The Last Photograph
by Wrestlr
8.
Mick kicked my cage.
That woke me—I hadn’t even been aware of falling asleep. My morning wood started wilting immediately.
“Wakey, wakey, Filth—though I guess I should call you Soldier now.”
Apparently I had a new name. I wondered why and what that meant.
Mick took a device out of his pocket and poked at a few keys. After a moment, the cage door clicked as the lock disengaged. Electronic lock. Mick had pressed three buttons, which meant a three-digit unlock code. He kept the key device in his front left pants pocket. I’d remember that.
Now that I knew escape was at least possible, everything looked like pieces of an opportunity.
He barked. “Get out here.” I noticed he stepped back a respectful distance out of range as I crawled out and stood up, stretching my stiff back. I hoped my satisfaction didn’t show.
He grinned, an evil expression. “Shall we see how it works?” He held up the little device that could have been a mobile phone but wasn’t, not exactly. He made a big show of typing at a few buttons.
Something felt ... not normal in my head.
Active mode, this little voice in the back of my head said.
I snapped to attention.
My eyes were locked forward, but I still saw Mick’s satisfied grin. He held up a metal tray. In its surface I saw a distorted reflection of my head. My head and face had been shaved. There was something gold around my forehead.
Mick’s tone was evil and smug: “Like the new look, Soldier?”
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Oh, that’s right—you Soldier types aren’t that talkative unless it’s in your mission parameters. Well, guess what. Your ass has been haloed, motherfucker, just like I recommended in the first place. You won’t be trying no more of that escaping shit now.”
Halo ... What was it Jason had said about something whispering in his head?
“Here,” Mick said, pushing a bundle at me. “Get dressed.”
I had my orders. I took the stack of clothing and began dressing myself. Camouflage patterned cloth. Some sort of basic military uniform. Tee shirt, blouse, pants, socks, boots. No underwear, no helmet or cap.
I dressed with practiced efficiency. I’d donned pretty much this same type of uniform almost every day when I was Special Forces.
That little device of Mick’s doubled as a communicator. It pinged and he put it to his ear. “Talk,” he said. After listening, he said, “I’m bringing him now.”
Mick led me through the hallways. I followed him because it didn’t occur to me to do anything else.
He led me to the room with the chair—or maybe a room like it, since this one had multiple chairs in a row facing the screen. The closest chair was empty, the others occupied by five or six men dressed as I was, already strapped in, waiting patiently.
A technician came over and fussed with my halo. “You shouldn’t have activated it so soon,” he scolded Mick, who shrugged. “Still ... it seems to be functioning normally. No damage done. Okay, Soldier, have a seat.”
I sat in the empty chair. The technician strapped me down, inserted the ear buds, and tinkered with the halo, attaching something near the back. “Okay, that’s got you, big fella,” he said to me. He checked the halo again, pulled out a device like Mick’s and touched a series of buttons quickly. “We’ll start downloading now.”
Training mode, the voice in my head said. I felt my arms and legs go limp. I looked straight ahead, feeling a new eagerness to pay attention and learn, as the spot in the back of my head burned and I felt information flowing into my mind—images and sounds, all going too fast to grasp. Lots of random words and images in my head, most faster than I could make them out. Relax. Focus. Obey. Belong. Whispers in my ears. Relax. My body felt heavy. My scalp tingled. Focus. My head was whirling, disoriented. Obey. I was drifting, slipping away, sucked into the maelstrom of whirling in my head. Belong. Nothing else mattered.
Active mode.
I blinked. How much time had passed while I’d stared into space?
The technicians moved down the row, disconnecting, unstrapping, and the men stood up. I stood up too and looked at them. I recognized two. But I could ... hear all six of them somehow—not with my ears, but in the back of my head, like a low murmur of voices.
“Fall in!” Mick yelled. The other six men in camouflage quickly formed two rows of three, standing at attention. “Not you, Soldier,” he said as I rushed to join the line up too. “Come here. Look at them, Soldier. We don’t follow traditional command structure. We don’t answer to any government. But we need a small military strike force for certain specialized tasks. That’s where these men come in; that’s where you come in. Some men cannot be trained the traditional way. For them, we use the haloes, as you yourself are discovering. This is their last stop before ... Well, these men are viewed as expendable, perfect for a military task squad. If something happens to them in the field, there’s no link back to us. Military discipline can take away the pain, the fear, the shame. The haloes download the military mindset and special skills needed for special missions directly into their heads. The haloes will ensure these fuck-ups toe the line, and they’ll make these men want to fight for whatever we tell them to fight for, but they need guidance—leadership—they need someone to help train them, help them internalize that mindset, and turn them into soldiers. They’ll need someone to lead them during field assignments. That someone is you, Soldier. We will give you something to fight for, and you will teach them to fight. These are your men, Soldier. We will mold their minds—your mind too—and you will use your military skills to help us mold their bodies. If you fail ...”
Punishment mode, said the voice in my head when Mick pushed a button on his communicator gizmo.
“... there will be punishments.”
Red-hot agony erupted as every nerve roared with every pain I’d even suffered, simultaneously, magnified a hundred times, a thousand fold, roaring louder through my body. My muscles twisted and clenched—I fell—I couldn’t see or hear anything except red rushing through and all around me.
Suddenly, it stopped. I gasped and tried to straighten my limbs, tried to get my bearings.
“On the other hand, if you succeed, there will be privileges.”
Reward mode.
Rapture, bliss, ecstasy—until that moment those had been just words. Now I understood them, the brilliant white light of them flowing through me like an orgasm, better than an orgasm, thousands of orgasms, like seeing God, like every good thing in my world all at once. I writhed again, but from the sheer magnitude of beauty that overwhelmed and swallowed me.
As it faded, I looked up. Mick stood over me, grinning down. “Yeah, I bet you’ll do anything to get some more of that, won’t you. And the best part?—You’ll never be alone again.”