Post by ZaCloud on Jan 2, 2010 3:28:14 GMT -5
A Face from the Past
Aiden Soto, middle-aged with swept-back brown hair and a thin beard, browsed the selections at the grocery shop as usual. He was not a very picky eater, and this place had more variety of foods than he’d even known existed when he used to live on the Alpha continent. He kept his diet simple. But he found himself leaning more and more toward vegetarian diet lately. Meat had always been fairly rare where he used to live, so he thought he would jump at the chance to experience it more often now that he could.
Ehh… I really could go for a steak tonight. I can take it.
He walked up to the butcher section to browse and request a fresh cut. However, even before he reached the counter, he could see the man’s cleaver hack through the raw flesh and bone of the deceased chunk of bovine. Aiden felt his stomach tighten and his eyes automatically lowered.
…I guess I can’t take it after all. Well… Feeling bad makes me feel better. I’d rather not be comfortable with that…
He turned away and settled for adding some soy bacon to the rest of his groceries. Sure, he could have gotten already-processed meat, but the thoughts were still managing to swirl through his head, and he did not feel like handling something even remotely bloody anymore. As he waited in the checkout line for all his items to ring up, the images still came before his vision, as they had hundreds of times over the past several months…
So many sets of eyes, always full of fear, pain, hatred, desperation, nothingness. Combinations, changes from one to the other in instances or over days or weeks or months. The Senator, General Sharpe, and especially Chief Warrant Officer Jadus Krieg had seen to it that the prison facility nearly always had an untried occupant or two…
…And Corporal Aiden had been guard, escort, and clean-up crew to many of them.
Having grown up under Zion’s principles, his parents both Senate soldiers, Aiden had managed not to think too deeply about what was basic reality in his life. Things needed to be done, and it was up to everyone to make them possible. Prisoners had to be interrogated for valuable information, to accomplish the Senator’s goals or to keep the city-state safe from possible hidden threats. Aiden’s job was not to worry about that, just to transport and secure the sources of information, and clean up the mess. If anything, it had been annoying and slightly disdainful to him, like shoveling dog excrement, but it was a job that had to be done. It had given him a growing measure of pride, to do a duty nobody else wanted to do.
He had been under the impression that the interrogators took their jobs just as seriously, that they were professionals and at the end of the day could wipe their hands just as clean. However, over time he had begun to realize that Jadus was far different, that he actually thoroughly enjoyed his job to near obsession. When Aiden felt a bit concerned, General Sharpe told him that that was what made him the most valuable interrogator; he lived for his work, and was the most thorough man for the job. Sharpe admitted it may be disturbing sometimes, but that was not for them to worry about.
“You just keep doing your job,” he had said, “and let him do his.”
For a while, Aiden was able to turn a blind eye to the situation; it was easier to do his duty that way. In fact, maybe it would be better for him to put all of himself into his work too…
But then came taking care of two Strife brothers. It had been fairly clear from the start that they had little valuable information, and were no longer part of an existing threat as Rolling Thunder had been destroyed. It began to occur to Aiden that the Senator had some sort of personal issue with them, as the sharp light of anger always shone in his eyes when he came to deal with them. And even when that light faded and the Senator stopped his “meetings” with them, interrogation teams started to more often bring a video camera with them.
Aiden began to pay a bit more attention to the talk around him in the mess hall.
“Hey man, Jadus wants a new tape this evening.”
“Already? Jeez that guy’s getting needy. I’ll stick to porn myself, thanks.”
The first speaker began squeezing ketchup all over his burger. “Mmmm, hot sexy bloooood, that’s what he’d say.”
“Hahaha! Dude, cut that out, you’ll make me hate ketchup!”
As they laughed, Aiden felt his appetite plummet.
“That’ll be 252 Gil,” the cashier said.
Blinking, Aiden returned to the present. “Oh… Yeah.” He dug through his wallet and pulled out a 5dred.
*****
On the light-rail train, his mind wandered again along the well-tread path of the past…
He had begun spending more of his off-duty time listening to talk, asking a few questions, and even peeking around in the general military hallways. The more he found out, the more he did not like what was happening. He found out that many of his colleagues were quitting their jobs simply because they could no longer take dealing with the prisoners, or with Jadus. Aiden had never really talked to the Chief Warrant Officer, and had only briefly seen him a few times. While talking to him directly would possibly give him more answers, Aiden ended up aborting any plans of such, as he was afraid of what possible details there could be.
A few weeks into his building uncertainty, and two months into the Strifes’ imprisonment, Aiden brought himself to look directly at the blond Strife boy lying on the floor in his own blood and vomit, his hands tied behind his back. Instead of just hosing him off and escorting him back to the cell, Aiden really looked. The boy was decently muscled but small-boned and thin. He was not yet an adult, or he would have been able to break free from the normal ropes digging into his flesh. Each breath seemed to take conscious effort, and he was in a constant state of shaking, his eyes glazed and distant.
But then the blue irises turned toward Aiden’s own green eyes. He was too late to look away. The boy’s eyes were empty and hollow. But then slowly some sort of spark began to form. A little anger. Then curiosity. Then… hope?
Aiden turned away quickly and began to uncoil the hose. He felt like saying something for once, having never spoken to any prisoners before as such behavior is taboo. He could think of nothing pertaining to the situation though, so he went about his duty and sprayed off the prisoner and the floor, letting everything flow down the drain in the middle of the room. He paid some attention to the fact that the boy was cringing and releasing strained cries as the spray hit his wounds, and that he was shivering violently afterward.
The Corporal then commenced his duties of glancing over the injuries to see if any needed immediate treatment or disinfecting. There was a gash on the boy’s head that was still bleeding profusely, the dark red spreading over his dirty gold hair. Aiden held a wad of gauze over it, pressing hard to slow the bleeding. He then looked closer to make sure there was no skull fracture underneath, probing a few areas, bringing more whimpers from the wound’s bearer. Satisfied that the swelling was only flesh-based, Aiden discarded the gauze; the prisoner’s cell-mate could take care of the bleeding himself. That was part of why they were kept together, he figured. At least it did make things more convenient in that regard.
He finally got out a stained towel and began patting the prisoner dry, so there would not be too much moisture to mop up down the hallway. Accustomed to the routine, the boy painfully rolled over to his other side once one was dry. Aiden paused a bit at the cooperation before continuing.
“…Thank you…” he barely heard when he was nearly finished. Aiden again knelt motionless for a moment, unsure of how to react. He looked down at the boy’s face. His eyes were closed, his cheek against the cold floor, breathing shakingly through his quivering mouth.
“…Why are you here?” Aiden finally asked, breaking the unspoken law.
The boy did not react right away, but then slowly his eyes opened partway and looked up at Aiden blankly. “…What?”
“Why are you here?” Aiden asked again, “Why are they interrogating you?”
“…We made them angry,” he answered quietly, his eyes sinking closed again.
“What do they ask you? Where somebody is? Where something is hidden?”
“…Not anymore…”
This puzzled Aiden progressively more. He felt compelled to venture further. “What is the purpose behind their treatment of you?”
The boy’s breath hitched a bit. He closed his mouth and swallowed. Then after a few more breaths, his expression looked more pained as he answered, “I don’t know… Some are angry about… other things. Some say it’s… for Jadus.”
Somebody brushed past Aiden, again breaking him out of his memories. He looked up at the station signs, and whispered a mild curse; he had missed his stop. He quickly picked up his bags and followed the tail-end of travelers out into the station. This was not the first time for this occurrence; he knew by the train schedule that he would be better off walking the two miles back to his apartment than waiting for the next train back. He was still in good shape for being 42, so it was no big deal. He began the trek.
It seemed that real life was just an occasional interruption in-between memories…
*****
After a few more uneventful days, he was called in to do his extra job again. Aiden felt surprised how often he was needed for that lately. Surely the boy could not have been anywhere near healed from last time…
He was met by a note on the door to the interrogation room. It read, “Leave his eyes alone.” Mildly puzzled, Aiden opened the door and looked at the teen. His breath caught in his throat and he stopped mid-stride.
The kid’s eyes were sewn shut with black thread.
He had cringed when he heard the door open, and was edging away with a fearful whimper, at least as far as he could considering he was strapped to a cross-shaped metal table.
Aiden spoke before thinking. “It’s ok, it’s just… me…” He wondered why he said that, but did not find himself regretting it as the boy relaxed slightly. The Strife's breath was uneven and hard; he was obviously at the tail-end of crying blood-tinged tears that could barely seep between the closed lids and obviously stung the wounds further.
Aiden approached, looking more carefully at the shocking scene. The lids still held to rounded bulges, so at least the eyes below had not been removed. Did they intend to leave this permanently?
He knew it would be useless to ask the boy anything; he was in too much pain and fear to speak clearly. Such sensory deprivation in an already uncertain environment was probably downright petrifying.
It seemed most of the other wounds the youth had sustained had not broken the skin, so there was no need to use the hose. Aiden sighed, pulling himself back together, and stated, “I’m going to take you back now,” before he began unstrapping the prisoner. The boy still flinched at contact or noises, but was at least slightly more at-ease thanks to the warning.
Aiden pulled him to the floor and held him at arms-length to gauge whether or not he could walk. The boy slowly lifted his hands to his face, flinching as his fingers met the thick, stiff tips of the stitches, then he wrapped his arms around himself, head lowering. His legs were shaking so hard it was difficult for him to stand, but he did not appear to be incredibly injured this time.
“Let’s go,” Aiden said, firmly holding onto the boy’s upper arm and pulling him into motion. The youth stumbled a bit, then tried to keep up. He did not reach out in front of himself as Aiden had expected him to, but it didn’t seem like it was due to trusting him either. He then remembered that Strifes had poor eyesight to begin with, so maybe that was part of it.
As if having read his mind, with a tiny forced smile the boy mumbled, “…I p-practiced… blind navigation, once in a while… for fun… M-maybe can… c-come in handy.” New tears were leaking between his lids and cutting through black dried blood, leaving pink streaks down his cheeks.
Aiden was quiet, surprised the prisoner was attempting small-talk in a situation like this. But that made it all the more difficult to do his job, so he felt a bit angry and retaliated by saying nothing. The last thing he needed was a guilt-trip.
By the time he passed the boy to the cell guards, however, he regretted that anger; he was really angry at whoever had done this, at who was allowing this, yet he had converted it to anger at the kid himself. He could say nothing at this point though, and handed him over to the burly men at the cell door.
But instead of just leaving, he approached to look in through the barred window.
“Hehe, finally come to watch the soap opera?” one of the guys asked.
Aiden ignored him and just looked on. The older inmate, a young adult with the more normal Strife features, was embracing the younger, rocking him back and forth and whispering words of comfort.
“Let me see, Claude,” he then said.
Claude… So that’s his name…
The older brother looked at Claude’s eyelids with a mixture of horror, rage, and despair. “Bastards… Geez… Are your eyes ok?”
Claude slowly nodded, his lip quivering and his voice still tearful. “I think so… Zack… I can’t… I want to see… If they come back and I…”
“I know… I won’t let that happen… But it’ll probably really hurt and be hard to do.”
The younger brother nodded, but seemed prepared. The one called Zack gauged the situation a bit, then with his hands keeping Claude’s face still, he leaned forward and began to bite at the stitches.
Aiden could not have moved or spoken to save his life. It was clear that, even though they physically tortured only the younger one, the older one was in just as much pain from being unable to stop them, only being able to pick up the pieces.
Zack was getting obviously frustrated; he kept either biting the skin, or pulling out Claude’s eyelashes, producing further cringing. He pulled them off of his tongue, then swiped his own forming tears away with his wrist. “I’m sorry Claude… I keep hurting you.”
“It’ll hurt anyway…”
The elder brother continued the painstaking work, still pausing to apologize or wipe away tears from his own eyes or blood from Claude’s once in a while. Aiden’s stomach clenched, and he could take no more. He turned and walked away, not even knowing what the two guards were jeering after him.
He could dehumanize these two no longer.
Sitting on his bunk, he thought about what was happening. These prisoners were clearly only here for the amusement of individuals, not for the benefit of Zion. What made it right for him to continue following orders? Mere duty did not seem like a good enough excuse. After a time of gathering his thoughts, he decided to send in a protest form. He booted up his laptop, and navigated to the email client. But he stopped and stared at a new message.
Fwd: Fwd: Fwd: Jones is dead
He clicked it open, and was shocked to find that ex-Private Edward Jones, one of those who had quit recently, had been found dead in his apartment. No other details were given in the initial email. Someone had since then asked what the circumstances were. There had been a reply from an officer that it was nobody’s business.
Due his lifetime in Zion, Aiden had a good enough guess as to what had happened…
He closed his laptop and lowered his head, whispering, “Damn it…”
A car whizzed by narrowly in front of Aiden, snapping him out of his thoughts once more. He had misjudged the walk signal’s duration from the distance. He stepped back and waited until it changed again, before moving on with the crowd.
Yeah, just moving with the crowd… How much before it’s too much?
*****
Aiden was heading to the mess hall, when spotting something ahead stopped him dead in his tracks. Chief Warrant Officer Jadus Krieg was standing in the main hallway, his back to the wall, casually smoking a cigarette with a relaxed smirk. He was holding a leash in his hand loosely. At the end was a shock collar around the neck of Claude, who was sitting curled up tightly, naked. He was covered in scars of all ages, half-healed wounds from days before, new gashes and scuffs and bruises… and several red swollen areas with black circles in the middle.
Another soldier in front of Aiden paused, crossing his arms. “Hey Jadus, this your famous toy of the year?”
“Most of the time, yes,” the black-haired, sharply chiseled man replied, taking a long draw from his cigarette, “But today he’s my dog, and ashtray. Handy combination.”
“Does he do tricks?”
“Sure, though he’s a little stubborn sometimes. Fido, roll over.”
There was no response from Claude. His eyes were barely open, still specked with scabs, their expression dull and listless.
Jadus jerked on the leash. “Hey, come on now doggy,” he pleaded, “Be a good boy, show the nice man how smart you are. Come on, roll over.”
Claude closed his eyes and tightened his curl in anticipation. Sure enough, Jadus pulled the transmitter from his pocket and held down the button, delivering a maximum-level prolonged shock. With his genetic sensitivity to electrical signals, the agony was overwhelming, and Claude squealed and fell to the floor, jerking and shaking.
“Well that’s cheating,” the soldier fussed, “I’ll bet he can’t do it on his own.”
“Sure he can,” Jadus assured him, smiling. He again jerked on the leash. “Come on Fido, roll over! Roll over!”
Still tremoring from the damage to his nerves from the shock, Claude slowly forced himself to roll on the floor, his face red and anguished, before he ended up lying belly-down over his bent arms and knees, as if trying desperately to disappear into the floor.
“Good boy! See? Isn’t that a good dog?”
The soldier took a stance of exaggerated consideration, stroking his chin with one finger. “Hmmm, I admit that was a pretty good trick. But can he bark?”
“Oh yeah, he can bark. Fido, sit. Come on, sit back up.” He pulled the leash hard. The quivering boy was forced to kneel upright, and he brought his knees back up again to hide his vulnerable belly, his movements clumsy and convulsive. “Good boy. Now, bark!”
Claude turned his face away, and was promptly jerked back to face the soldier. Jadus insisted several more times. Claude kept his eyes lowered, face still red with utter shame.
“Bark, Fido, or you’ll get zappies again,” Jadus crooned.
“……..woof……..” the boy mumbled.
“Louder, Fido.”
“…woof…” Claude stammered out brokenly, tears falling unbidden down his cheeks, humiliated to the core.
“Not loud enough,” Jadus sighed, taking one more suck from his cigarette before grinding it out against Claude’s shoulder. The youth ground his teeth together and dug his fingernails into his upper arms, trying not to scream, but unable to stop snarling sobs from tearing out of his throat. The taut leash kept him from leaning away.
“That’s more like it,” the soldier said with a smirk. “Well that’s a good dog-ashtray there Jadus, I’m impressed.” He then headed off to eat.
Jadus patted the gasping, quivering boy on the head. “Good boy, Fido.”
Aiden turned around and walked double-time down the hall. That was all he could stand.
He packed what he would need for a long drive through the desert, withdrew his savings, formulated a lie about a family emergency to the gate crew, and drove out of Zion. He continued the journey until his rugged jeep reached Midgar. But he knew he would not be safe there with Senate presence often around, so he took a ship over to the Beta continent, where he was determined to start a new life, and leave Zion behind him for good.
But then had come the regret. The same regret he was feeling right now, feeling nearly every day. Yes, he had stopped his part in allowing all that torture… But he had not stopped the torture itself. It probably would have been futile, would have definitely gotten him outcast or even killed if he had even tried. But knowing that he had just left the young men to their fate, knowing they could still very well be down there, in so much misery...
Aiden finally reached his house and entered, locking the door behind him with multiple deadbolts before putting away his groceries. Then he settled onto the couch with a sigh and turned on the television, needing something else to occupy his mind.
The channel was still on the local news station he had last watched that morning. He was about to switch it, when he saw that there was live coverage occurring. He sat frozen in place, eyes wide. Was he still remembering? Imagining?
A male reporter's voice was pouring forth words. “...the mysterious altercation has caused massive damage to the Brookshire Building Project area. We have no reported casualties as of yet.” The aerial footage from the news helicopter showed the distant form of a dark-dressed boy lying half-curled on his side on the roof of a four-story building, with neighboring buildings showing various levels of disrepair. A few paramedics and police officers were stepping out of the roof entrance doorway, looking cautiously at the fallen form. One medic strode forward, but the other and an officer held him back, shaking their heads and obviously saying something, to which the man relented.
“The whereabouts of those responsible are yet unknown. One witness said he flew away after the battle's conclusion, heavily wounded,” the reporter's voice continued, “Again, we do not know why this battle happened. It is unknown if the person currently in-picture is a victim or involved, but he appears to be down.”
Aiden, already shocked at what was happening, grew a little more so at the reporter's most recent words. It was enough to spur him into action, however; the crooked hair was far too familiar. It had to be Claude Strife. Somehow, he was here... and in need of help. Aiden was not about to let this chance go by again. He quickly flew to the door, unbolted it, and ran, not bothering to re-lock it on the way out.
