Ricardia woke up. She was cold, her body strewn out across an unyielding concrete floor.
For a moment, confusion reigned supreme, and she lifted her head to remember what had happened.
But then the memories began to trickle back into place, and a wave of helplessness rose so quickly that it threatened to pull her under. Disoriented and alone, her last waking memory was being tased into oblivion as the cultists hauled her away.
She groaned, sitting up to surmise her surroundings. The floor was a gray, stony surface beneath her hands; the walls were of similar construction. The one closest to her, however, boasted a sealed-off doorway. With no apparent hinges, handles, or interface, there was no possible way she could open it from within the room. A little more investigation revealed that the room's only other features were an array of lights fitted to the ceiling, and a small, glinting box affixed to one of the room's upper corners.
A camera, she guessed, with a creeping chill.
"Hello?" She yelled, trying to shake the sensation off. There was nothing to direct her voice at, so she shouted at the walls, the camera, at nothing at all. "Let me out! This is a mistake!"
There was no response; Ricardia was left in silence, forced to listen to her own breathing pant, the thrum of her wild heartbeat. She attempted to pull up her feed, gratified when it floated into her vision, that they hadn't confiscated her contact lenses. But her heart sank when she realized that any long-range communication was unavailable. She was either being blocked, or kept somewhere so isolated to render a feed connection impossible.
Trying to shake off the rising panic, she began to pace the small room. She was filled with nervous, frantic energy, but the room contained nothing for her to direct it towards. Back and forth she went, listening to the sounds of her echoing steps, the rhythmic intake of breath as she slowly felt her herself unwinding,
She was trapped, alone, confused - but she tried to foster a kernel of calm within her, grasping for any sort of relief.
She felt herself sink to the floor, and so she inched backwards until her body was pressed flat against the wall.
"It's okay," she spoke the words aloud, fighting against the shakiness in her voice. "It's okay. It's okay."
It was the same thing she'd told herself after fleeing the hacker, during her first day in Onyx. And she had turned out, okay, hadn't she? It took a little luck, but she'd figured things out.
But this... prison she'd been confined to was much, much worse than anything she'd experienced before, and it was taking everything she had to stop herself from beating her fist against the walls.
Instead, Ricardia kept repeating her mantra, forcing her eyes closed until there was nothing left to focus on except the words themselves, the solace that they were meant to bring her.
It was something she'd always done back home. A small, private ritual, before she performed a Form at the temple. The acolytes had taught her that words spoken aloud had substance, that they had the ability to change the world in ways a hidden thought never could. These memories were both comforting and aching in equal measure.
With nothing to mark the passage of time, Ricardia felt herself eventually slipping into a pseudo-sleep, of sorts. She'd drift off for a time, until rousing, bleary, disoriented and uncomfortable. Then, after a while, she'd nod off again, boredom and exhaustion working in tandem to keep her incoherent.
At one point she awoke with a jolt, immediately aware that something had upset the homogeneity of her cell. It was the grating, mechanical sound of a door moving, and Ricardia whirled towards the sound, already assessing the possibility to take advantage.
Indeed, the door to her room had begun to slide open, but even as she watched, it ground to a halt about halfway. Still, she sized up the opening between the top of the door and the ceiling, but it was clear there was no way she could squeeze through the gap.
She jerked backwards in surprise as a face appeared; only the Purist's black shades and shiny bald forehead were visible. Any lingering resistance shriveled away when the barrel of a stun gun was wedged into the space next to their face.
"Hello, sinner," came a low, feminine voice. Despite her fear, Ricardia almost rolled her eyes at the melodrama of that.
"Why am I here?" She found her voice scratchy from lack of use. "What do you want with me?"
"To help you," the Purist murmured. A moment later, a plastic container was pushed through the wall and landed with a clatter onto the floor. "We seek humanity's freedom. Some of us must give up everything for the sake of the rest."
"I don't understand!" Ricardia protested. She made no move to get closer to the package - and the gun that hovered above it.
"Eat," the Purist said, "maintain your strength. You will aid us in our learning."
"Learning? Learning what?" But the door was closing again, the gun withdrawn.
"We work to save you and your kind, to release those unholy powers and cleanse you of their influence. You should be grateful for the chance to offer yourself."
Then the face withdrew, the door clanged shut, and Ricardia was alone again with nothing but her thoughts.
Offer yourself. The words echoed in the Purit's wake, the implications sobering. Even in the relative cradle of Caedem, the reputation of the cult preceded them. Everyone knew that they hated Factors, abilities - the Planetae. To them, to live on a conscious planet was to be a parasite; sucking away at a world that was literally built from devils.
But the deeper particularities of the religion... much of it was shrouded in mystery. Even something as simple as the Purists' origins was impossible to trace. The scholars claimed that they were one of the oldest forms of worship in the galaxy, but had no explanation for how they came about.
Right now, however, none of that speculation seemed to matter very much. Knowing why these people had captured her, and now seemed intent on using her wasn't her goal. Escape was the priority, but at the moment it felt as though there was nothing she could do.
Miserable, she crawled over to where the container lay and opened it.
She had expected for it to be food, and not a fantastic meal at that, but the reveal was more disappointing than expected. Along with a cheap, plastic water canteen, there were several beige packets that she recognized with a sinking stomach.
'Flight food,' as it was commonly called; the packets contained a white, tasteless paste that was high in nutritional content, but extremely low in enjoyment.
Sighting, Ricardia tore off a corner of one of the packs, lifting it up and squeezing the paste into her mouth. The stuff wasn't pleasant, but she was hungry, and it seemed like a good idea to keep her strength up.
Eating was a good distraction, for a little while. She could focus on the sensations of chewing and swallowing, pushing away the encroaching sense of despair. This is your life now, the walls seem to whisper. This is what happens when you run from responsibility.
Ricardia tucked her head in curled up, a small figure against the harsh, cold floor.
...
It was a long time before the Purist returned. Ricardia, who had been listlessly sprawled across the floor, scrambled to her feet at the sound of the grinding door. This time, the entire panel slid away, revealing a trio of figures. It was the same Purist from before, a woman, Ricardia guessed, accompanied by another of the cultists. But her third visitor was unexpected; a young, plain-looking man in a simple frock and trousers.
"Come here," beckoned the female, her voice lifeless. When Ricardia didn't move, the two of them raised their stun-guns and aimed them at her. She flinched, shuffling forward, until they were close enough to reach out and grab her.
"Hello, there," the man said, face ashen, as Ricardia was pinned. "We're going to need to take a sample from you." He eyed the Purists meaningfully, then added, "please cooperate. This will be quick if you keep your head down."
Ricardia felt the click of restraints moving into place, her hands now completely pinned behind her back. "What kind of samples?" She managed to choke out.
The man had already begun walking down the hall, and the others, with Ricardia in tow, followed behind.
"We're going to draw some blood," he said, keeping his back to her. Ricardia's insides curdled at the thought. But she knew better to protest the fact - her powerlessness was abundantly clear.
"Why?" She managed to erase most of the pleading from her voice. "What do you need me for?
"What else?" The man sounded both exasperated and a little tired as he led her through the space. She eyed the rows of doors, so similar to her own. Her breath caught when she spotted the monitors' feeds, and the other prisoners within. "In order to erase the Factor element, we must learn to understand it."
The last bit sounded... oddly rehearsed. As if the man was reciting the beliefs of somebody else. "Erase them." She echoed, as they hurried down a hallway. "You're going to erase my Factor?"
"No." He said, coming to a stop and stepping through a doorway. "But they want to, one day. And that will be just the first step."
She noticed he refused to look back at her, even while answering her questions. He's not a Purist, she thought. It was more than just his voice and behavior that tipped her off. Although the female Purist had Ricadia tightly restrained, the other one had their gaze trained on the man, hand resting lightly on their stun gun. Someone who they work with, but don't trust.
It was possible he could be convinced to sympathize for her, but the odds still seemed low.
Then, they dropped even further when she got her first good look at the room. Bright and sterile, the room was dominated by an array of worktables. Their metallic surfaces bounced light across the cabinets and monitors that lined the walls, and the odd, unfamiliar instruments placed throughout the room.
Ricardia was quickly shuttled to the center, where she was forced down onto a reclining chair that reminded her vaguely of ones in the medical clinics from back home.
The biggest difference, however, were the metal restraints that locked into place once she was forced down.
Use your Factor! A voice within her screamed, and indeed, she'd been fighting to keep the power at bay since they had taken her from the cell. But her Factor hadn't fazed the Purists when they'd captured her, even though the hacker had been affected. Something had provided them immunity.
She struggled against the cuffs, snarling, but the man still didn't look her way. Not until he donned a pair of black goggles from one of the workstations.
The goggles, she realized - that's why the Purists didn't seem worried about her light - and why he'd been avoiding her gaze. She'd thought it was shame that was plaguing him, but the realization was like an icy dousing of water.
As if reading her mind, the man finally stared her down, face impassive. "I appreciate your cooperation so far - I hope that doesn't change."
Terrified, Ricardia went still.
Hemmed in by the Purists, Ricardia only caught flashes of the man's preparations. He hurried about the room, grabbing equipment.
Finally, he motioned for the Purists to step back, and then he approached. Clutched in his gloved hand was a tube-and-pump apparatus - and the other held a long, lethal-looking needle.
Clearly unsettled, the unfamiliar Purist shifted position, now eying the man.
Ricadia's blood froze at the sight. She wanted to look away, to somehow dissociate and erase the next few moments of her life from existence, but she couldn't tear her eyes away.
But he paused before approaching her, and the expression on his face told her he was accessing the feed.
"Subject seven, sample one," he spoke aloud. "Researcher in attendance is Dr. Malachite Ito. Sample is from a female-Factor Born."
Now he stepped up and gripped her arm, and she couldn't help but let out an involuntary shriek.
"Reports claim the origin is Cadaem, and that the subject possesses unusually strong..." he trailed off, flinching at her screams.
"Please," he said, speaking directly to you. "Calm down. It'll be easier for you."
"You keep saying that," Ricardia whimpered, any semblance of defiance eroded away with the needle so close.
He winced, but came closer still. "I don't take any pleasure from this, but it must be done. Here," he added, after a pause, and swabbed a portion of her exposed arm with a device he pulled from a pocket. "I can numb the affected area at least, so you won't feel a thing."
She could do nothing but watch as he stashed the device away, steadied himself, and then plunged the needle right into her arm.
"Oh, shit-" Ricardia gasped, but as the moments went by, she realized the impact had felt no more painful than a light pinch. Wordlessly, she watched as blood - her blood - crept its way through the tubes.
The man, who appeared to be named Dr. Malachite Ito, had returned his attention to the report.
"...the subject possesses unusually potent levels of Factor ability, according to eyewitness reports. Her blood sample will be used to isolate the marker that determines these abilities."
Ricarida closed her eyes, shutting out the blood, the report, the Purists leering over her - all of it. She just wanted it to be over.
The minutes ticked by. Blessedly, the doctor ended his report quickly, and the Purists stayed silent, so she was left alone with her thoughts.
Her eyes were still closed when her feed overlay flared to life around her, a chat invitation pinging.
The sender, to her shock, had an ID with the name Malachite Ito.
What's there to lose? She thought to herself, still reeling from surprise. But she thought about the way the Purists kept an eye on him, the way he seemed to avoid her gaze. There was something going on, and she'd be failing herself if she didn't take the risk.
So she accepted the chat. With her recent anti-hack tech, she was fairly sure that the ping was just a message, anyway.
I'm sorry. For all of this.
Ito.
Ricardia schooled her expression, forcing herself to stay placid.
Who are you? Why are you working with them? What do they want?
Ricardia
The questions flooded from her, triggered by this trickle of offered kindness.
Then she added;
If you're sorry. Let me go. Please. We can settle on something.
For a few moments, nothing happened. Ricardia kept her eyes shut, but doubt suddenly began to flow into her. Was this just some sort of sick joke? Was he trying to bring her hopes up, just to crush them?
But then, finally, he returned her ping.
I'm here because I have to be. These people are using me - I don't have a choice. They'll kill me if I don't continue my research.
Ito
The Purists removed the restraints as Ito pulled out the needle. Dazed from both shock and blood loss, she swayed as they hauled her to her feet.
What do they want?
Ricardia
They want what they've always wanted. To separate themselves from the rest of humanity; to remove any 'influence' of the Planatae. But now they've taken it a step further.
Ito
What do you mean?
Ricardia
Ito didn't even glance at her as she was escorted out of the lab; he faced his instruments, as though he were already at work. But Ricardia knew otherwise. She kept her own eyes half-open, in an effort to hide her usage of the feed. It was a lucky break that they hadn't removed her contacts - and that short-range communication was still available to her.
One of the Purists stayed in the lab, while the other pulled her back into the hallway, back into the expansive room lined with cells. Just before the Purist shoved her back inside the room, her feed pinged one last time.
She didn't even bother to struggle as the door closed, leaving her alone again. The message had drawn all her attention, and with it, a mounting wave of dread.
It's in the name - they've always wanted to 'cleanse' the Home Galaxy. But since I've been here, they've been pushing a new, brutal goal. They want to kill a Planatae - and they're going to use Factor-borns to figure out how to do it.
Ito.
The chat went dead, and Ricardia, reeling, weakly waved away her feed.
You can't kill the Planatae.
That was the thought that she kept coming back to as she stared blankly at her cell walls. It wasn't possible. Planatae were entire planets. And they were more than just the land itself, besides. Once a web of consciousness was established and the planet Awakened, the change was irreversible. Evacuating the people that jump-started it, destroying the environment... nothing could revert a Planatae's birth.
Well, short of destroying the entire planet itself, but the firepower needed for that would be... immense. And there was no way the Purists could get close enough to a colony to pull it off. And if that was the plan, why kidnap Factor-borns and study them?
Ricardia sank to the ground, suddenly exhausted. The tiny, brief moment of kinship with Malachite Ito had given her some hope, but it was increasingly clear that he wasn't going to step in and help her escape. Based on the way the Purists treated him, he appeared to be, in some ways, a prisoner just like her.
There was nothing she could do about it now, however, except be patient - and hope that an opportunity presented itself.