Dead Line - A Technological Dystopia (eBook)

Chapter 1Information Gathering by Force

He was trapped. Trapped in a dark, suffocating box that seemed to be closing in on him with each passing moment. No sensory input... maddening.

His mind began to fray at the edges.

Focus on breathing. Breathe in... Breathe Out... In... Out...

The air felt so very thin, like he was almost suffocating. He couldn’t see or hear anything. The complete isolation was starting to drive him insane. How long had he been trapped in this box? Days? Weeks? Even months?

Time had lost all meaning in this void. No way to keep track of it. Only loud buzzing sounds occasionally ripped him out of the endless silence.

Like sharp needles piercing through his already frayed nerves, sending his heart racing.

The worst part was the hunger. He was being fed through a needle to keep him alive. Though it was never enough to satisfy the gnawing hunger in his belly. He had never felt so weak, so helpless.

The professor’s thoughts drifted to his colleagues and friends, wondering if they even knew he was gone, or if they had been told he was dead. He had no wife, children, or other living family.

He regretted not spending more time with his parents, not telling them how much he cared for them before they deceased.

A stab of guilt gripped him as he thought about the danger he had put his friends in by pursuing the truth. Pellmann tried to hold on to his sanity, but he knew it was slipping away from him with every passing moment. He was starting to hallucinate, imagining things that couldn’t possibly be real. He saw flashes of light and heard whispers that he knew weren’t there.

The man felt as though he was losing his mind in the dark confines of the box. The frequent loud sounds, meant to stop him from falling asleep, only served to worsen his already-frayed nerves. Once again, The professor tried to focus on his breathing, but it felt shallow and labored. Amidst the black void, he pondered the limits of his endurance.

Would they break him, or would he remain resistant in his resolve to protect the truth?

As the days or weeks — he had no way to tell — wore on, he started to doubt his own strength. The constant sensory deprivation and isolation were taking their toll on him. Kurt Pellmann began to experience vivid dreams in those short moments he fell asleep, but probably they were just more hallucinations. He saw his parent’s faces, but they were distorted and frightening. They seemed to call him. He saw himself, but he was a monster, struggling to discern reality from his own imagination.

Kurt tried to remind himself of his purpose — to hold strong and protect the truth — but all that felt like an abstract concept now. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to remember his determination when the time came to act. He felt like he was fading away, like he was becoming less of a person and more of an idea.

Pellmann was unsure of how much time had passed, but he knew that he was a different person now than he had been before all this started. The isolation had stripped away everything he once thought he knew about himself, and he was left with only the truth he had sworn to protect.

He didn’t know if he would be able to hold on much longer, but he knew that he had to try. The fate of the world rested on his ability to withstand this mental and physical torture.

Wouldn’t it be better for his colleagues and friends — wouldn’t it be better for the world — if he just ended it all? But how?

He was fed through a needle, but his arms were tied to the soft black padding on the inside walls of the box, so he couldn’t reach it — and there was nothing else of use in this box. He couldn’t hurt himself, even if he tried.

Suddenly, the door of his confinement was ripped open, jolting him out of his deep and destructive thoughts. Whatever awaited him outside the box was blurred away with a bright, blinding light. A cacophony of disorienting sounds flooded his ears, shattering the silence he had grown accustomed to within his tiny, dark cell.

Two masked figures yanked him out of the box, ripping the clothes off his body. Pellmann shivered as cold water hit all of his skin. He could barely see anything as the men threw him a towel and then shoved a fresh set of clothes onto his trembling body.

He tried to steady his breathing and focus on the present, but his mind kept returning to the same questions: How long had he been in this place? How much longer could he endure this torture? And most importantly, would he be able to keep his secret?

He blinked rapidly as the guards led him into another room, parts of which were brightly lit by slightly flickering spotlights. Pellmann’s heartbeat grew faster as he saw the electrical equipment and chemicals on a table and the metal chair bolted to the floor. Based on his previous encounters, he knew exactly what to expect.

The masked men pushed him down onto the cold seat and strapped him in, securing his arms and legs tightly, connecting some electrodes to his body and to a rather large device on the table.

Pellmann’s thoughts raced as he watched them move around him, their faces still hidden behind their masks. He tried to stay calm, reminding himself that he was a man of science and reason. But fear crept in nonetheless, making his breath come in short, rapid gasps.

He knew the pain that awaited him. This wasn’t his first time being interrogated in that room, but every time they went a little further. He tried to keep his mind clear, to steel himself against the inevitable agony. But the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him still sent a shiver down his spine.

Pellmann’s heart raced as a low voice spoke, strangely friendly. “Professor Pellmann, what a wonderful day it is! Let’s continue where we ended our last session.”

He closed his eyes, preparing himself for the worst.

“You know why you are here. Will you tell us this time, where you have hidden it and who else knows about it?” the interrogator, Agent Waltz, continued.

“I won’t,” Pellmann replied in a tiny but still confident voice.

“Well then, this time we will change the game a little.” The interrogator placed his folded-down newspaper and cup of steaming coffee on the table.

The door opened. The professor could see a young man walk in, probably in his early twenties, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants. His nervousness was evident in his fumbling with his fingers. One could tell he was not comfortable in that room, with this kind of work.

The interrogator introduced the young man as his apprentice and explained that for today, he would be the one conducting the physical work. Pellmann’s heart sank, knowing that this young man would be forced to harm him. He could see the fear in his eyes, and he felt sorry for him. The agent took a step back and allowed the apprentice to take over.

The young man hesitantly approached the chair, his hand trembling as he picked up a small device equipped with a toggle switch and a large turning knob from the table. Pellmann could see the sweat on his forehead and the terror in his eyes as he tried to maintain a professional demeanor.

“Frederickson, last time we finished on energy level 2. Continue on Level 3,” Waltz explained to the trainee. As the apprentice hesitated, the interrogator became impatient: “Level 3! Now!” Left with no choice, Frederickson flipped the switch on his remote, and a sharp stitch went through the professor’s body from one electrode to the other.

It made his muscles cramp. He tried to hold back the pain, but it was excruciating. All he could do was not scream. He felt tears streaming down his face as the young man hesitantly continued the torture, as if he were being forced against his will.

“You know what we want to know. Where did you hide the copies of the algorithm, and who else knows about it?” the interrogator asked. He placed a chair just outside the light cone and took his coffee and newspaper from the table while seating himself on that chair. And, after a few seconds, commanded with an indifferent voice: “Increase the power, Frederickson! We’ll continue until he speaks.”

As the rather one-sided interrogation went on, Pellmann began to understand that the apprentice was also tortured, just like him. He got forced to do something he did not want to do, just to survive. The professor felt a deep sadness for Frederickson, and it made him realize the true cruelty of those in power.

Despite the physical pain, he tried to maintain a feeling of compassion for the young man. He could sense his fear and desperation.

Although the interrogator started to do a crossword in the newspaper while drinking his coffee, Pellmann knew that he was watching and that any show of weakness, from either of them would only make things worse. However, it became harder and harder to suppress the pain.

“Increase the power,” Agent Waltz commanded.

The professor was not able to suppress the agony from the electricity running through his muscles anymore. The cramps were unbearable.

After a while, the interrogator mumbled,
“Information gathering by force, 7 letters. Hmm…,”

“Shut it off, Frederickson; he won’t speak,” the interrogator snapped towards his apprentice.

Pellmann’s eyes widened in terror as he watched the interrogator approach him with the steaming mug of coffee. The smell of the beans was overpowering, and he felt his mouth start to water. Suddenly, the interrogator held his head back and poured the hot liquid all over his face.

Pellmann screamed in agony as the steaming coffee seared his skin. The burning...