each in their own metal-railed stalls. The screams John heard were squeals from hundreds of pigs compressed in the large warehouse.
They walked down the main aisle, passing pig after pig. All the pigs’ needs were addressed—food, water, and veterinary care. Continuous music played in the background to subdue and calm them. Handlers managed every aspect of the pigs’ lives, from feeding to cleaning the defecation. The handlers provided a perfect worry-free society for the pigs.
John had worries, though. The little group had reached the far end of the warehouse. Captain Flinch shoved on a heavy metal door, which opened into a long darkened corridor about eight feet wide. Even with multiple large vents in the ceiling sucking the odor from the passageway, the smell of benzene now overpowered the smell of the swine.
As they proceeded down the corridor, John noticed numerous animal skins covering the walls. What appeared to be benzene was dripping from porous pipes on the ceiling edges. The benzene trickled down the hides, collecting in long troughs at the base of the wall. The walkway of the corridor was slightly sloped left. Small channels three inches wide cut across the walkway every eight feet or so, draining the right trough into the left. The left trough ran the length of the corridor to an oval collection pool fenced with large, slightly separated, two foot square, white, marble blocks on the near and far sides.
The collection pool was three times the width of the corridor and was located in a rectangular vestibule. This opened into a large round room about fifty feet in diameter. The periphery of the room was lined with medical devices and computers recessed into the wall. The floor of the lab was white and clean like an operating room. Narrow three-foot walkways in the vestibule on either side of the black bottomed collection pool gave passage to the lab. UV lights lit the area and cast a purplish-blue haze over everything in the room.
In the room’s center hung a semiconscious naked man held vertical by chains shacked to his wrists. The chains attached to tracks in the ceiling. The shaking prisoner was standing in what looked like a small black children’s wading pool containing several electronic devices attached to the rim. The pool was split in half by a white plastic divider. The divider separated the prisoner ’s feet. Directly above him was a fixture, which appeared to be an oversized shower head.
As they entered the round room, John was shoved past the hanging man to one of two round black tables placed symmetrically in the room about six feet away and a forty-five degree angle from the “wading” pool.
“Lay down,” ordered one of the hooded men.
“Why?” said John belligerently.
Without any further discussion, the two hooded men forcefully lifted John and slapped him onto the table. He was then bound with cable ties to straps built into the table.
A man wearing a blood-stained white lab coat and a Plexiglas face shield stepped out from behind the hanging prisoner. He flipped the faceplate up. He had dark black oily hair with thin eyebrows which looked like they’d been plucked. A sutured laceration extended from his forehead to his cheek. Its placement made it look like a renommierschmiss, a German dueling scar, and didn’t make the pock-marked face any more appealing. He ignored John’s presence.
“So, Captain Flinch,” said the man, “we meet again. I hear your final indoctrination was completed yesterday and I see you’ve already begun fulfilling your role nicely. Let me officially welcome you to the ranks of ASC, and I hope you have no ill will over my initial objections to the circumstances of your allegiance test.”
As he was talking he removed the faceplate and held it up to the light. Identifying blood streaks on the Plexiglas shield, he wiped them off with the sleeve of his lab coat.
“I still feel your own hand should’ve done the task even though you were technically the cause,” he spit on a resistant streak and wiped again, then he continued, “But I would have to say you proved your mettle to me with our little foray the other day.” He motioned to the wounds on Flinch. “I’m sure you’ll advance to second tier rapidly, as long as I know I can rely on you.”
He pulled off his bloody rubber gloves and reached under the lab coat, pulling out a black handkerchief from his left back pocket. As he walked to an oversized briefcase leaning against the wall, he dabbed beads of perspiration from his brow. Opening the briefcase, he removed a quart-size jar appearing to be made of green depression glass and handed it to Captain Flinch. Flinch opened the jar and poured out what looked like dried green lima beans into his hand.
“Captain Flinch, you must take one of these every morning,” said the man.
“Thank you, Captain Stewart, I’m greatly indebted to you,” said Captain Flinch slavishly.
Captain Stewart gave Flinch a small bow, “I understand this next extraction is for Senator Snivaling as well? She already requested the Ube extraction.”
He reached into his lab coat pocket and handed Flinch what appeared to be a small aerosol can with a blue cap. On the side of the cap in marker was UW. He went on to say, “I don’t know why she needs more than one; it’s not like she’ll ever get within a mile of an airwar.”
“I don’t know, sir,” said Flinch, “I’m just following orders. She wants me to wait and bring this extraction, too.”
“Oh, so you’re watching?” Stewart said, somewhat patronizingly. “Most can’t stomach it.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” said Stewart, giving Flinch a devilish grin, “then, if you don’t mind, I’ll complete this extraction.” He turned to the hanging man.
“Excuse me, sir,” John raised his head from the table he was strapped to, “My name is Dr. John Long, and I’m a physician. I believe there’s been a terrible misunderstanding,” John twisted his head so he could get a better look at Captain Stewart, “I’m more than happy to provide you any information you desire without resorting to torture. Senator Snivaling incorrectly believes I’m part of a terrorist organization called Immune. I assure you, I’m not a member.”
Captain Stewart turned, looked at him for the first time, and said, “Oh, I recognize you. You’re the fellow who killed the airwar with your bare hands—impressive. Now I see why the senator wants your extraction. Ironically for you, doctor, I’m a lawyer.”
Before John could respond, Stewart turned and walked away from John to the hanging man in the center of the room. Stewart reached into his pocket, took out a metal probe, and touched it to the now unconscious prisoner ’s right testicle. An electrical arc flashed from the probe to the man’s skin. The prisoner jerked violently and screamed, then a shower of benzene discharged over him. After a minute, Stewart looked at a meter on the side of the collecting pool and said to Flinch, “Well, that’s it. We should be down to less than ten percent remaining. The rest we’ll do in residual extraction.”
What followed was horrifying. Stewart picked up some odd-looking stainless steel surgical instruments from a nearby table. He then proceeded to remove the skin from the prisoner as calmly as if he were removing skin from a holiday turkey. The poor soul screamed, jerked, and gyrated, but Stewart was skilled at the process. John then realized the skins he’d seen on the corridor wall were human, not animal. There wasn’t going to be any torture to extract information; they were extracting something from the man’s skin.
When only the skin from the man’s head, hands, and feet remained, Stewart stopped his dissection, but the man continued his wild screaming. Captain Flinch was off to the side, vomiting. Apparently, he wasn’t fine with watching.
