling with the decision and feel his pulse rising as he admired her perfect, naked, feminine form. Interestingly, part of him was aroused by the prospect but his idea of torture was not malevolent but more along the lines of even playful. There were whips involved; electric shock and rubber gag balls. His idea of torture was sex play and I needed him to understand what we were really doing here.
We handcuffed her to the chair and I poured a bucket of water over her to wake her up. The water turned him on.
"Проснись шлюха!" I shouted at her.
"Please don't kill me..." "I have family that depend on me..." "Please let me go..." These were all things I had heard from prisoners of the KGB back in the hey days of the USSR. It did not phase me that she was a woman either because many assassins, spies, and enemies of the state had been women and it had not phased me a bit that my duty to the mother land was to torture and kill them but this felt wrong from somewhere I didn't have in my heart.
"What is this you do to me, whore?" I said.
She quietly sobbed.
"What pathetic creatures you humans are. You sob like an infant and yet I have seen your kind in the streets for 50 years."
She perked up and I almost forgot I still looked to be about 27.
I screamed and picked up a scalpel, and in one swift movement, too fast for the human eye to even perceive, I cut off her nipple. Now the American sent waves of horror towards me.
"Как вы это делаете, вы американские свиньи?" I screamed in a rage that overtook the room.
[Doing what? I don't know what you're talking about]
[You lie! You send your emotion to me so it is almost as if I'm feeling it myself]
[Then get out of my head you commie bastard, I don't need to deal with your apathy]
I moved toward her bleeding body to cut her again and he threw me against the wall drawing his side arm and pumping every round he had in his clip directly into her chest.
"Maybe I just don't do torture," He said in English. "I can accommodate to pretty much every ability this eye has but the idea of losing who I am and the freedom of choice that my country represents is not in me."
I was shocked; angry and terrified; thoughtless and yet full of things I wanted to say and none of these emotions or thoughts were my own.
"Эврика!" I said. Realizing the irony, I decided to speak aloud in English
"Perhaps that's your personal skill. Mitzu-Sama has such control over what he has that I can't even see him but you have composure through your resolve like none I've ever seen. I still feel remorse for this poor dead hooker in the middle of our room and in my head I know that I personally would not feel anything for her, were this my own emotion."
"Yeah... Well... I think I've learned all I want to know out of you..."
He headed for the door but I stopped him.
[You can't leave.]
[The hell I can't you crazy Ruskie]
[You don't understand. Mitzu-Sama won't be able to touch you if you can project your feelings.] He will underestimate you and this will be his break in concentration. This is our in.]
[Yeah... Well... You think we can contact this girl's family or something?]
[Stop thinking about the hooker! She's dead and her family gave her up for dead a long time ago. I've been on the other end of this thing over in Russia and for a poor family, they give her up for dead shortly after she never writes home. Yes! It's horrible but we have greater things to think about now.]
[I think a dead human being is a pretty significant thing]
[You shortsighted American fool! This is the emotion of your whole country to mourn the individual. One who isn't and never even wanted to be part of your ideals.]
There was a long silence after that and we sat on the floor and stared at the dead hooker for the rest of the night. I think at one point, he was praying. After I fell asleep, he went and buried her in the graveyard outside of town and came back to wait for me to wake up.
[You poor, broken bastard...] These words rang through my dreams for most of the night until the morning when we started to draw out the plans to go after true evil.
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