Nightmares are also dreams Part 13-Interlude

The soft drip of water sounds distant and hollow. The room I’m in looks to be some kind of warehouse space. I can see a drain on the floor and…what looks like hair spotted with scalp. I can feel my heart pounding like some crazed dubstep song. I know what this is. I can hear the part of me that isn’t floating in this pleasant haze of what I can only imagine to be really good shit gibbering and wailing in some small corner of my mind.

This is a kill room. Maybe a torture room or enhanced interrogation techniques, as I’ve heard the more cold blooded mercenaries we work with. I think they are going to kill me. And I know that I should care but I seem to only be able to work myself up to mildly bemused.

Oh look it’s the peach dress lady and she has some kind of cattle prod. Hullo peach dress lady!

She shoves it into my bare stomach and the prongs are cold. So amateur, everyone knows you keep them warm.

My veins pulse fire and every muscle in me contracts including my poor heart and for a brief eternity all I can do is scream. And in those seconds, I can see clearly across the room. The whole capture team has been rolled up.

The drugs recede a bit when the bitch in peach is done and she walks over to one of the blank faced sociopaths we use as muscle. Oooh right in the testicles….better them than me.

They still haven’t asked any questions. The keening in my mind gets higher and I can hear the whimpers escape. They aren’t going to ask anything…they are just going to torture us until we die.

There has to be something I can give them. Some link that will get me free. But I don’t know anything, I don’t know, I don’t know…

“Wait, please,” I scream. I swear I screamed. My throat feels raw from screaming. They had to have heard. They must. I thrash against the bonds in the chair I’m in and catch a glimpse of the redhead…that bitch the opposition use for a chief. She’s rolling some kind of cart to the one team member I know. He’s a guy I grab beers with after the job, maybe we go back to his place and fuck.
He’s slumped down and doesn’t seem to be breathing…the sound of pleading comes louder now. I wish it would shut up. I’m trying to hear what’s happening.

They used paddles and revived him. I feel cold right to the center of me. How many times have we died? How many times?

*** *** ***

Tara is looking ill, Jen thinks. It’s time to get her out of here. She wanted to see justice done but I don’t think she can handle this. I’m sending her back to Pel with a note that she may need emotional support. In any case, it’s been several hours. He has to be almost done by now.

Who we can be

We say “If there was any justice…” as a way of saying that there isn’t any.  And there isn’t.  The world is a vicious place without mercy or justice.  Because we invented those concepts, so any justice or mercy must be enacted by us. 

If you find the world to be unjust, then do all that you can to correct that.  As those that have husbanded the concept into being it is on us to act in its best interest. 

We cannot allow ourselves to give up agency to an uncaring world or condemn each other to live in that world.  We act. We are the predominant sentient specie. It is our responsibility to see justice, mercy, and honor flourish. 

I’ll admit, I’m not built for the task.  But none of us are. We can hide our eyes from truth or we can accept this. 

You don’t need to radically change your life.  Commit to helping one person each day.  Act with mercy, be justice in an unjust world, live a life of honor.  This is hard.  But do this a single time each day? You can do it, we all can.