10. Ceara

The familiar metallic chill of the cell surrounded me, yet it felt so much colder, more isolating than ever before.

A stark difference from the last time I was here, where the presence of Ellie had lit the cold, gray room with a warm, golden hue.

I could still feel the phantom touch of her fingers as they had danced over my skin, stitching up my injuries.

Those moments of closeness, of shared vulnerability, were now replaced by a suffocating silence.

It was devoid of her soft, earthy fragrance.

The cell's meager light, filtering in through the slight gap at the door, cast long, ominous shadows on the walls.

I took a deep breath, the air tasting stale and lacking the fresh vitality I'd grown accustomed to with Ellie by my side.

Each heartbeat echoed within me, a cruel reminder of the void she had left.

A surge of anger welled up.

Was this how the Supervisor played his cruel games?

By letting us bond, only to rip us apart, turning hope into despair?

I closed my eyes, yearning for the solace of the Distant Vision, that one anchor in the storm of my life.

But as I sank into the depths of my mind, seeking the familiar threads of that comforting future, they felt… frayed, broken.

Ellie's theory echoed hauntingly — had it been just a dream, a figment of my imagination?

A defense mechanism against the harsh realities of my existence?

The more I grasped at the tendrils of that vision, the more elusive they became.

Suddenly, the cell door slid open with a harsh, grating sound, jarring me from my introspection.

The acrid smell of the guards' armor filled the room.

They stood there, looking down at me with their emotionless eyes.

I barely registered their presence, my spirit already defeated.

Usually, I'd summon every ounce of energy to resist, to fight back, to show them they couldn't break me.

But now?

What was the point?

The one shimmering beacon of hope I had found in the darkness was gone.

They gestured for me to get up.

With a heaviness in my limbs, I complied, not bothering to resist.

What did I have left to fight for?

My ability, my "gift," felt more like a curse than ever before.

Without Ellie's grounding presence, the weight of the future, the pressure to see, to know — it all felt unbearable.

As I walked through the cold corridors, the familiar sounds of the facility were amplified: the hum of machinery, the muffled voices of guards, the soft echo of my footsteps.

But more than anything, I was hyper-aware of the silence around me, the palpable absence of Ellie's soft voice, her laughter, her gentle breaths.

I tried to summon her image in my mind, to hear her voice, to feel her touch.

But it felt distant, a memory fading fast.

It was replaced by a deep-seated pain in my chest, a constant, aching reminder of the void she had left behind.

The guards led me to an interrogation chamber — a sterile, white room with a singular chair at its center.

The Supervisor wasn't present, perhaps he didn't feel the need to oversee my session.

I was no longer the rebellious prisoner; I was broken.

* * *

The white,cold illumination from overhead and the soft hum of the machinery were almost reassuringly familiar.

A tension hung in the air, an electric charge of anticipation.

The Supervisor entered from a side door, slowly and at his own leisure.

His large frame overshadowed the array of machines and monitors.

His predatory grin was more pronounced than ever, his teeth glinting in the harsh light.

The smugness in his posture was palpable, and I felt a surge of disgust.

The odor was so strong that it made me want to gag.

"You know," the Supervisor began, his voice dripping with false cheer, "you've made me a very happy La'ok, Ceara. Those lottery numbers you spilled? Bang on. But don't you worry," he chuckled, "I didn't buy a ticket. No need to draw unnecessary attention. You, my dear Ceara, are worth far more than mere credits. We, together, are going to rewrite the course of the galaxy."

His words were meant to inspire hope, perhaps even camaraderie.

But every syllable was a twisted dagger, reminding me of the prison I was ensnared in, the future I had been robbed of.

The Supervisor motioned for the guards to strap me into the machine once again.

As the cold, metallic restraints clamped around my wrists and ankles, I felt an odd sense of calm wash over me.

Maybe it was resignation or maybe it was the clarity that often comes before a storm.

The machine whirred to life, its monotonous drone gradually amplifying.

A familiar tingling sensation coursed through me as the electrodes on my temples activated.

The once-muted visual cascade inside the holo-screen began its dazzling dance.

Colors, shapes, possibilities began to swirl and merge.

But this time, the visions were different.

There was an intensity, a vivacity to them.

It was as if they were demanding to be seen, to be acknowledged.

But I wouldn't.

I wouldn't give the Supervisor the satisfaction.

My heartbeat echoed in my ears, a rhythmic drum pushing me forward.

With every beat, I focused on the anger, the betrayal, the loathing I felt for the Supervisor.

The sensation of the smooth metal against my skin, the sharp scent of antiseptics, it all faded away, replaced by a singular, intense emotion:

Hate.

It was that hate, that pure, unadulterated loathing, that shielded me.

It became a wall, a barrier against the barrage of images, against the intrusion into my psyche.

After what felt like an eternity, the machine slowed its frenetic pace, settling into a more regular rhythm.

The Supervisor, impatient and eager, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "What do you see, Ceara?"

With great effort, I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

Despite the exhaustion, the physical and emotional toll of the machine, I managed to muster up every ounce of defiance I had left. "Nothing," I whispered, the word dripping with triumph.

The Supervisor's grin faltered, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, ‘nothing'? Tell me what you see!" he demanded.

But I wasn't done.

With a surge of energy, I began to laugh, the sound echoing eerily in the sterile room.

Even to my own ears it sounded insane.

It started as a low chuckle, growing louder and more manic with every passing second.

The Supervisor recoiled, his ever-present smile finally wiped off his face, replaced by a look of stunned disbelief.

"Nothing," I repeated, my voice stronger now, every word punctuated with another bout of laughter. "I see nothing!"

The Supervisor's face reddened with rage, but the damage was done.

For the first time since he'd bested me, I had managed to gain the upper hand, to throw a wrench in his plans.

And though the future remained uncertain, that small victory was enough to light a spark of hope in the ever-present darkness.

* * *

The Supervisor'sonce triumphant smirk morphed into a scowl.

His attempts to unlock my visions had been in vain, every strategy and coercion method thwarted by my newfound resilience.

"I don't understand!" he spat, his voice echoing with frustration.

His sharp scent, usually one of dominance and control, now carried undertones of anxiety.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against my face. "Why? Why won't you tell me?!"

His voice was a guttural growl, frustration palpable in every syllable.

I looked past him, focusing on the distant hum of the machinery and the soft flicker of the overhead lights.

I let myself fall back into my Distant Vision, the dreamlike space where Ellie's presence warmed my heart.

The memories of her soft touch, the softness of her skin, the sound of her laughter — all of it enveloped me, comforting me like a soft blanket on a cold night.

The Supervisor's voice broke through the reverie, pulling me back to reality. "What is the difference between now and before? Why won't you tell me what you see?!"

His voice held a note of genuine puzzlement.

"You took away my hope," I began, my voice steady and clear. "If there is no hope, there is no future."

It was the truth serum talking.

I never would have answered his question otherwise.

For a moment, the Supervisor seemed taken aback.

His normally unflappable demeanor gave way to genuine surprise.

The realization slowly dawned on his face, his eyes widening slightly.

"So," he said slowly, his tone more calculated now, "if she were to return to you, would you tell me what I want to know?"

The question hung in the air, its weight pressing down on me.

My heart raced, the sound thundering in my ears.

The thought of seeing Ellie again, of holding her close, was a beacon of light in the never-ending darkness that had become my reality.

I closed my eyes, letting the sensations around me amplify.

The cold metal of the chair against my skin, the shuffling of the Scientist's four feet, even the subtle shift in the Supervisor's odor — everything seemed to become more intense.

My mind raced, struggling with the dilemma.

Sacrifice the future of the galaxy or sacrifice my future with Ellie?

It was an impossible choice.

After what felt like an eternity, I opened my eyes, locking onto the Supervisor's expectant gaze.

I simply held his stare, allowing my silence to speak louder than words ever could.

His body relaxed and he nodded his head. "Very well," he said.

Then he barked an order to his guards, who hauled me back to my cold, frigid cell, and I dreamed of having Ellie back in my arms.