“I mean, what’s your name, Warden.”
“My name is Warden.”
“What?”
This conversation is going nowhere. Just like me.
“Are you going to loosen these chains? If I don’t get to sit up soon, the back of my head will flatten out and I’ll be misshapen.”
“That doesn’t sound like something that would happen,” he says. “I know you are a liar, human. A liar. A thief. A terrorist. A murderer…”
“I know you are, you said you are, so what am I?”
That retort works in any situation, and has since I was five. The irony of a scythkin of all creatures attempting to lecture me for taking lives is astounding. I am sure he has been part of the destruction of many worlds, the innocent and the beautiful wiped out in the scything motions of his wicked body.
Now he holds me captive, his cruelty implicit even in his kindness. For now he feeds me, but we both know he will not play the kind host much longer. The discomfort of chains and captivity is intentional, and growing by the moment.
“Let me up,” I say. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He looks down at me with that impassive expression and I know before he even says it that he’s going to use absolutely everything as a bargaining chip.
“If you want to use a bathroom, you’re going to have to show me respect.”
“If you want me not to pee on your floor, you’re going to have to let me up.”
That’s what we humans call checkmate.
At least, until he shrugs.
“Your fluids will not inconvenience me, human.”
Asshole. He knows It would be a humiliation to lose control of my body. He’s forcing me to make a decision between pretending to respect him, and making a mess of myself.
“Please, sir,” I grit between my teeth. “May I use the bathroom?”
“That might be polite where you're from. But it’s not enough respect to get you out of my chains,” he tells me.
“What do you want from me?”
An expression of cruel satisfaction passes over a face nature intended to only ever express cruelty.
“I want you to admit that you are mine. That your fate is mine to choose. I want you to admit to yourself that there is no way out of this but through me.”
I knew scythkin were psychopaths. They can’t help it. It’s baked in when they hatch. They’re not born like a decent species. Their mother is either long gone or dead by the time they scuttle free of their shells. I know these animals inside and out. But this one does not know me well at all. For instance, he clearly doesn’t know that I’ll never surrender to him, no matter what I say.
“Pretty please,” I whimper. “You have all the power. I am but a poor human captive at your mercy. You don’t need these chains to hold me. I could never escape you. Please let me up.” I sniff, and a tear rolls down my cheek. It’s not hard to produce a semblance of emotion. I have enough anger boiling inside me to finance a torrent of tears, but I think this will be better. I have a standard four-point plan for situations like this one. He's not the first alien to try to break me. He’s not even the most frightening.
First, I start small.
Next, I work my way up to being whatever he thinks he wants me to be.
Then I kill him.
And escape.
“Does that usually work?”
That question crushes my plan. He leans down over me, letting me see all his vile alien handsomeness.
“I don’t want you to pretend to beg. I want you to actually beg. Based on my knowledge of human bladders, I imagine you’ll be ready to ask properly in an hour or so.”
It takes a short moment for the meaning of his words to sink in, and the true treachery of his actions to become apparent. He gave me soup on purpose, the bastard. He’s smart. He wasn’t just feeding me; he was setting me up for this moment.
“Are you ready to beg for forgiveness?”
He has fucked me to the edge of oblivion, but the answer is still no. Not in the way he means. I can make my voice quiver. I can say all the words he wants to hear. But I can’t mean them — and he can tell the difference.
He’s smarter than most. So far, the scythkin I have encountered have been too busy being outraged at my crimes to bother to pay attention to the woman behind them.
It’s time to try a different form of resistance.
“This isn’t going to work,” I tell him. “So unless you enjoy smelling piss, let me up and show me a bathroom, or I am going to make a real mess of your ship.”
There’s a moment in which anything could happen. He could threaten me. He could beat me. He could turn and walk away and leave me with no option but to carry through on my threat.
A sound escapes him. Somewhere between a snort and a growl is the sound a scythkin makes when he is amused. He crouches down next to me, his body massive and even more dangerous for its proximity.
I brace for pain, and blood, but then I feel the chains loosen. Did I just win? Is he going to give in? This might be easier than I thought.
“Come here,” he says, lifting me up from the floor. “I have a room with a view for you, human.”
This is too easy. The brief flash of triumph I feel at getting my way is quickly replaced with suspicion. He has something up his stabby sleeve. I’m sure of it.
Warden
She thinks she’s winning. She’s wrong. I didn’t need her to capitulate. I don’t want to break her with cruelty. I want her to feel the fear which flashed through her eyes when it occurred to her that I could be that cruel, if I wanted to.
I want her to think of what I am doing now as kindness. I want her to recognize that there is some softness inside me. And I want her to miss it when it is gone.
Her poor condition gives me an advantage. A starving animal cannot help but be grateful for food. I have already fed her, and that has already begun the process of the only way of breaking a human like this — making her fall in love.
“Where’s my cell?” She asks the question with the same tone as a CEO asking where her office is.
“This is your cell.”
“Nice,” she says. “A bed. With a mattress. And an actual toilet and shower. You’re spoiling me.”
It is nice. It is far larger than anything she has been kept in up until this point, I would be willing to bet that. Our species has not been kind to Silver in her captivity.
“It is also my cell,” I say. “These are my quarters.”
“Your quarters?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t have a cell for me. You’re just going to keep me in your bedroom like a bug in a jar.”
“I don’t understand that reference, human, but I want you close. You will not have a moment to yourself. After all, what kind of an owner doesn’t keep a close eye on his new pet?”
“Pet.”
I watch her bristle. She doesn’t have to like it, but her like, or dislike has no impact on the reality of her situation. She is my pet, and it is time I showed her precisely what that means.
Silver
He pulls something else from his box of tricks which thus far has contained medical equipment and chains. “I’m going to put this collar on you. It will track you. It will shock you, if you need to be shocked. It will also signify, always and forever, your status not as a free human, but as my pet.”