Gestern, 00:11
Days. Or had weeks already passed?
Calyra had long since lost her sense of time. Her skull still hurt from the last session, and she was sure that—if she survived all of this—she would no longer be the same. Her concentration wavered; her mind felt foggy. It was as if she no longer had control over her own thinking.
A faint humming filled the room. Surely not everyone would be able to perceive it. But she could. Her senses were sometimes a mystery even to herself. It was more curse than blessing. Because what use was it to hear electricity?
The redhead sat huddled in a corner of her cell. She kept her face hidden in her arms, her eyes closed.
She couldn’t endure this light any longer. They never turned it off. It tormented her all day, all night. Not that she knew which was which.
“Vael! Get up.”
The metallic order had come out of nowhere and made Calyra flinch. As much as she wanted to resist, she knew it wouldn’t get her anything. She lifted her head and blinked into the glaring light. She hated it!
And yet she followed the command and stared stubbornly at the door she was now facing.
It opened. A stormtrooper—genderless, a person without a face, without identity—appeared, holding the E-11 blaster close to his chest.
“Come with me. Lieutenant Onyx wants to speak to you.”
“Sure,” Calyra muttered, her voice hoarse from the long silence.
Escorted by several anonymous soldiers, Calyra walked through the same, unadorned corridors again and again. At first she had tried to remember the path. But by now she was moving as if on cotton. She didn’t know whether she would even be able to remember anything at all.
Another door opened. “Get in.” She was pushed, which really hadn’t been necessary. She stumbled into the by now familiar interrogation room.
“Thanks a lot,” she grumbled. Her gaze fell on Onyx. Or Lieutenant Onyx, as she liked to correct Calyra.
“Did you miss me?”
Calyra had long since lost her sense of time. Her skull still hurt from the last session, and she was sure that—if she survived all of this—she would no longer be the same. Her concentration wavered; her mind felt foggy. It was as if she no longer had control over her own thinking.
A faint humming filled the room. Surely not everyone would be able to perceive it. But she could. Her senses were sometimes a mystery even to herself. It was more curse than blessing. Because what use was it to hear electricity?
The redhead sat huddled in a corner of her cell. She kept her face hidden in her arms, her eyes closed.
She couldn’t endure this light any longer. They never turned it off. It tormented her all day, all night. Not that she knew which was which.
“Vael! Get up.”
The metallic order had come out of nowhere and made Calyra flinch. As much as she wanted to resist, she knew it wouldn’t get her anything. She lifted her head and blinked into the glaring light. She hated it!
And yet she followed the command and stared stubbornly at the door she was now facing.
It opened. A stormtrooper—genderless, a person without a face, without identity—appeared, holding the E-11 blaster close to his chest.
“Come with me. Lieutenant Onyx wants to speak to you.”
“Sure,” Calyra muttered, her voice hoarse from the long silence.
Escorted by several anonymous soldiers, Calyra walked through the same, unadorned corridors again and again. At first she had tried to remember the path. But by now she was moving as if on cotton. She didn’t know whether she would even be able to remember anything at all.
Another door opened. “Get in.” She was pushed, which really hadn’t been necessary. She stumbled into the by now familiar interrogation room.
“Thanks a lot,” she grumbled. Her gaze fell on Onyx. Or Lieutenant Onyx, as she liked to correct Calyra.
“Did you miss me?”