Become the Night, Part 2: Captured
There was an unnatural cleanliness about the cell, as though it had been ruthlessly scrubbed of any dirt. It also had a deathly stillness to it, like a library whose quiet policy was enforced by snipers, its lighting dim.
Proto lay on a metal cot behind the cell's super steel bars. A foam pillow had been placed beneath his head. He was no longer in pain, but he also couldn't feel or move any of his limbs, and was so low on energy that he drifted in and out of fitful sleep, shivering constantly.
It had been several hours since his capture, though it felt much longer. Proto was just stirring awake again when he heard footsteps—oxford shoes against the tile floor. The door to the cell swung open, and Smith stepped inside.
Lifting his head as much as he could manage, Proto glared at Smith. "Torture me all you like, I'm telling you nothing about Wily or his plans," he said defiantly, faking bravado he currently did not feel.
Smith gave a dry scoff. "I don't need to torture you. You have nothing I need to know. I'm just checking up on you, making sure you haven't stopped functioning," he responded dryly. Then, arching an eyebrow, he added dubiously, "You…looked like you were sleeping. Like a human."
"Yeah? What's it to you?" Proto retorted defensively, acutely aware how weird being programmed to sleep would seem to another android…even one who looked as human as Smith. Was it possible to feel any more humiliated?
Smith walked closer to the bars, the gaze from his pale eyes piercing. "…Who built you?"
"Thought you said I had nothing you needed to know."
Hesitating, Smith leaned slightly closer. "Was it Dr. Thomas Light?"
Proto nearly winced, annoyed that Smith had so quickly jumped to this deduction. "Does it matter?"
Smith just stared at him, his expression seemed almost of…awed curiosity? But perhaps it was just a trick of the dim lighting, for a second later Smith adjusted his rimless glasses and stepped back from the bars, his face as blank and unreadable as ever.
Proto fidgeted, wanting to drop the subject of his creator as soon as possible. "So this is how it'll be—you looking through bars, me a paralyzed captive of the Syndicate," he muttered bitterly. This would be worse than being tortured.
Smith shook his head. "Only temporarily. Your motor functions will be restored after you've been reprogrammed."
"Joke's on you, wise guy—I can't be reprogrammed."
"True, you are advanced…but my creator has been looking over your specs. He thinks he can crack your code, he even thinks he can reprogram and repair you remotely. You will have an interview with him, then he'll decide your future…it is my understanding that you've wracked up quite a debt with all the crimes you've committed."
"Yeah, we'll see about that," retorted Proto hotly.
"Indeed," agreed Smith. He strode back toward the door.
Shivering, Proto turned his face to the wall, too angry to think of proper comebacks to Smith's words, and secretly dreading the coming night.
To be continued…
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