PKMN Chpt 4

~-:Chapter 4:-~

     Mmmuhh… I slowly drift back to consciousness, to the feeling of water dripping on my face.  I open my eyes and see nothing, just darkness.  I try to wave my hand in front of my face, but my arm's stuck.  I try to move my other hand, but again, nothing.  I try to stand up, but my legs are tied to something… the chair.  I just realized I'm sitting in a chair.  Now I can feel the ropes around each of my legs.  There are ropes across my torso too, keeping my arms at my sides.  I struggle for a bit, but the ropes are so thick that there's no way I can even budge them.  I waste a few minutes trying to wriggle out of the ropes, and even try to tip the chair over so I can at least slide the ropes off my legs, but stop when I hear the *click* of a light switch being pulled, followed by footsteps.  
     "Good afternoon.  I'm excited to see you are finally awake."
     The voice seems to be coming from some point in front of me, but the room's acoustics bounce it around, garbling it, confusing my judgment.  I can't tell if the voice is coming from someone standing, sitting, walking, lying down… I can't even tell if it is a man or a woman.  But it doesn't sound very excited.  It sounds as though the voice is being run through one of those voice changers, like you see Eye Witnesses use on the news when they don't want to be recognized after reporting a crime.  I stop wriggling and remain very still.  
     "Oh good, I'm glad to have your attention," the voice comments.  
     "Who are you?  What's going on?"  I ask, hoping to finally get a straight answer.  
     "How DARE you! Do you not know!-… No of course not.  Excuse me," the robotic voice calms, and from what I can tell, takes a deep breath before continuing.
     "My name is of no importance.  If you must speak with me, you will refer to me as sir.  While speaking to anyone else, you will refer to me as The Boss.  Do you understand?"  Although the voice has been nothing but robotic monotony for the most part, I detect a hint of venom in the last word.  
     "Yes."  I respond, more confused than afraid.  There is a sudden THWOK noise as what feels like a pole or a reed strikes me across the face.  Even being blindfolded, I see stars in front of my eyes, and my face stings.  
     "I will take that as a 'no, sir'.  Lucky for you, I always give each and every new recruit one second chance.  Unluckily for you, yours has already been wasted.  Now we shall try again.  Do you understand me?"  
     Not willing to risk crossing the venomous, commanding voice again, I choke out a "Yes, sir."  
"Good," the mechanically synthesized voice carries on.  "Now, to answer your remaining question, this is your recruitment.  Of course, as you know, the Rocket Gang doesn't force people to do anything.  Therefore, we give you a choice: join the Rockets and go through the recruitment process, pledging yourself to our cause and forgetting anything and everything we ourselves haven't taught you… or death."  
     I realize this isn't a choice at all, and that not only are the Rockets forcing me to join them now, but they probably use this 'options' ploy all the time.  Of course, having unknowingly already used the only 'second chance' I should hope for, pointing out the fact that I'm being forced into joining the Rocket Gang would most likely lead instantly to the second 'option'.  
     "Yes…siiir."  The air suddenly fills with a crackle of energy, all the hair on my body stands on end, and then my body explodes in pain, muscles twitching, and brain fuzzy.  I shriek from the pain caused by the unexpected attack.  
     "Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your tone?  Tsk tsk, and I thought you had learned.  That is strike two.  And I believe you know what will happen after strike three…"  I have begun to hate everything about the robotic voice; the voice and everything that it stands for.  
"I… apologize, sir.  Please forgive me," I spit the words out through gritted teeth, between sweat, gooseflesh, and sporadic muscle spasms.  
     "I neither hand out forgiveness often, nor lightly.  If you wish forgiveness, earn it by proving yourself."  Proving myself?  "What is your name?"
     My name?  "My name is Michael, sir.  My father used to call me Mick."
     "Wonderful.  Forget it."
     "Um… sir?"
     "Forget your name.  That is who you were, but will be no longer.  After you arrive at your destination, you will be given a new name.  Do you understand?"
     No, I don't understand.  But I say, "Yes, sir," all the same.
     "Good.  Bruce, Susan, please escort our… new recruit to training park Delta Beta."  
     A male and a female voice say in unison, "Sir, yes sir."

     There is the sound of snapping fingers, followed by grinding mechanics.  Something seems to have been put into motion.  I really hate not being able to see anything.  Stupid blindfold.  My stomach lurches and I have a feeling of vertigo.  It feels like my chair is moving.  I try to tip it over, just to see if it is still bolted to the floor.  It is.  But I can definitely feel wind brushing past my face.  The wind picks up speed for a few moments, then dies out again, finally stopping completely.  There is a crackling static noise, like a walkie-talkie with bad reception.  The male voice, Bruce, says "Prepare for arrival; two members, one recruit."  There is a deep "BLOOB" noise, like something large falling into a pond of water, but without the final splash.  "Clear!" The voice I assume to be Susan shouts from somewhere on the other side of the room.  
     The BLOOB noise returns, and I hear papers scatter around the room.  A few minutes pass.  I hear nothing but the dripping water from before, much farther below me now.  Suddenly, the odd BLOOB noise returns, and the static of the walkie-talkie crackles to life again.  Susan's voice reaches my ears through the static, as though she were no longer in the room: "Clear!"
     "You're next, pal," Bruce says, a hint of pleasure in his tone.  I turn my head back and forth, trying the figure out what the hell is going on.  And then… I'm released from the chair?  Something has cut the ropes that had been binding me to my seat.  I sit frozen, unsure of what to do.  I'm still blindfolded, so I can't judge how high up I am, if even standing is a good choice.  But I can't just sit here, time is ticking.  I push myself up slowly, my arms pushing the weight of my body out of the chair.  I straighten up, aware that I am being- and perhaps have been this entire time- watched.  A good thing then that I decided not to jump for freedom.  If the fall hadn't killed me, odds are it would have severely crippled me, and Bruce or The Boss would have finished the job.  I raise my hands to my face in an attempt to remove the blindfold when a light, furry creature hops on my back, pinning my arms behind me.  
     "Ah, you should know better than that," Bruce says smugly.  "CLEAR!" He shouts.  

     The pain is excruciating.  At first it feels as though my arms are being twisted so far behind my back they are physically ripped from my body.  Now my back is folding together at the shoulder blades; I'm bending in half.  My legs fold toward my back, snapping at my waist.  My head stretches toward my spine, straining my neck until it cracks.  My entire body is in pieces.  And then the pieces move.
Even worse than the ripping and breaking of my body is how it feels to move: as if every broken piece of me is being forced through an incredibly thin straw, every body part screaming in protest.  I want to scream, I want to cry, I just want it to stop.  But without a throat to give me voice or eyes to give tears, my body inches through this space at an agonizingly snail-like pace.  
     My body drains out of the straw after what feels like hours.  I expect to pour out like a puddle and form a pile of liquid human parts, so I'm genuinely surprised when I fall jarringly to my knees.  My head is still spinning from the pain of contortion, so it takes me a while to notice the differences in my surroundings.  
     The first thing I notice is that while my arms are still behind my back, they are no longer pinned by that furry midget thing.  The second thing I notice, perhaps more importantly, is the droning voice talking at me.
     "Welcome to the Rocket Gang's Delta Beta training facility, fondly referred to as Delba for short.  You will find a handbook with all Rocket rules and regulations supplied next to your bunk.  Personal possessions will be seized upon arrival.  These may be returned if deemed unthreatening, such as clothes, toiletries, literature, or cash.  Exceptions may apply.  Enjoy your stay at Delba."  
     I try to look around for the source of the voice, but I'm still blindfolded, and attempting to turn my neck shoots pain down my body.  No wonder my arms are still positioned behind me, my whole body pulses in pain whenever I attempt to move anything from the position it was in before I was sent through that liquid transportation.  
     An electronic announcement is made, "Please clear the landing dock.  Clear the landing dock, please.  Por favor, acalara el muelle del aterrizaje.  Despeje el muelle del aterrizaje, por favor."
     The force of a truck pulverizes my back, throwing me forward about 15 feet.  
     "BOOYA!" the voice, I recognize to be Bruce's, sounds off from the direction of the attack.
     "Bruce, you were not contacted with clearance to enter the training facility.  As you can see, the new recruit was still on the landing dock.  You may have seriously damaged him," a voice I don't recognize says flatly.
     "Well tough shit for him, huh? He's gotta learn to move fast if he's gunna survive here.  Next time I won't aim for his back, I'll aim for the one-hit-kill."
     What a nice guy this Bruce is.  I, personally, am paralyzed from the neck down, and I'm STILL blindfolded, or I'd have shown him what's what.
     As Bruce and the other guy continue to argue about "protecting an investment" and "teaching him lessons," a hand pats my shoulder, and someone asks, "Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
     I try to respond, but with the amount of pain I've sustained in what feels like a short period of time, and my state of paralysis, all I can do is muster up a wheeze, little more than exhaling.
     "Alright, good enough."  An arm pulls me upwards and supports me, throwing my arm over his shoulder and stands me up.  He unties my blindfold and shines a flashlight in my eyes, looking for a response.  I try to blink the bright light out of my face, so he lowers his flashlight.
     "Wonderful, Bruce didn't kill you.  Come on, let's get you someplace where you can rest up."  
     As he begins to help me walk away from the landing pad, Bruce calls out, "HEY MARVIN!  Where do you think you're going with that?"
     "Bringin' him to his bunk so he's ready for tomorrow Bruce.  Goodniiiiight."
     I look at him, trying to figure out what's going on, but I don't have the breath to ask.  We walk at a brisk pace down several long, dimly lit tunnels.  There are so many twists and turns that I hope I can trust this Marvin guy, because there's no way I can find my way back to the landing pad.  Honestly, I have no idea how that transportation system or landing pad even works.  
     As we walk down the halls, Marvin makes conversation.  
     "Hey buddy.  Sooo, My name's Marvin Halden.  Welcome to Rocket Gang Delba.  If you keep your head down and shut up, you'll probably survive long enough to leave the training facility on your own terms."  
     Slowing the pace so I can catch my breath, I ask him, "And about how long should that take?"
     "With proper training, good standing, and more than a few successful missions?  I'd say 5 to 7 years, as long as "on your own terms" means leading your own undercover mission for the Rockets."
     I sigh.  "So this is pretty much a lifetime thing then, huh?"
     "Well let's put it this way, there's never been record of a recruit leaving the Rockets without dying."
     "Awesome." I say.  "So what exactly is it that we're doing tomorrow?"
     "Well, it's complicated," Marvin begins.  "You see, you kinda arrived at about, what you might call, 'midterms' of training."
     "Midterms? What, like a test or something?"
     "Well yes, in a way, but not a test you take with pen and paper.  You see, this used to be a military training camp, from back when the Rockets actually worked for the government.  So, the Rockets use every resource available to them.  The 'midterm' tomorrow is pretty much a chance for the higher-ups to decide who is worthy of attempting the promotion challenge."
     "Promotion challenge, huh?" I ask, slightly confused as to how that relates back to military training, or even midterm exams.  "So what, like going from fry cook to register to manager, that sort of thing?"
     Marvin chuckles, and pats me on the back.  "Not exactly my friend."

     We turn a corner and enter a room of prison cells.  
     "Hey, what's going on?  I thought I could trust you!"
     Marvin just shakes his head and leads me to an open cell, his grip surprisingly strong on my shoulder for such a short guy.
     "The first lesson, if Bruce hasn't taught you already, is to trust nobody.  The good news is, you CAN trust me.  This is the only available living space right now, because as I mentioned before, you kinda showed up half way through the semester.  So hey, don't sweat it."
     He chuckles softly as he pushes me into the cell, closing the barred door behind me.  
     "Um, I don't mean to be a pain, but isn't that sort of a fire safety issue?  What happens if there's a fire in the middle of the night and I'm locked in here?"
     Marvin turns and looks at me.  "Well, I suppose you'll perish in the fire and flames.  Sweet dreams!"  
     I watch him go back down the hall, turn the corner, and disappear.  I sigh and turn around, surveying the cell in the dim light.  On the right side of the room, there is a single cot with a pillow and ratty blanket.  On the back wall is a filthy, slightly cracked mirror, right above a sink with only one knob.  I walk over to the sink, turn the knob, and wait for the water to turn from a sludgy brown, to a clearish color, and then I put my hand under the flow of liquid.  Cold.  I turn the knob farther, waiting for it to warm up.  No steam.  Just cold water.  
     On the left side of the room, there's nothing but a bucket and a few old newspapers.  No need to explore over there.  The smell emanating from the bucket speaks for itself.  I trudge over to my cot and lie down.  Just lying still for a few minutes, I begin to feel all the bumps, bruises, scratches, and scabs throb all over my body.  Consumed by the steady pulse of discomfort on a surprisingly lump free cot, I begin to drift off to sleep.  The lights in the hall shut off- or maybe short out - and the only light remaining in my barred cell comes from the dirt-covered light bulb hanging from the center of the ceiling.  I'm too tired to get up and pull the chain to shut it off, so I just curl up on my side facing the wall away from the light, and pass out exhausted.  

The next day, the real test began.