The Sowing

Cassius pauses before continuing. Just one other caveat. If you decide to simply flood each Recruit with pleasure stimuli and forgo using the pain option, be cautioned that if there is no clear endurance winner after ten minutes, every single Recruit will be automatically eliminated, along with their remaining Incentives, and these Trials will come to a close.

I can tell from the crushed expressions around me that I wasn’t the only one planning to use this strategy.

I urge you to choose strategically and wish you the best of luck. Begin!

Instinctively, my finger jams against Boaz’s red pain selector. I cringe when his body spasms and his face contorts; it’s as if I’m also hooked up to the neurostims. I can’t inflict more pain on Crowley; Cage’s fate is tied to Tristin and my survival; and poor Drusilla and Arrah have been through so much, what with Mr. Ryland’s death.

Boaz is strong, he can take it—

Then it hits me. Boaz’s fate is tied to Corin’s, who in spite of being part of the rebellion is still a kid.

This is impossible.

I’ve wasted too much time. I have to choose another—

A buzzer pierces the room and Cage’s body convulses like a fish wriggling on a hook.

“Cage!” Tristin wails. “Stop hurting him!”

Out of the four Recruits, it seems like Cage is the one being bombarded with the most pain. Arrah, Dahlia, and even Corin must be gunning for him as their only viable option, since every hit Crowley and Boaz take brings Dahlia and Corin closer to death.

“Tristin!” I call without turning. “Concentrate every other move on delivering healing impulses to your brother. I’ll take care of the rest.” I don’t care that the others can hear me. I’m sure they have strategies of their own, and I don’t blame them.

Each jab of my finger against Drusilla’s red button fills me with self-loathing. Over and over again I strike, watching as her body buckles violently against her straps even as Cage’s begins to relax.

My eyes flit to my periphery. Arrah’s eyes are wide and overflowing with tears. She seems so desperate. I can’t even imagine what I’d be feeling if it were someone I loved strapped to that slab.

Then her eyes connect with mine, burning with molten accusation. She knows it’s me. She knows I’m hurting the girl that she loves more than anything in this world—

And she has no choice but to try and stop me.

“Dahlia!” she shrieks. “I need your help. Concentrate all your blasts on Cage.”

Tristin turns on her. “No! You can’t do that! My brother can’t take much more of this, please…”

Arrah shakes her head. “I’m sorry… Dru’s in too much pain…” She whirls. “Do it, Dahlia! I’m begging you!” she half-sobs, half-screeches.

Dahlia glances at her, then at me. Not too long ago, she would have glazed me with contempt. But now I can see the conflict on her face, the guilt. The shame. She looks away, as if the very sight of me is a slap across her face. Her eyes lower to her remote unit. Her fingers work the keys.

I’m not sure what she’s decided.

“Lucian!” The panic in Tristin’s voice courses through me like a live wire.

I look up from my remote. Cage is going into seizure mode again, his body thrashing back and forth, froth pooling at his lips and spraying from his mouth.

However much Dahlia has softened toward me, she’s made her choice.

While Cage has the benefit of receiving healing stimuli from Tristin, it’s no match for the combined punishment being inflicted upon him from Arrah, Dahlia, and Corin. As strong as Cage is, he’s going to break any second—unless he dies first, in which case I’ll be dead moments later, and so will Tristin.

There’s only one thing left to do.

And I hate myself for it.

My finger hovers over Drusilla’s button a split second—before jamming down on a different button, the only other option I have, the only other person who is in a weakened-enough state to succumb to his injuries before Cage does.

Crowley.

“Forgive me…” I whisper over and over again. The pain button on the remote blurs until it’s nothing but a blotch of red, consuming my vision, devouring everything in its path. My temples throb, my heart pounds like a mallet, each beat a reverberating gong that drowns out the sounds around me until all I can hear are my own breaths, chugging and hissing like a steam engine.

They’ve won. They’ve turned me into the kind of monster that would torture a dying man.

I release the button, flinging the remote across the room. It slams against the wall, smashing into a million pieces.

Just like my chances of getting out of here alive and rescuing my brother.