The Hollow Men

[Commissar]

SSGT Corey Carter

"You're mad." It was more a gasp as Carter hit the metal floor, side first. Carter's knees protested as he scrambled to his feet, hauling himself off the cold ground, the speaker's laughter echoing in his ears. This was madness. Enacting punishments for mundane actions, disproportionate and random retribution. He'd read up on those same techniques in training. They weren't intended for information collection, no information obtained under that sort of pressure was considered trustworthy by any intelligence officer worth his bars. It was torture, intended solely to break a captive, body and mind. Carter felt a chill settle over him as the connection settled in. These people were lunatics, and he'd walked straight into the asylum.

Still, he stood, squinting against the glaring lights. The room was as bare as it had seemed on the way in, though the floodlights illuminated more evidence of a rushed construction. The wall panels closest to him didn't sit quite right, and one panel had come away altogether on one side, revealing the bare metal underneath. Escape flitted across his mind like a flash of sky glimpsed through prison bars before he crushed the idea. He'd seen the marines waiting outside, and Carter was enough of a realist to realize that he wouldn't make it ten paces before he was sporting enough ventilation to cool a fusion reactor.

In the absence of escape, there was only one option. Endure. He'd seen this before. Petty individuals given power, seeking to prove their dominance. In a way, it was the same pathetic dance that played out on California's streets between rival gangs every night. He'd survived it once. He could do it again. An old survival instructor's mantra crept into his head, unbidden. If you're going through hell, keep going. Carter balled his fists, heels clicking together to attention.

Fine. He could play this game.

---

May you live in interesting times.
| Sarah McFarlen | Jane Hartman |