Dream Drive Ch. 04

Well, beggars can't be choosers. Rescue me, Jackson!

But Jackson wasn't coming.

She had to be realistic. She was a psycho bitch that didn't know when to shut her mouth and stop talking. She was a germaphobe. She hadn't washed her hands in hours. Hours! Thank god for leather gloves. They helped, but her hands were still sweaty. Dirt could mix with sweat and get under the leather.

Rachel would have chewed her fingernails, but she didn't want to remove the gloves. Instead, her fingers worried themselves in circles where they were holding her legs to her chest. She bit her lip and rocked, trying to use the motion as a focus point. Stop thinking, stop worrying. Focus. They'll come to give you food or something eventually, and then you bust out of this shithole.

With your bare hands. And no weapon. And no essence. Half health.

Fuck. Fuckkity-fuck fuck fuck. I am so fucked.

She alternated between hating Jackson for being a coward and fantasizing that he'd come bursting in any second. As those seconds passed her by, longer, and longer, she started doing more of the first and less of the second. She twined a finger through her hair, and released it, then did it again, as if playing with an imaginary curling iron.

Another drop of water hit her head. "FUCK!" Rachel scrabbled with her fingers. "Get off, get off, get off, fucking water, ugh, shit!"

When she settled, she felt her collar vibrating. Harder. She resisted the urge to feel at her throat. The thick wooden band carved with runes sat there, humming quietly. She didn't dare touch it.

And then the pain came. Just an instant, but it was at full blast.

It felt like she was burning. Her body had been thrown into a bonfire, and her skin was warping, smoking, and every nerve was bent on making her scream.

When it ended, she was on the ground. Her face was pressed against the stone. She didn't even care about the dirt. It hurt so bad she didn't care about the dirt. Her throat felt hoarse. She must have been screaming.

She peeled herself off the ground. The collar was still. She didn't dare try to touch it, try to cut it. The pain would come back if she did that.

Rachel pressed her head between her legs and cried. Her hair fell down around her. She clutched it with her hands, bringing it under her neck, trying to shield herself with it. Her tears dropped into her lap.

Hale used the pain to control her. She was something he wanted to study. She was something he wanted to make into another one of his toys. If there were any good men in the empire, Lord Hale was not one of them.

She only had a few orders, a few things she couldn't do. She couldn't talk about anything related to the collar. She had to address him properly. She wasn't allowed to divulge details about any of Lord Hale's plans, secret or otherwise, or stuff regarding his magicians, troops, or anything else that could harm his holdings and standing in the empire. If she did any of those things, the pain would come.

If she tried to touch the collar, or tamper with it in any way, the pain would come twice as hard. That frightened her.

He was very interested in her, but he rarely touched her. He hadn't forced himself on her, yet. He'd forbidden her to go home, of course. She couldn't log out and go back to Earth. Every time she tried, the pain stopped her.

She knew Isis was real when she'd felt that pain for the first time. She had seen it as an escape, but she just ended up trading one cage for another. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Goddammit. Why did she have to get banished into a mad scientist's laboratory? Why couldn't she have appeared in the ruins, like Jackson?

Jackson. Stupid, useless, cowardly piece of horseshit. Didn't he have any dignity as a man? Didn't he want to save her?

Of course not. Even Rachel wouldn't save herself. She was nuts. Cuckoo. Mad as a hatter. Probably madder.

Footsteps, padding toward her. A shadow moved in the hall. She leapt to her feet, eyes bleary. Her hands grasped the bars. "Jackson? Jackson, is that you?!"

A rattok came into view. It was huge, hulking. She was short, sure, but her head barely came up over this thing's waist. She ducked back from the bars.

Two other rattok were at its shoulders - both were almost as big. They flanked the door while the leader worked on the lock. She wasn't going to get past that wall of flesh.

The door creaked and hit the wall. The rattok had to duck to enter the cell. It was holding rope. Rachel eyed the creature with disgust. It was repulsive - yellowed claws and teeth. A ribbed tail. Bristling fur that was patched and falling out in places. A real monster.

It growled something at her.

"What do you want, fuckface?"

The rattok backhanded her. She spun and collapsed. That stung. Compared to the collar, though, it was like getting tickled.

Before she could get up, her arms were wrenched behind her back. The rope was wrapped around her wrists and drawn uncomfortably tight. The rattok tied it off, then threw her over her shoulder again.

Rachel considered trying to kick it in the face, but decided to conserve her energy. This thing was way stronger than her. If she was going to get away, it was because she could run faster.

They walked through corridors lit with the blue glow. They turned at various intersections; she gave up trying to keep track of it. Everything looked the same down here.

Rachel bobbed on the thing's shoulder. She tried not to think about the headache that was starting to pulse behind her forehead. She hadn't had a good drink of clean water in a while.

The thin passage opened up into a vast underground hall. Rachel craned her neck to get a better look. Stone columns lined room, supporting a high, arched roof. There were ledges and alcoves set in the walls. Most of them had balconies; many of them had crumbled away over time. It was almost like a theater of some kind.

The whole place was filled with rattok. There were dozens of them, maybe upwards of a hundred. Some of them were perched on the balconies; most of them were gathered in a group at the end of the hall, near a raised platform at one end.

There were other people up there.

The crowd parted for Rachel's entourage. She felt their beady eyes watching her. Some were big, dressed in leather armor; others were smaller, gangly. She was hauled up a rotting wood stair that led to the stage and thrown to the ground. She picked herself up, shaking her head to get the hair out of her eyes.

There were two men next to her. They were naked. "They're going to kill us," the man next to her mumbled. He was scarred, bald. "Kill us all. Gut us and bleed us up here."

The other man said nothing; he just hung his head. A thick beard hid his face.

"You see that?" Chatty Patty looked at her with eyes that even Rachel thought were crazy, and pointed at a depression that was cut into the stone stage. The lowest point of the bowl was about two feet deep. "That's where they put the blood, and then they'll drink it. Drink us!"

"Shut up," the bearded man said. "If we're going to die, let's do it with dignity."

The rattok that had been carrying her turned and faced the others. It started speaking something, pounding its chest and pointing up dramatically. Rachel tried to subtly crawl backward. Behind the stage was a large archway leading into a dimly lit room - if she could get back there, maybe she could lose them.

Her back bumped into something. She looked up. A rattok was standing there, staring down at her. It growled.

So much for that plan.

The rattok shouted something loud, and the crowd squeaked and growled in response. It gestured to the opening at the back of the stage, then stepped to the side. Rachel squinted. Something was moving back there.

A rattok came out. It was holding a cane. It looked...old. Its skin sagged, and it was very bald in some spots. Moth-eaten red robes hung off its body. They looked purple in the blue light.

It reached the depression in the stage. It was carrying something. Rachel leaned forward. It was holding a bucket. It poured the contents into the depression - plain water.

The rattok raised a claw, palm facing up. Something wavered into view - a box. It was a few inches across, and perfectly square. It rotated slowly.

Rachel stared at it. It was black, totally black, beyond black. It sucked in the light around it.

That was what Lord Hale had told her to find. You'll know it when you see it. She had to admit, he was right.

The rattok lowered its cane into the water and let it go. Defying all of Rachel's sense of physics, the cane didn't bob. It remained where it was, standing straight up in the water. With its hand free, the rattok began to draw.

Runes. She'd seen Lord Hale use them, though he hadn't taught her any of them. Shining blue lines appeared in the air around the box. The rattok drew them in a circle, moved his hand back and forward, until a net of tangled lines surrounded the box from all sides. It let its hand fall back, then closed its eyes.

The runes folded into the box. That was the only way she could describe it. The lines peeled up off the air, bent themselves, and curled into the black square, like so much light being absorbed. And then they were gone.

The box stopped rotating. The hall was silent. Every rattok stared, as if waiting for something. Rachel felt tense. What the hell was this?

The sides of the box separated.

She heard something. It was a voice. It was the strongest voice she'd ever heard in her life, the voice to end all voices. It spoke just a single thing - a single word. It filled her with warmth. It made her want to run forward and embrace the box and hug it like a stuffed animal. It made her want to hide her face and rip her skin off for being ugly and unworthy. It made her shiver, from fear, and from love, all at once. It boiled inside of her.

The box closed again. Blue light crackled down the staff. She could see the runes floating and moving with the magical power. They were somehow directing the energy of the voice within the box.

It blue energies contacted the pool and vanished into its depths. The water began to change. It turned solid black. The rattok grasped his cane, and drew it out of the depression. The inky ooze clung to the bottom of the staff, dripping down in thick globules. It reminded her of the crap the rattok melted into when they were killed.

The box was gone, vanished back from whence it came - inside the rattok, somehow? The ancient rat lifted the staff over his head and shouted something. The gathered rattok roared and squealed and stomped their feet. The terrible sound echoed through the hall.

One of the muscular guards on the stage grabbed the shirt of the first man. He wailed and cried out, struggling against his captor. A blow to the face made him stop struggling. He was dragged over to the pool.

He was forced to kneel. The rattok shoved his face into the pool. His bound hands stopped him from resisting much, though he kicked his legs, if feebly. And then he started twitching. Bubbles rose from the pool. The rattok held him there, drowning him.

Just when Rachel couldn't bare another second of watching it happen, the rattok drew the man back up. The rat's black eyes studied the man intently. It gave a nod, then set him down away from the pool.

The fuck? Were they trying to drown him or not? Rachel stared at the rattok, who was watching the man. She looked where it was looking.

The man's eyes had changed.

Rachel stared. His eyes were black. And then she saw the fur sprouting from his arms, his legs. Claws cracked and extended from his hands. His fingers shortened, thickened, turned into paws. His face grew into a snout, and his teeth turned into fangs.

He stood as a tail sprouted the bottom of his spine. The new rattok looked at its arms, turning its claws over. It raised its hands and gave a shriek. The audience stomped their feet and shrieked back.

Have to get away. Have to get away. Have to run and get away and hide.

Rachel threw herself around the legs of the rattok behind her. She brought her knees in and rocked to get on her feet. She'd taken one step when the rattok grabbed her around the neck and threw her back onto the stone.

Rachel coughed and rolled over. She had to run. She scrambled to get up again.

A foot pounded her to the ground, forcing her flat on her stomach. She grunted and groaned, trying to move, but she couldn't budge its weight.

She could see the other man, the quiet one. He was...bleeding. Blood was coming out his mouth. He coughed out a stream of it - and she saw what had happened. He'd bitten off his own tongue. He was trying to kill himself.

He was dragged to the pool and forced under. He kicked. His hands worked against his bindings, but they were too tight. It went on for what felt like forever, until finally, he was drawn back up.

Rachel saw his throat work. He'd swallowed that stuff, whatever it was. And he began to change, too. Bones cracked, muscles twisted, fur sprouted from skin. In just a few seconds, he was one of them.

She was next.

A lone morbid thought reasoned that at least it would be better than being a slave to Lord Hale for the rest of her life.

The rest of her was screaming. The rattok behind her grabbed her hair and her cloak, dragging her by the head and neck. She kicked, rolled, twisted. It checked its grip and dragged her back toward the pool.

Tears were streaming down her face as her head was leveled over the black liquid. Part of her wanted it to end. Part of her couldn't stop thinking about that disgusting black ooze, in her, on her skin.

She just had to not swallow it. If she didn't take it into her body, she'd be fine. She had to outlast the rattok, then kick it and run for it when it thought she was weak.

Her head was pushed under the ooze. It was oily. Slick. She kept her lips pressed tight.

She didn't move, didn't kick. No struggling. That would waste oxygen. She held perfectly still, focusing on her heartbeat. Slow heartbeats. Easy. Relax.

That rattok's grip didn't change. She stayed there, her face held under the oil.

Her lungs ached. Her muscles were starting to rebel against her control. They wanted her to take a breath. Just take a breath. Wouldn't that be nice? Have some air.

She worked her tongue through her mouth, trying to stave off the feeling. Her nostrils almost gave way. She forced the last bit of air she was holding out of her nose, clearing them of the oil. She had to breathe. She had to breathe.

Rachel opened her mouth.

The rattok lifted her out of the pool. It stared at her eyes. Rachel coughed and spluttered and sucked in the air. Her chest heaved. Did she swallow any of it? She spat, once, twice, again, getting it out of her mouth. She shivered.

The rattok frowned, then shoved her back under. Rachel barely closed her mouth in time. She hadn't taken a breath going in. She still hadn't recovered. She wouldn't last more than five seconds.

Fuck you, Rachel thought to herself. Weak piece of shit. Hold your breath. Hold your fucking breath, you stupid fucking bitch. Don't let it in.

Her lungs screamed to be released. Her lips opened against her will, the unconscious part of her brain overriding the control of her jaws. Oil filled her mouth. It tasted like copper and mucus.

She held onto that sense of taste, burning it like fuel. It was the last little disgusting thing that kept her throat closed. The insane part of her mind rallied, fought against her need for air beyond all reason.

But even that energy was fading. She had to breathe.

She had to breathe.

The pressure holding her down went away. Rachel flung her head out of the water. She sprayed the oil out of her mouth, then sucked in a sweet, succulent breath. Oh, air. Never leave me again. Sweet, sweet air.

It wouldn't be long. She spat the oil from her lips, then took the biggest breath she could, clenched, held it.

"Rachel!" She looked to the voice. Jackson's green eyes stared down at her. "Are you alright?"

"...fine and dandy," she mumbled.

"Come on!" Jackson grabbed her under her arm and pulled her to her feet. She didn't even protest about his hands. After that slime, they felt clean by comparison.

She stumbled toward the dim opening at the back of the stage, half-walking, half-dragged by Jackson. He pushed her forward into the dark. "Run!"

"What -" She turned, blinked. The slime was stinging her eyes. "What are you doing?"

Jackson held his spear up and roared.

His essence washed over her. The stinging pain faded. She felt energized, invigorated. The part of her more concerned about the mess than about escape dulled to a tiny whisper. Worry and doubt flew away. She bent her knees, ready to...act.

There were already a dozen rattok on the stage. They froze when they heard his shout. He stood in front of them, spear in one hand, shadowed against the blue light.

He raised a fist. Two essence crystals shattered in his grip. His skin flared a hazy grey.

"Join my party!" Jackson shouted. "Run, while they're stunned! Run!"

Rachel ran. She sprinted into the dark opening, hands still locked behind her back. Her boots slapped hard on the stone. She could hear Jackson's shouts, a tiny voice amongst a hundred roars from the rattok. She could feel his essence pulse against her as his special abilities flared and waned.

A prompt appeared in front of her. She almost tripped. She pushed her shoulder against a wall to keep her balance, then kept running.

Jackson Vedalt [Tatanka Ska] has invited you to join his party. Do you accept?

Yes

No

"Yes," Rachel breathed. She kept running. Turns and intersections came up. She took them at random. She came to another intersection and picked the right-hand turn.

Stairs.

She tried to throw her arms out to grab the walls, stop her momentum - but they were tied behind her back. She tumbled forward, head-first. Her jaw slammed into the stone and rattled her skull. She flipped sideways, then rolled the rest of the way. She hit the bottom landing and slid to a stop.

"Fuuuck. Shit. Fucking...ugh." Rachel groaned, turned over. She lay on her back and caught her breath.

Her hair felt like it was standing up. A sort of static hovered on her skin. It was dark down here - very dim. She pushed herself back until she was propped against the wall near the bottom of the stairs.

She leaned her head forward and tried to wipe her face on her knees. She smeared the oil around a bit, but didn't really get much off. She sat back and focused on getting her breath back.

The stinging in her eyes was coming back. Her health bar was low - the fall had taken a big chunk, and for some reason, she hadn't healed at all while she was in her cell. She had only ten HP, less than quarter of her total. Her wrists chafed where the rope bound her.

He'd actually come back to save her.

Was he insane?

She chuckled a bit. And then she leaned back and laughed harder. Her oil-plastered hair smacked the back of her neck. Her laughter echoed in the empty darkness. Even to her, it sounded a little creepy.

He was. He was as crazy as she was. He thought he was a superhero.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

Footsteps on the stairs. Soft, padding. Rattok paws. Rachel shoved herself to her feet. She had to keep moving.

"Rachel? You down there?"

"...Jackson?"

"It's me," he said. He made his way down the stairs and stopped in front of her. "Are you alright?"

She looked at his feet. "The hell are those, slippers? I thought you were a rattok."

"Moccasins."

"You're fucking nuts," she said. "You could have died. Why did you come back? You're not getting into my pants, if that's what you want."