Chapter Twelve
Adam
I closed my eyes for an hour and she almost got herself killed. I heard the scrambling around on the higher levels through the sensors. It didn’t occur to me that it might be Lilly that they were hunting. Even when I opened my eyes, it took me far too long to realize that she was not there with me anymore, that she had gone out into the world to, in all likelihood, get herself killed.
We are in the very worst part of the city for a reason. We are where even government forces fear to tread. She has been whining about going out for a while, but I did not consider that she’d really be so naive as to do it. Especially not in the middle of the night, where the very worst of human nature has always been expressed.
Her disobedience is unforgivable. I am angry at her, but I am even more furious with myself. This happened because I underestimated her. It amused me to let her scrabble around in an attempt to escape. I thought I knew what she was getting into in the bathroom. I thought I was in control of her.
I was never in control at all. She was already on her way back before I even knew she was missing. By the time I got to the hole in the wall, she was scrabbling through it. I hadn’t known that tunnel existed.
She left little decoy holes for me to find, shallow little grooves that made me smirk every time I saw them, and led me to believe she was incapable of making any real impression on the walls. She made me believe that she was safely contained, but the whole time she was constructing something in the few small hours where I could not watch her, something that not only allowed her to potentially escape, but allowed others to come in. She made a back door that utterly bypassed my defenses and could have led to us being attacked at any moment.
I underestimated her ability to hide her activities from me, and to deceive me. I had no idea what she was doing, and that is not good enough. That will get us both killed. So I will chain her like a dog if I have to. I will keep her as people keep animals, on a short leash that I will never let her off until I am utterly sure she is properly trained.
She whimpers as I walk past her on the way to the bathroom to properly secure the perimeter. I ignore her. She knows she has done wrong. She can think about it while I fix what she has broken. To start with, I have to fasten every single panel in the room and reinforce it.
Slamming nails and twisting screws takes some of the anger out of me. I triple reinforce the holes with plates of thick iron and steel, making everything utterly impregnable. My anger is made productive, and channeled away from the whimpering little girl who knows she is due a severe punishment.
As I work on checking every single inch of the room to ensure she doesn’t have a backup escape, I cannot help but think of her with some fondness and admiration, even in my anger. Her intelligence is the reason I exist, but it could easily be how we both die. I thought I had asserted control effectively, but apparently I have not. She will have to be taught another way. A harsher way.
I set my mind to her punishment, but before I can formulate much of an idea at all, a wave of pain rushes through my body and across my skull. I resist the desire to be weak and cry out. It will pass. It always does. I put my palms on the cold steel and breathe deeply as images force their way into my consciousness. A house in a field, a red barn. A horse. Disjointed pictures and feelings from some life I never lived. This is memory, and memory hurts.
Instead of slipping away, the pain stays intense as I work on the walls. It is a crushing pressure that seems to grip every part of my body. The cyborg part of my brain is being assaulted by the meat of my machine. In the laboratory, they called them RAM attacks. They have been growing in intensity, and unlike those that come from outside the walls, there is little I can do to stop them.
My technology is imperfect. That is the truth of the matter. In the laboratory, they referred to me as the prototype. I was never intended to last more than a few years. It has occurred to me on more than one occasion that I may be dying, though I have little strong evidence for that.
All things are dying, so I do not feel pity for myself, but before I go I want to make sure that some part of me is blended with her. That my existence was not for nothing. And, I wish to know that she is safe and happy and well. This place beneath the ruins of the old world could become a family home one day. Could turn into a vast estate kept safe from the horrors humanity wreaks above ground.
There is still much to do, and there is still more she needs to know about me. I was on the verge of telling her, but now she has shown me she is not trustworthy yet. All the more reason to punish her swiftly and effectively. She is like a rebellious brat, doing as she pleases because she doesn’t understand the weight of the situation in which she finds herself. She doesn’t know how important she is.
I’m not sure how much longer I will be able to hide these pains from her. She has seen evidence of them once, and once is probably enough for her mind to be working on the problem. She will not solve me so easily, however. I am not a thick wall that can be chipped at patiently and that crumbles with age.
That is the true problem here, I realize. As I pound a piece of steel over the wall where her tunnel runs up to the surface, the wall itself crumbles in places. Fine powder filters between my fingers.
She found a part of the foundation that was not poured with steel. The concrete here is breaking down with flows of water from rain. It is not as stable as I imagined it to be and even if I fill this hole in the short term, a suitable tool could punch through it in a matter of minutes.
I swear under my breath as I realize she has unintentionally revealed a serious weakness in our defenses. I am still not pleased with her, but it occurs to me that if she had not found this and brought my attention to it, I would have been none the wiser.
Perhaps disobedient little brats have a purpose. That doesn’t mean she’s not in trouble.
* * *
Lilly
It is a long time before Adam speaks to me. Hours at the very least. He works in the bathroom for a very long time, stopping only to dump a single ration of food and water in front of me. I don’t touch either, I’m too sick with nerves to even think about eating or drinking.
The feeling of guilt is overwhelming. I knew as soon as I got out that I had made a mistake, but I know he won’t believe me when I say that. He will think I am lying to try to avoid being punished.
Finally, Adam strides back in. He has removed his shirt and stands only in dark pants and heavy boots. His muscular frame is coated in dirt and dust and sweat. His hair has a light shine to it, and there are smudges on his forehead where he’s pushed it back and out of his eyes. That, along with the smoldering look on his devastatingly handsome face, makes him look hotter than ever.
I feel a tingle between my legs, a certain slipperiness. This chain and collar are harsh, but I know what I did was wrong. I know I deserve to be in trouble. It’s very strange for me to feel this way. I’m usually so certain that whatever is happening is unfair and that I have been wronged.
This time, though, I know he’s right. When I was in the library, I saw what he was talking about. Now I understand how easily we could be discovered by any number of entities, any of which could destroy us. It’s not just government forces. The people who live out in these rejected lands can be very dangerous of their own accord. My idea of dressing as a flashy silk pirate and going to be one of them was utterly ridiculous and only made sense in the confines of safety that he provided.
He stands over me. Looks down at me. I lower my eyes and say nothing. He doesn’t want to hear what I have to say, I’m sure of it. Even I don’t want to hear my own plaintive begging for mercy.
His boots creak as he crouches in front of me and takes my chin in his big hand. Adam lifts my face to his and though I can barely stand to look at him, I have to.
“You were a bad girl,” he says, his voice rough.
“I know. I’m sorry.” My voice is soft and close to a whimper. I wish I could show him how sorry I am. I know he’s going to punish me regardless. I just want him to know that I do understand. But right now, talking doesn’t seem like such a good idea.
“You have been hiding from me all this time,” he says. “Hiding your intentions, your work. I do not trust you.”
Those last words crush me, make it hard to breathe. I don’t know why. He’s holding me captive, breeding me like an animal. Why do I care if he trusts me or not?
The answer comes swiftly from the part of my brain that really doesn’t approve of any of this: because you love him, idiot.
It’s true. I’ve fallen for him. Some people would call it some kind of captive syndrome, but Adam isn’t holding me here just for his own pleasure. He’s doing it because the world has become a very hostile and dangerous place for us both. He has made so many decisions for me and against my will. Every single one of them has been proved to be for my benefit.
“You say nothing?”
“I…” I try to find words, but I can’t. Nothing that I think he will believe. Now is not the time to profess my love. He’ll think it’s just manipulation. He will probably hate me for saying it at all.
His brow quirks quizzically when I fall silent again. “You usually argue.”
“I argue when I have something to argue,” I say softly. “But you’re right. I can’t argue with that. I did a stupid thing, and I hid it from you. Why would you trust me?”
He nods curtly. “Then you will understand why I do what I am about to do.”
He gets up and leaves the room, returning a little while later with a series of steel stakes about ten feet long. He carries them over his shoulder with ease, and though I do not know what he has in mind with them, their long gleaming shafts make me shudder at the possibilities.
Adam ignores me. He walks to the other side of the room and one by one, he pounds and bends the steel into shape, fastening the bars with pressure from his massive hands. You don’t realize how strong a cyborg is until you see him weld metal with nothing but sheer force.
I watch as the instrument of my punishment takes shape. Soon, I see what it is he is building. It is an enclosure, just barely taller than I am and perhaps six feet wide and four feet deep. It is a cage. With a door.
He opens the door, throws an old rug into it, and then his eyes meet mine.
“You,” he growls, “are going into a cage. You will come out when I want to fuck you or feed you, and you’ll stay in there until I decide we are ready to leave.”
A cage? The idea makes my heart race. This underground burrow makes me feel claustrophobic enough, and now he wants to put me inside a cage and keep me there?
“Adam,” I beg. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What is sorry? What does sorry matter?” His voice is a deep furious rumble. “It’s a word. A sound that means nothing when it comes from your mouth.”
“Beat me…” I beg. “Whip me. Hurt me. Fuck my ass, just… not that.”
He strides over, takes me by the collar, and holds me still. His other hand makes a fast jerking motion and the chain snaps off as easily as if it were made of paper. The sound of the links hitting the cold floor reminds me of the truth. Adam is so much stronger than I am. In his hands, I am deprived of all choice. If he wants me in the cage, I am going into the cage.
“Adam!” I grab him by the arms, but my fingers slide from his sweat-coated muscles. He puts me into the cage, closes the door, and walks away.