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Reply-To: "The Confessor" <pr0nOMGLEIKREMOVE@ALLCAPSconfessor.org>
From: "The Confessor" <pr0nOMGLEIKREMOVE@ALLCAPSconfessor.org>
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 08 Sep 2005 07:15:21 EDT
Subject: {ASSM} Heartstrings Chp. 1 (sci-fi, nosex) {The Confessor}
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Date: Thu, 08 Sep 2005 15:10:02 -0400
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Note that this story was written using advanced formatting such as italics 
and indentation. Absent this formatting, readability & enjoyment may be 
significantly impaired. The HTML copy with correct formatting is posted on 
my ASSTR website, at http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/confessor/www/)

I didn't remember asking for water, but I drank every drop from the 
container that was given to me before wiping my mouth and surveying my 
surroundings.

It was a large, magnificently furnished office, with mahogany-paneled walls 
lined with framed portraits and certificates, and a thick, luxurious 
carpet. On the far wall, above a massive mahogany desk, a huge video 
display masqueraded almost convincingly as a window. The ceiling arced to 
an apex at least fifteen feet above.

I was sitting with my back propped against a wall next to an imposing set 
of wooden doors. My benefactor - or was he my captor? - sat against the 
opposite wall, well-muscled arms folded across raised knees, staring 
wordlessly at me. He wore a set of black combat fatigues with no visible 
insignia and military-style boots. A pulse pistol hung loose in a holster 
at his left hip, a water bottle hung at his right, and extra ammunition 
clips lined his belt.

"Where am I?" was the first question that came to mind. The man in fatigues 
looked at me strangely, but he quickly replied.

"Genentech Headquarters. Executive Office."

I tried to stand, but the muscles in my legs refused to cooperate. Almost 
paralyzed with fear but determined to show none of it, I dragged myself 
around to face the wall and shoved my fingers into one of the narrow 
horizontal cracks separating the mahogany panels. Thus positioned, I 
struggled to bring myself upright, but could manage little more than an 
awkward squat.

The heavy carpet muffled the sound of the man's footsteps so effectively 
that the first indication he had moved at all came when I spotted him from 
the corner of my eye, less than four feet away and coming nearer. In 
desperation, I summoned the strength I had left and threw my entire body 
weight against him. I must have caught him completely by surprise, because 
he fell more easily than I had anticipated and his head hit the carpeted 
floor with a muffled thud. The impact jarred his pulse pistol from the 
holster, and I palmed it as I scrambled away.

By the time the man in fatigues got back to his feet, I was sitting with my 
back against the opposite wall, pulse pistol held firmly in both hands, the 
barrel aimed directly at his chest. His face paled when he saw me, but I 
pre-empted any further reaction with a series of commands delivered just 
loudly enough for him to hear, but soft enough so as not to carry through 
the heavy wooden doors - or so I hoped.

"Don't talk, don't scream. Put your hands over your head." He moved to rest 
his forearms on his head, but I recognized his intent. "Straight up," I 
added icily, "I'll deal with the concealed weaponry later. Turn around and 
face the wall." Impassive even in the face of my accusation, he simply 
followed my instructions. "Now walk forward and put your hands against the 
wall."

Once he was suitably positioned to minimize any threat, I took a few 
seconds to inventory my condition. I was ravenously hungry, and thirst 
still lingered, but it was the unnatural weakness that worried me most. My 
arms could barely support even the negligible weight of the pulse pistol, 
and were already near collapse. Slowly, so as not to unnecessarily provoke 
my captive, who was cautiously eyeing me over his shoulder, I raised my 
knees and used them to steady my aim as I began to interrogate him.

"Who are you?"

"Shit, Rob, it's me, Wade! We met in the chopper."

I didn't recognize him, nor did I remember being in a helicopter. The name 
'Wade' was familiar, but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it before. I was 
about to press for more information, but the man who called himself Wade 
volunteered it himself.

"I'm Johnson's second-in-command!"

Johnson? He was a tall black man, with hands that threatened to engulf my 
own when we shook. His smile was reassuring, as was the uniform he wore: 
black fatigues, soldier's garb. Everything was going to be okay. We were 
going - where? For that matter, where were we? The memory was vivid, but 
the lack of context was discomfiting. If I had somehow lost memories of 
that magnitude, what else might I have forgotten? Slowly, I began to relax 
my grip on the pulse pistol.

"Norton ordered us to accompany you!"

Norton! It was a memory that had all the context it required, one could not 
be forgotten: Stephen Norton, blood soaking through his black dress suit 
and pooling under his chair, his hand still clutching the gun he used to 
take his own life. My grip on the pistol tightened once more.

"Stephen Norton," I spat through gritted teeth, "killed himself. I saw him 
die." Slowly, reluctantly, I began to apply pressure to the trigger. I'd 
only killed once before, and I was loathe to kill again.

"No! His son! His son gave the order!"

Son? He was a young man, barely older than me, and younger than Jamie. The 
resemblance to his father was eerie. He rotated the crystal slowly between 
his fingers, eyes moist, before turning his attention back to us to say... 
what? It was another memory without context, but the crystal was familiar, 
and hadn't Norton told us that he had a son? What else had I forgotten?

Gradually, my eyes refocused; not on the man who called himself 'Wade,' not 
even on the pulse pistol I was aiming in his direction, but on the 
unadorned ring which spiraled around my index finger. With growing 
discomfort, I noticed for the first time the sleeve of my shirt - colored 
black. Something dragged along the floor near my waist. I glanced down and 
saw that it was a pulse pistol, secured in the holster attached to my 
utility belt. The power indicator, visible at the top of the grip, held 
steady at full.

Damn.

Wade was an ally, or at least he had been, but could I trust him now? If I 
returned his weapon, would he use it to shoot me? I couldn't shoot him, of 
course. Even if I were willing to ignore the ethical implications, he was 
almost certainly part of a much larger support team which would be only too 
willing to avenge the death of one of their own. Surrender, it seemed, was 
the only option. If I played my cards correctly, I might even survive it.

"Turn back around. Slowly." Once he was facing me, I motioned him to the 
floor. "Take a seat."

It had to be done slowly, methodically, and I had to remain firmly in 
control until Wade no longer saw me as a threat. There was no obvious 
weaponry visible on his person, but I knew he had something - probably 
throwing knives - sheathed beneath the loose sleeves of his uniform shirt, 
and I had to assume he had other resources as yet unknown. Executed 
incorrectly, my attempted surrender could kill us both.

Maintaining eye contact, I carefully lowered the pistol to the floor and 
covered it with a palm of one hand. "I'm sorry, Wade. I lost my memory, and 
when you said 'Genentech' I assumed the worst."

Wade cursed in obvious relief and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Before I give you back your gun," I began cautiously, "I have a few 
questions."

"Such as?"

"Give me the Cliff's Notes version. Why are we here?"

"Surprise invasion of Genentech."

"And where are..." The images came to mind first, and I had to consciously 
search for the names, "Jamie and Lilith?"

"They're safe with Norton."

"I take it the invasion is over?"

"Effectively. The building was almost deserted, but we've apprehended some 
janitors and a few security guards. We have them sequestered in one of the 
first-floor conference rooms as a precaution. We're still scouring for 
stragglers, but the building is ours, and Kaplan is dead."

"Any casualties?"

Wade hesitated for a moment before answering.

"We were hoping you could tell us. Johnson followed you - against orders - 
when you split to take out Kaplan. When the remainder of the team reached 
the executive office, we found Kaplan shot dead behind that desk, and you 
were unconscious in a corner, curled up like a baby. But Johnson's 
disappeared. He hasn't checked in with base or team since the split."

"Wade?" The disembodied voice came from the walls around us, and made me 
start in surprise and fear.

"Relax, Rob." Wade waved his hand dismissively. "It's the team. I told them 
to check in using internal communications. I would have warned you, but I 
was a bit... distracted." He shook his head, and spoke in a louder tone. 
"Wade here."

"We've been monitoring your situation using the surveillance system, sir. 
Do you require assistance?"

"That's a negative. Situation's under control. Was there something else?"

"Uh, yes, sir. We've broken the encryption on some video feeds from a part 
of the facility we haven't been able to access."

"Have you accounted for every room on the blueprints?"

"We have, sir. This feed has to be coming from either an adjoining building 
or farther underground."

Underground?

She squeezed my hand and smiled reassuringly, but I still tried to hide my 
face in the folds of her long, white laboratory coat. The coat was 
familiar; she was familiar, but everything else was new. We stood in a wide 
corridor with a door at each end. The smooth grey walls to either side were 
bowed outward, and the ceiling hung unnaturally low. The whole structure 
seemed ready to collapse at any moment, but I tried to be brave. She didn't 
look worried.

The door at the far end of the corridor opened suddenly, and two people 
entered; a woman and man walking side by side. The woman wore a red cloth 
garment which covered her from neck to feet and flowed smoothly across her 
hips as she walked gracefully forward. Her manner exuded confidence, but 
she deferred to her companion as they drew near.

A tall man, even taller than the statuesque beauty who walked beside him, 
he wore a black suit and matching tie, and... I shrank away from him 
reflexively, but the woman in the laboratory coat grabbed my wrist as I 
turned to flee. I looked back at her, my expression pleading for release, 
but she only stared at me in confusion.

She didn't understand the danger, and I couldn't warn her. I could only 
watch helplessly as she turned back to the tall man in the suit and said...

"Genentech has a secret underground laboratory."

"Are you certain?" Wade was looking at me inquisitively. Had I spoken 
aloud?

"It's a memory." It was an impossible memory. The man in the black dress 
suit was Stephen Norton, alive and uninjured. "I'm not sure you can trust 
it."

"We'll run with it, at least for now." He directed that toward me, then 
spoke louder, to the voice manning the security system. "Joseph?"

"Speaking."

"Maintain minimal cover around your position and the prisoners, and direct 
all other units to check the elevator shafts. Actually, hold that order." 
Wade turned to me. "Can you walk?"

Could I? I braced my hands against the carpeted floor and pushed with my 
legs, but it wasn't enough. Even when I used the paneling as I had earlier, 
I fared little better. My earlier exertions had sapped all of my remaining 
strength. Frustrated, I shook my head. Wade nodded, and modified his 
orders.

"Check the first and third shafts only. I'm taking Rob down on the 
executive elevator. Also, see if you can access any archived security video 
for this office. We still need to find Johnson."

"Yes sir. Anything else?"

"No, that will be all. Over and out."

Wade looked at me expectantly, but I didn't catch his meaning until his 
eyes flickered to the pulse pistol lying forgotten on the floor next to my 
feet. I kicked it toward him, and he picked it up, but he didn't place it 
in its holster. Instead, holding his pistol in a deliberately neutral 
manner, he nodded at the pulse pistol that I still carried in the holster 
at my hip. I hesitated, but Wade forestalled any debate.

"Hand it over, Rob. You pulled a gun on me once, and I do not intend to 
allow you another opportunity."

"But-" I tried to protest my innocence, but Wade cut me off.

"Your explanation seems credible, especially considering your physical 
condition. That is why you are still alive. Don't press your luck."

Recognizing the futility of my situation, I carefully removed my entire 
utility belt and slid it over to Wade, who examined the pistol and 
ammunition carefully before speaking.

"Kaplan died from a Pulse Pistol concussion delivered through the heart at 
point-blank range. This pistol is at full charge, which suggests that it 
was Johnson who killed him. Do you remember any of this?"

I tried to focus, tried to remember, but it was no use.

"Can you force yourself to remember, I mean, telepathically?"

"No," I shook my head in frustration. Rumors tended to exaggerate our 
capabilities, and even among telepaths, my own were somewhat limited. "A 
hand, please?"

Wade lifted me from the floor with little apparent effort, and I found to 
my surprise that I could stand, and even walk, as long as I had his arm to 
steady me. Progress was slow, however, so we had some time to continue our 
conversation as we left the office and headed through the antechamber to 
the hall.

"Can you read my mind?"

"If I could read your mind, do you think our last conversation would have 
started at gunpoint?"

"Point taken. So what can you do?"

"Win friends and influence people. Also," I added with a smile as we 
approached the elevator, "the sex is good."

Wade looked at me searchingly, and I answered with an ambiguous shrug as he 
pushed the elevator call button, effectively ending the conversation. Once 
inside the elevator, Wade set me against the far wall and turned his 
attention toward the elevator controls.

Controls?

They were shoes with rubber soles, not like the slippers I normally wore. 
The woman in the laboratory coat tied the laces, then motioned for me to 
stand. The rough-textured pants she had given me rubbed at my legs as I 
stood; a strange sensation, but not unpleasant. She'd somehow managed to 
secure my long hair in a tight bun at the top of my head, and even that was 
hidden by something entirely new to me: a piece of clothing that covered 
everything above my ears, with a half-oval extension that shaded my eyes.

She stared at me for a few moments before nodding in approval, then turned 
her attention to the columns of buttons on the wall. She pressed some of 
the buttons in sequence while I watched, and I looked around in alarm as 
the room began to ascend.

"Are you okay?" Wade was looking at me anxiously; He hadn't touched the 
controls.

"Another memory." Another impossible memory; I'd never been inside this 
building, let alone the elevator, before today. "Try pressing six... 
three... one... five... two... four... and the alarm button."

Wade looked at me searchingly, but entered the button sequence. With an 
unsettling lurch, the elevator began to descend at an uncomfortably brisk 
pace, passing the marked floors in quick succession before settling to a 
stop on an unmarked basement level. The door slid open to reveal a long 
corridor with whitewashed walls and polished floors. The metal handrails 
which lined both sides were interrupted by the occasional door, and the 
flourescent lighting only added to the institutional atmosphere. The 
silence without bred silence within, broken only when the elevator door 
began to slide closed. Wade moved to block it, then returned to half-drag 
me near the entrance to the corridor.

"What is this place?" Wade spoke in a near-whisper, as if in deference to 
the spare, utilitarian decor.

If I'd never been here before, if I had never seen this hallway before 
today, then why did that minute stain on the wall look so familiar? How 
could I trace the ridged seam on the handrail with my mind as it ran off 
into the distance?

"It's home, Wade." Or something like that, somehow. "Welcome to Genentech, 
the wellspring of dreams and nightmares. Come on," I nodded toward the 
hall. "Walk with me."

"We should wait for backup," Wade advised, "It could be a trap."

"No," I shook my head violently, "I think the trap has already been sprung. 
Only the truth..." The truth... and something else. Something familiar, but 
faint, like a sound just beyond hearing. "Only the truth remains."

After a moment's hesitation, Wade nodded, and we began walking forward. A 
sign on the first door on the left identified it as a bathroom, and the 
next door, a few feet further on the right, was marked as a kitchen. The 
next door, the second on the left, was marked...

"Lilith?" Wade looked at me incredulously.

"Lilith."

The door opened into a small room with white walls and a white-tiled floor, 
furnished with only a mattress on the far right corner of the floor. A 
security camera hung at the center of the ceiling, tracking us as we 
entered. At the corner opposite the mattress, some white fabric was neatly 
folded - a hospital gown, perhaps, or a laboratory coat.

Laboratory Coat?

The woman in the laboratory coat rocked me gently in her arms as I sobbed 
against her chest, shivering in fear. There was hunger and thirst as well, 
and a terrible fatigue, but they were insignificant, transitory. The fear 
would not diminish, and could not be forgotten; it was eternal. She cradled 
me for hours, until I was too tired to cry, and even the shaking stilled. 
As she lowered my head to the pillow, I heard her begin to sing a lullaby. 
The fear remained, but I fell asleep certain that somehow, everything was 
going to be alright. She would help, and I would survive.

"Rob? Rob! Come on, wake up, Rob!"

I was lying on the mattress in Lilith's quarters, and Wade was leaning over 
me, shaking me by a shoulder, near panic. With a curse, I tried to push him 
away, only to be reminded of my present limitations. My gesture of 
annoyance was enough to allay Wade's concern, thankfully, and he gave me a 
bit more distance.

"How long have I been out?" I spoke toward the ceiling, but I could hear 
Wade's relieved breathing to my left.

"Just a few minutes."

"A few minutes." I mumbled, shaking my head in disbelief. A few minutes, in 
which I relived several hours of memory, several hours of... shaking a bit 
even from the remembrance, I brought my fingers up to my temples as if to 
massage away the fear along with the lingering pain. How could anything 
inspire such fear?

The truth - and something else, some other destination - beckoned, and I 
reluctantly let the question rest. With a groan, I pulled myself next to 
the nearest wall and propped my back against it. Wade sat against the 
opposite wall, staring at me with an intensity that I found disconcerting. 
I opened my mouth to speak, but Wade cut me off.

"Rob." Wade hesitated, then began again more deliberately, with only a 
slight tremor in his voice betraying his anxiety. "Rob, I need you to be 
straight with me. Do you remember anything that happened in that office?"

"No," I shook my head in frustration, "I've tried. I've been trying, 
 but..." Something in his expression caught my eye, and realization dawned. 
"Are you and Johnson..."

"Friends." Wade cut me off, glanced at the cameras mounted in the ceiling, 
then shrugged resignedly. "Best friends, since Kindergarten. We went to the 
same schools, played for the same teams in high school. Hell," he added 
wryly, "We even enlisted together; dared each other to sign up for special 
forces. The training nearly killed me, but Johnson wouldn't let me give 
 up."

"I know Johnson." Wade continued. "I've known him almost my entire life, 
and I can't conceive of any circumstance that would cause him to willfully 
abandon a mission without informing his team. But if Johnson's dead, why 
haven't we found the body? If he's been captured, how did they get him out 
of the building? It doesn't make sense."

"No, but..." Hunger, thirst, and fatigue; It couldn't be a coincidence. "I 
think the answer is down here, somewhere."

"Another memory?"

"Sort of." Another memory, not my own. "I'll explain later."

To my relief, Wade seemed to accept my response. How could I explain 
something that I didn't understand myself? Wade helped me to my feet once 
more, and we headed toward the door. Once we passed the threshold and 
re-entered the corridor, he looked at me from the corner of his eyes.

"What are we looking for?"

"I'll know it when I see it."

We passed another door on the right, this one glass-paneled, with a plaque 
attached marked 'Cafeteria,' And then a third door on the left, slightly 
ajar, marked 'Cain.' Wade looked a silent question in my direction, and I 
nodded reluctantly. He used his left hand to remove his pulse pistol from 
its holster, and used his right arm to support me and crowd us toward the 
wall.

A vile smell wafted from the door, and Wade's nose crinkled in distaste as 
he inched his way into the room, pistol first. I heard his breath catch, 
then catch again.

"It's safe," Wade said finally, his voice heavy with disgust. "Filthy, but 
safe. There's a body in here."

When Wade helped me enter the room, I had to fight the urge to vomit. It 
was identical in form to Lilith's, but the condition was appalling. The 
mattress lay in tattered shreds in the corner, and feces were smeared on 
the wall. More feces were piled against one of the other corners, and the 
scent of urine made it difficult to breathe. The corpse lay face-down in 
the center of the room, naked.

"I'll need to see to the body, Rob. Can you stand alone for a bit?"

I nodded, and leaned lightly against a portion of the wall which was at 
least somewhat clean. Wade turned the body over, and I saw the face, frozen 
in a awed smile, and I remembered.

Smile?

Of all the workers who tended to me, brushing my hair and washing my body, 
escorting me for meals and tucking me under my covers, he was my favorite. 
He was the only one who would smile. There was no smile on his face today, 
however, only a cold dispassion that made me shiver in fear. As he sat 
beside the mattress, he brushed an errant strand of hair from my face, a 
gesture that would have been reassuring, except that I could see no 
affection in those cold blue eyes. Too frightened to move, unable to 
scream, I could only watch in horror as he placed his hands around my neck 
and began to squeeze. Now I tried to move, tried to fight, but my arms 
would only twitch uselessly, and my legs refused to move at all. My vision 
began to blur as the pressure increased, and I could feel awareness 
slipping away.

I was on my hands and knees, spewing bile onto the floor. My hands were 
smeared brown with feces, and I could feel something moist caked to my 
cheek. It didn't matter, though. None of it mattered. I remembered. Wade 
was squatting beside me, his face full of concern. He opened his mouth as 
if to speak, but a voice cut him off.

"Wade?"

"Speaking, Joseph."

"We've managed to access the camera archives, sir. We know what happened to 
Johnson."

"Go on."

"Sir," The voice hesitated, "You should probably come up and see it 
yourself."

"I will when I have a chance, Joseph. Now tell me what happened."

My eyes focused on the puddle of vomit between my shit-stained hands. I 
couldn't remember everything, but I knew what had to have happened.

"He's dead," I grated out. My stomach heaved again as the reality hit me. 
"Johnson's dead."

When the voice over the intercom failed to contradict my analysis, Wade's 
shoulders slumped, and for a second he seemed ready to collapse beside me. 
He quickly drew himself up, however, and seemed on the verge of speaking 
again when the voice sounded over the intercom.

"There's something else, sir."

"What is it, Joseph?"

"You're not alone down there. We're picking up a security camera feed from 
a cell down the hall... it appears to be a Caucasian female, mid-to-late 
teens, red hair. Please advise."

Red hair. Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. The truth, and something else, some 
other destination. Who was she? How was she still alive? What had they done 
to her? I laughed bitterly. There was a trap down here, one set only for 
me. And even having recognized it for what it was, I could only walk into 
its jaws.

***

If you enjoyed this story, please send me feedback at pr0n@confessor.org 
Your comments are the only payment I expect I'll receive for my labors.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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