Inferno

20 - Not the End

My name is Tobias Four.

I don't even know why I'm doing this, no one can hear me. I can't even record a real logbook, it's all just inside my head.

Maybe, it's just to keep me sane. The solitude, the stuff they put me through day after day ... it's enough to drive anyone mad.

I can't remember what day it is. I've lost track of how long I've been here. The torture tends to blend everything together, and when it just goes on for hours without end ... when it lasts long into the night, and I don't get any respite until I heal and then it's right back to to the cutting board ... life is just hell.

My name is Tobias Four.

I wonder how the war is going. Are we winning? Are we losing? Is it over? Somehow, I doubt that I'll know until either after I'm dead or I'm rescued. But after ... how long has it been, since I last heard a friendly voice? I'm running low on any hope of escape.

I was right, they wouldn't kill the Inferno, but they'll certainly hurt me. I enjoy talking with the scientists when they ask me stuff that I don't think is harmful to tell them. I've learned a lot. But when they ask about something that could hurt the Militia, and I refuse ... that's when the knives and needles come out.

I just ...

My name ... uh, my name is Tobias Four.

I think ... I think the worst part about any of this is the loneliness. I knew that I would go through this alone, but ... goddamn if it doesn't suck. I miss Vale and Tyra. I miss Gates. I'd even take Dimitri, if only to tell him to go screw himself one last time. But I don't think it's any surprise to say that, I miss...

Goddamn it, I miss you KT.

If I could just hear your voice, I think I'd be able to take this for another year. Just to know you're okay, just so I could even say 'hi'. At this point, you're probably the only thing keeping me going forward. I've got one last reserve of strength, and it's gonna be a hell of a long time before you're drained from my mind.

My na ... ah, who cares what my name is.

- 2 Years and 2 Months Later -

He could feel the all too familiar sense of his skin cracking as another laceration scabbed up and began to break apart as it healed. At this point, he knew his body's healing process like clockwork.

Which meant that he'd probably be right back on the schedule again tomorrow.

He enjoyed being injured, it meant that they had to take a break from tormenting him for a bit. Everyone around him knew that he didn't have much else to look forward to. The worst part was probably the chafing of his wrists that came from them being locked in restraints twenty-four seven.

He couldn't count how many times that the scientists had urged him to transfer the entity of the Inferno into someone else, allow them to end his suffering. Each time, he refused, in spite of how intensely they made the following torture sessions. Once he gave it up, he was dead. Simple as that.

He was often moved from different holding room to different holding room, sometimes shipped across the stars for safe-keeping. The IMC knew his value, but it seemed like they'd forgotten about his energy signature.

It had faded over time until they were confident enough to say that it had disappeared, and he was not a threat to keep on their worlds. What they didn't know was how he had gotten better at masking it, at keeping it in the back of his mind and letting it flare just a little bit every so often, just enough to let someone watching for it know that he wast still alive.

Being moved to Typhon had happened nearly four months previous, as far as he could tell the time accurately. The IMC had been nearing their completion of a containment unit for the Ark, and the construction of their weapon, something they called the 'fold weapon'. Just like the original Inferno had told him long ago, it was an artificial recreation of the ancient race's defense network that was being used as a blunt instrument. They had no idea the potential for the technology other than that they could destroy the Militia with it.

Now, all anyone ever talked about was how he was nearing the end of his usefulness now that the technology for the fold weapon and the Ark were in the IMC's hands. He had to agree that he couldn't really see why they'd keep him around afterward.

Something happened in the pitch-black of his holding cell; he heard noises, gunfire. Screaming. He listened closely, trying to make out what was happening. The IMC had been prepping for this day for a while, it was the day they were using the fold weapon on Harmony. Nobody had talked of anything else for weeks now. Had the Militia finally arrived to stop-?

Rumble.

He froze, all to aware of that sound. There was no way, it couldn't be true.

Rumble.

He'd all but given up hope after all this time.

WHAM.

The same entity outside making those rumbling sounds was now hammering on the large metal door of his prison. He could see the structure beginning to dent and bend, allowing a tiny bit of light to shine through.

WHAM.

With a massive crunch, the door fell over from its position, and landed with a loud metal thud on the floor. Blinding light swept into the room, making him recoil back for just a moment. As a shadow blocked it from sight, he opened his eyes again and nearly sobbed in relief of the familiar cracked blue eye in front of him.

"... Tobias."

TO BE CONTINUED IN THE NEXT ENTRY OF THE "ARCHITECTS" SERIES,

TEMPEST