|
He
might once have been a strong man. She could see the lingering
traces of heavy muscles across the line of his shoulders...filling out
some of the loosened skin of his arms. He might once have been a
wary man. His eyes seemed to take unconscious note of their
surroundings at all times, though he of course did nothing about what he
saw. He might once have been a brave man...but there wasn't enough
left of whoever he had been for courage, not anymore.
the guard thought, stomach doing its typical little flip at the sickly
blankness in the man's face. <Bad enough they never give us
enough rations for them... worse to have to watch as they die from the
inside out.>
But there was nothing she could do about it, and at least this man's
suffering would soon be over. That was some small solace, anyway.
She walked beside him, her weapon not even drawn. It wasn't
needed. He was as docile as anyone she'd ever had the duty of
guiding to his death. The false leg he'd been fitted with was of
poor construction and clanked with every halting step. He wasn't
too skilled in its use. No surprise. He hadn't had much
occasion to be on his feet in weeks, not since the woman he'd been
celled with had finally died. And after they'd hauled her body
out, he'd gone even farther into his private, brain-damaged world.
He took a misstep and almost fell, but she caught his arm tightly and
held him up. His head turned slowly, eyes fixing on her as if
only now noticing her presence. Her heart constricted.
<Oh please, don't let him talk, I can't handle it when they talk,
please don't let him say anything...> But he only looked,
age-crinkled eyes seeming sad and distant and empty all at once.
"Come on, now," she said softly, keeping her hand on his arm
until his balance was restored. "Just a little further."
The salt and pepper-capped head almost seemed to bob once in acceptance,
and they resumed their slow journey down between the rows and rows of
cells lining this long, long hall. Other prisoners watched
silently - the only tribute they could give was this wordless witnessing
of his last walk. Half the rooms were empty, now. The
executions had been increased as the government grew more stingy with
the funding that kept the camp running. Mutant criminals were a
drain on resources better spent on defense, or so the President said.
There was no point in keeping them alive even for study, not anymore.
After the process was perfected, the Agee method was used on
every imprisoned mutant in the United States. Not a one was left
with powers intact...and if it broke their minds as well? A
necessary evil. And it wasn't as if these were productive members
of society, anyway.
Near the end of the hall, a slender hand reached from the rightside cell
towards the man. He shuffled to a halt, staring at it as if he
didn't know what it was. A name was said from inside - his name,
perhaps. No response. The man's brain was mush. At his
continued silence, the name was repeated, then followed by a choked,
helpless sob. The guard's jaw tightened.
"That's enough. Let him pass." She ignored the
curses the dark-haired woman heaped on her, taking the man's arm once
again and urging him past. Desperate cries followed them, but
neither the guard nor the man so much as turned to listen.
And then they were at the door, and she was unlocking it with the
special key as he stood canted a bit to the side away from the missing
leg. It swung open with the grating hum it always made - the
ominous, hollow sound that had marked the ends of so many forgotten
lives.
For the first time, something showed on his face. A faint,
almost-missed flicker of...apprehension? Fear? Something
else?
"It's all right," she murmured, reaching for his hand.
"It'll be over soon."
His mouth opened slightly. Throat worked. No sound came
out...how long had it been since he'd spoken? She smiled
reassuringly and pulled gently at his hand, and he slowly stepped
forward to follow her into the chamber. The false leg caught on
the lips of the opening, and he staggered forward gracelessly. She
caught him and held him up, feeling the worn body tremble in weariness,
pain...
She half-carried, half-supported him to the chair. Gasping in
breaths, he let her seat him. Sweat was dripping from his brow,
running in heavy rivulets down the creased lines of his weathered face.
He didn't even try to move as she secured the clamps over arms and the
one real leg.
She stepped back. "Are you comfortable?"
No answer, of course, though his eyes lifted to hers. The mouth
opened again...but still no sound, no words. Brows drew together,
an expression of sick confusion passing over his face.
This was always the worst part. The moments of waiting...having to
stay in the room with him until the executioner gave the sign for her to
exit the chamber. She didn't know why it was procedure to do
things this way...but no one ever questioned procedure. Not here,
and not now. Not anymore.
It was even harder now, with this man. If there was any
intelligence behind those eyes, she couldn't see it. But
somehow... There was a dog, once. A pet she'd had briefly.
During the Legacy Strain C scare of 2023 they'd been ordered to have all
animals in Manhattan destroyed. She'd taken her dog with the
countless others to the extermination center, and when they'd told her
she could drop him off and leave, she'd insisted on staying through the
end. Those eyes...so trusting. So full of confidence and
innocence...completely unaware of
what was about to happen. She'd had nightmares for weeks
afterwards.
This man had those eyes.
"All right, Sadie," came the executioner's voice over the
speaker; bored and disinterested as always. "I'm ready."
She didn't move at first. He was still staring at her, still
watching her. Still blind to what was coming. The lips
moved, but no words came out. They probably wouldn't have made
sense, anyway. She swallowed once and gave him a nod, then another
comforting smile.
"Don't worry," she told him quietly. "You won't
have time to feel a thing."
"Sadie," said the executioner impatiently.
She backed out and closed the heavy door, then stepped up to stare
through the thick glass. His head had dropped, those unknowing
eyes fixing on the restraints that held him in place. A whir of
sound as the machinery started to power up.
Slowly, trance-like, he started to tug at the clamps.
"Is the door sealed?" From the speaker again...that
voice, so flat and uncaring.
"Yes."
The withered muscles flexed. Skin shifted as he pulled back as
much as he was able.
"Heat shields on?"
"Yes."
Cries, screams, threats from the woman in the cell who'd reached out to
him. Silence from the rest.
"I'm ready to initiate the blast. Cover your eyes."
She didn't answer. Not once in the countless times they'd done
this had she covered her eyes. Not once had she turned away from
the final moments. It was hard enough to look at herself in the
mirror as it was...had she denied them this final witness, she'd never
have managed.
His head came up, uncomprehending terror finally filling that blankness.
The machinery was humming now...the blast would come at any moment.
The throat worked. The lips moved. Sadie hit the button that
would allow her to hear inside the chamber...
"But I'm...the best...at what I..."
The blast flared, white-hot. The blinding light seared into her
brain. Her teeth ground against the wince she wanted to give.
For the two seconds that seemed like forever, she made herself gaze
directly into the blaze of extermination fire, hearing the deafening
roar of the blast over the comm.
And then it was over. Her eyes cleared slowly, spots dancing in
front of them. Nothing was left in the chamber but the chair.
Not even his fake leg had survived the intense blast.
"I'll have the servos prep the room again," the executioner
told her levelly. "Why don't you go collect the next
subject?"
Sadie stared at the empty room. <"I'm the best..."
Wonder if that ever meant anything...> "All right.
I'll get on it."
The walk back down the hall was more disconcerting after an execution.
The silence that followed her wasn't of respect or tribute, but loaded
with something far, far uglier. She ignored it. They
learned early how to cope with being despised by the prisoners.
And death really was preferable to the endless days of nearstarvation
and abuse they faced, wasn't it?
The computer console lit up with the next prisoner to be executed.
She read the description and raised her brows in surprise.
<Isn't this a coincidence?> The very dark-haired woman
who'd raised such a ruckus...could this have been planned?
Well, it didn't matter. Sadie sighed deeply and drew her weapon,
knowing that this one wouldn't come along quietly at all. She'd
been a problem since day one, and she'd doubtless put up a fight to get
herself killed rather than going peacefully into the chamber for the
same fate.
And when she reached the cell, she received the spat curses she expected
from the sobbing, glaring woman inside. They didn't faze her.
She'd heard them many, many times before. And when Jubilation Lee
demanded to know _why_ she was doing this, _how_ she could endlessly
march people to their deaths, Sadie responded with the words that had
become standard issue among the guards of the camps...
"I'm only following orders."
-end-
Notes from Kaylee: Gee, guess you can't figure out which challenge
this was a response to, could ya? That's right...Alara's Kill Your
Fave Character challenge. And I did. And now I'm depressed.
And I just gotta say...this would _never_ happen in the Jayaverse!
This is _not_ the Jayaverse! This is some alternate reality of the
Jayaverse, that's it!
Actually, I just kinda got sick of talking with some friends who said
that Logan would die an honorable death, no matter what. Y'know
the thing...saving an innocent/the world/a woman he loved/etc.
Life'd be really nifty if we could be so certain that our deaths would
mean something, wouldn't it? But we can't.
Jaya
|
