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Michael paced back in forth within the confines of his cage. It was no more than 8' X 12' and he felt as if the bars were closing in on him. The feeling was intensified by the fact that the cage was located in the center of a large room. The walls were pristine white, there were no windows and no furnishings except for one, straight-backed chair which was about ten feet from the cage. The only lighting was artificial and blindingly bright. It bothered Michael's eyes. Because of it, and the fact that there were no windows, he had lost all track of time. His watch had been taken from him as well, so day and night had long ago blurred into each other. At his best guess, Michael believed he had been trapped for over a week.
There was no way for him to pass the minutes...or to count them. No routine to go by. Meals were brought to him at odd times. The lights were never turned off, so he couldn't judge when it was night time, so he barely slept. There was no music, no people, no words...except for when *She* came. He didn't even remember how often she had come. She was the one who sat in the chair. Michael couldn't see her face for she sat bathed in black light. She was just a voice, cold and emotionless, taunting him. He did not respond. But it was getting harder and harder to remain mute.
Michael heard the sound of the door opening and caught his breath. There was the sound of heavy footsteps, not light, and he knew what that meant. Three men, all wearing white pants and sweaters and white hoods, entered the cage. Michael did what he always did, he attacked them as they reached for him. But lack of food and sleep had weakened him, as did the drugs they pumped into him...which was their intention now. Michael kicked one in the face, but the other two grabbed him and took him down. They pinned him with their heavy bodies, while the one he had kicked injected him in the forearm. Warmth flooded through Michael, but it would soon be followed by pain. He didn't care. Pain was something he could control. As they let him go, Michael noticed that there was blood on the hood of the man he had kicked. He smiled. But the smile faded as pain soon washed over him in neverending waves.
When he opened his eyes, the woman was there. Michael had felt her presence. It was like a chill rippling up his spine. He hated her, hated what she represented. She was like the voice in his head that he couldn't quite ignore. Some would call the voice his *conscience*. Michael called it his curse. She was the devil in disguise.
"How do you feel, Michael?" she asked, in that emotionless voice.
He didn't answer her. But he did sit up and press his back against the bars of the cage. Michael wanted to stand but knew his legs would not support him, not yet. He needed to concentrate...mind over matter. The pain was intense, but he could control it.
She was reading his mind again. "I can give you something for the pain, Michael. All you have to do is tell me who you work for. What is his name? One word, Michael...and no more pain."
'No more pain'...it was like a melody running through his head. Michael didn't believe her, so he didn't speak. He stared hard at her silhouette, for that was all she was in the shadows of the black light that flooded over her from above. She seemed so familiar to him, but he couldn't place her name. Then again, he couldn't trust his thoughts, instincts or senses... for he knew that the drugs in his system had warped his perception of reality. Nothing was real anymore...except the pain.
"What are you afraid of, Michael?" she asked.
It was a new question and one that he was ill-prepared for. He almost responded to it, his first instinct being to deny that he was afraid of anything. Then he thought about it for a minute and decided to tell her the truth. "I'm...afraid of living," he whispered, almost too softly for her to hear. There was a long moment of silence and Michael sensed that he had surprised her. The thought pleased him and he found the strength to pull himself to his feet. Gripping the bars of the cage in both hands, Michael threw the question back. "What are you afraid of?"
She shifted in her chair. "Do you like to kill?" she countered.
Don't answer, Michael told himself. But he couldn't seem to help it. Suddenly, he wanted to talk. He wanted to play her game. "I do...what I have to. It's not about...like."
"Who are you, Michael?" She tossed the question out, lazily.
"No one," he replied, and a half-smile curved his lips. Michael sensed that she was becoming angry at him. Good, he thought. Let her get pissed off.
She let a long moment pass in silence. "Tell me about Nikita."
Michael felt a wave of pain that left him shaken. Nikita. Just hearing her name brought an image of her to mind. Beautiful and innocent...that was Nikita. "No..." Michael whispered. Pain struck again and he felt his body tremble, but he refused to let it topple him. Michael gripped the bars of the cage and remained standing. But he was hit with an onslaught of images that stabbed at him like a white-hot knife blade, slashing into his soul.
There was Nikita after Michael had ordered her beaten. And the look on her face in the limo after she completed her first mission. The tears in her eyes...and the hurt...when he had seduced her and betrayed her. Then the coldness between them....that was the most unbearable part. But Michael would never let her know that. Madeline and Operations both thought he had a soft spot for Nikita, but he would never let them know the truth. The truth would mean the end for them both. Loving Nikita was against the rules...and Michael wouldn't go there. He couldn't. Not after Simone. It didn't matter that Nikita was the only one who had made him feel *alive* again.
"Tell me about Nikita, Michael," the voice demanded.
"There is no Nikita," he replied, dragging himself out of the memories. "Who are you?" Michael shouted, for he was suddenly weary of the game.
Silence again, then, "I'm your friend, Michael."
He laughed, softly. "I have no friends."
"You have Nikita. She's your friend. You love her," said the voice.
"I love...no one," Michael replied. He felt darkness rush in at him, but he gritted his teeth and pushed it back. Michael didn't dare lose consciousness, he couldn't trust what might happen then. He would lose control...and that was not allowed.
The voice laughed, then became toneless once again. "The Section doesn't care whether you live or die, Michael. You don't owe them any loyalty. Tell me what I want to know and you'll be free of them."
Michael listened to her taunting voice. Free. It was something he had long ago given up thinking about. There was no freedom for him. Only the Section. "They gave me my life," he whispered.
"A life you don't want to live," she reminded him. "You'd rather be dead, Michael. Isn't that true?"
"I'm already dead," he whispered. "Row 17, plot 5." A slow smiled curved his sensual lips. "It's not so bad."
She shifted in her chair again. "Do you miss Simone? Do you feel regret?"
Michael couldn't answer her, for the moment Simone's name was mentioned, memories flooded through him. Not of the happy times that they had shared, but of her face all marred and burned. Of the fear in her eyes when he had reached for her. The accusation that she didn't even try to hide. He had abandonded her...left her to suffer three years of torture and imprisonment.
"Section knew she was alive, Michael." The voice had lowered to a husky whisper, changing the inflection from it's usual monotone.
"Simone..." the word was wrenched out of Michael. He had guessed that Section knew she was alive, but had avoided facing that fact. To do so would serve no purpose, and Michael tried to remind himself of that. "What do you want from me?" he countered.
She laughed softly. "The name of the man in charge of Section One."
Michael suddenly realized something. "You know so much about me, and Section," he shot back. "Surely you know who the man in charge is?"
"We don't mean Operations, Michael." The voice was monotone again. "We want the top dog. You know who he is. Tell me, and the pain will go away."
"I don't believe you," Michael replied. He pulled away from the bars and began pacing. Suddenly there was the sound of heavy footsteps and two men were unlocking the cage door. Michael was ready for them, but in mind only. He kicked out at the first man, but his body was weak and he fell to his knees. They were on him then, forcing his arms behind him and cuffing him. Then they pulled him to his feet and held him between them.
A woman, different from the one in the chair, entered the cage. She was beautiful, in an exotic way. She was smoking a cigarette as she approached Michael, blowing smoke in his face. He didn't flinch. He watched her through blurred vision, and he wasn't sure if it was the drugs, or tears that affected him. She dragged on the cigarette so that the tip glowed, bright red, then she took it from her lips and pressed the hot end against his left foreram, using Michael's bare skin to snuff out the embers.
He groaned then bit off the sound, only to be hit by memories once again. Angie. She had helped him when he was wounded. Had loved him....died for him. And he had left her behind in the cold, desolate snow. But even as the pain of those memories rippled through Michael, he felt soft hands caressing him, offering him pleasure. He tried to back away from the woman, but the men held him tightly. Her fingers tangled in his hair, holding his head still while she kissed him. Her tongue slid into his mouth and Michael nearly whimpered.
Seduction...that's what this was. He knew, because he was so good at it. His body was as much a weapon as his gun. Section had asked him to use it to manipulate so many. Most of them were faces he couldn't even remember. But there was one....Nikita. Section had known that she wanted to escape. Ops was content to let her go. It would have justified her cancelation. But Madeline had other ideas. And Michael had done as she asked, for she had convinced him it was the only way to save Nikita from herself. Michael desperately wanted to believe that he was saving her from him..as well. He couldn't love her...and she, of all people, deserved that.
The soft hands left his hair and slid down over his chest. Then lower still, to brush over his crotch, caressing him through the material of his jeans. Michael didn't say a word, but he tried to move out of her reach. The men held him firm and she pressed herself against him. Her lips pressed against his collarbone, then she moved back and lifted one hand so that her fingertips could trace the curve of his lips. Michael felt his heart skip a beat. That was what Nikita had done, that day in her apartment...when he had seduced her. The memory hit a nerve deep inside Michael and he felt a rush of adrenaline. His eyes frosted to green ice and he struck out at the men holding him.
The first one released him when Michael's heel slammed into his shin. Michael then shouldered the woman away and she slammed into the bars. The second guy tried to slug him, but Michael ducked, spun, then kicked him in the crotch. The man went down and Michael continued moving. He hit the floor and rolled onto his back so that he could slide his arms out from behind him, over his legs. Then he kicked out, visciously, at the first guy, who was moving towards him. A moment later he had the other guy in a choke hold. One quick twist and the man's neck would snap.
"MICHAEL!"
At the sound of his name being spoken in that sharp voice, Michael froze. He felt the anger drain out of him and he released the guy. The lights dimmed and he saw the woman from the chair. "Madeline.." he whispered, then he fell to his knees.
************** Nikita paced before Madeline. She was trembling with a fury that she could barely contain. Finally she gave up trying. "WHY?" she demanded. "Why did you do that to him?"
Madeline didn't respond, other than to smile. The entire scenario of Michael in the cage, the drugs, the questioning...it had all been a test. One that Nikita had observed. Michael did not know he was being tested. He had been grabbed in the middle of the night, drugged, and put in the cage. His ordeal had lasted for four weeks. "It was neccessary," Madeline replied, after a long moment had passed.
"Neccessary?" Nikita repeated. She found that hard to believe. "You tortured him! This is Michael we're talking about. You messed with his mind and his body. Not to mention his heart and soul. Give me one good reason why it was NECCESSARY!"
"Trust." That was all Madeline said. Then she waited to see what Nikita would do.
The blond woman didn't know what to say. Shaking her head Nikita glared at Madeline. "Who made you judge and jury?" she whispered, then she walked out of the room.
************
Michael was in his office. He didn't look up from the computer screen when Nikita entered. She studied him for a long moment, standing just inside the doorway. He looked the same. No outward change of appearance to even hint at what he had suffered through. Only one week had passed since he had been freed from the cage. Through a window, Nikita had watched him strike out and nearly kill the other operative. She had been stunned that he had possessed the strength. Then she had watched Madeline step forward and had seen the look of surprise on Michael's face as he recognized her. Then he had fallen to his knees. Madeline had gone to him, held him in her arms, and he had let her. But even that had been a ruse, for two men had stepped forward and injected Michael with a sedative. He collapsed and was taken away on a gurney. Michael had spent four days in Med Lab, then two days behind closed doors with Operations and Madeline. Yesterday he had returned to active status and slipped smoothly back into his role as team leader on an assignment to retrieve a micro chip with vital information on it. The mission had been a success.
Now Michael was typing up his report. Nikita had spoken to him, only briefly, while on the mission. Just long enough to discover that he was not angry at Section for what they had done to him. Nikita found that impossible to understand and she intended to confront him about it now. She stepped all the way into the office and sat down in the chair across from him, uninvited. "Michael...can we talk?" Nikita asked, point blank, her eyes locked on his face.
"What about?" he countered, his eyes still locked on the video screen.
"About what they did to you," Nikita shot back, her own eyes flashing.
Michael sighed, then his eyes lifted. He saw blue-sparks in Nikita's gaze, her anger seemed to radiate from her rigid body. Michael had never seen her so furious. "There's nothing to talk about, Nikita," he told her.
She wouldn't accept that. "Madeline and Ops tortured you, Michael!" Nikita was on her feet and shouting. "They messed with your body and your mind! Why aren't you angry?" That was the question that haunted her the most. Was Michael so programmed that he no longer could feel for himself? The thought scared her half to death, and she didn't even pause to consider why.
"They did what they had to do, Nikita," Michael replied. He held her gaze, his own unflinching. "You don't understand."
"You're right!" she snapped. "I don't understand...and I hope to god I never do!" Nikita felt tears of frustration sting her eyes. She had seen the torment that Michael had suffered through. The physical pain alone would have destroyed her. But he appeared unmarked by it all, yet she knew that he had been wounded. Deep inside a part of him was bleeding, and Nikita wanted to heal him. She had to make him understand. "What section did to you was wrong, Michael. They had no right!"
Michael's eyes suddenly flashed. "They had every right," he hissed. "Section One owns me, Nikita. Body and soul. And I'm more valuable to them than you are willing to believe." Michael pushed away from his desk and slowly rose to his feet. He moved forward until he was eye to eye with Nikita. "I know things," Michael whispered.
Nikita stared deep into his green eyes, but the way to his soul was blocked...the mirror, tarnished. "What kind of things?" she countered, desperation coloring her tone. She needed to understand.
"Secrets," Michael replied. One hand lifted and his fingertips brushed the curve of her jaw. Her skin was soft, her hair looked like silk, and the perfume she wore was intoxicating. Michael wanted Nikita...so badly that it made him ache. But he didn't let his desire show. Not in his eyes, in his voice nor in his body. He would never let her know the truth. Michael dropped his hand and stepped around her, moving towards the door. "I could bring Section One to it's knees, Nikita," he said. And he shared that fact with her, only because he felt that she had earned that small glimmer of truth. And because Madeline had told him to.
"Michael..." Nikita turned to look at him, but he was gone.
************* Madeline had been expecting Nikita. The beautiful young woman didn't mince words.
"You told me that it was neccessary to test Michael, because of the truth," Nikita spit at Madeline. When the other woman nodded in agreement, she added, "Whose truth?"
"There's only one truth, Nikita," Madeline replied.
Nikita smiled, a cold curving of her lips. "Section's truth," she said.
Madeline nodded, her eyes locked with Nikita's. "That's right." When the young women turned to leave, Madeline said, "We tested Michael to see how strong he is." She paused as she watched Nikita freeze, then she continued. "We needed to know how he would handle himself if he were ever captured."
"Captured by who?" Nikita prompted, hating that she wasn't strong enough to resist asking.
"The enemy," Madeline countered.
Nikita turned around so that she could see the other woman's face. "And WHO is the enemy?" It was a question she had been asking herself since the day she had arrived in Section One.
Madeline smiled, softly. "One never knows...does one?" she replied, in the same tone of voice that she had used while interrogating Michael. Toneless, and devoid of any emotion.
"Thank you," Nikita whispered, as a cold chill rippled through her. She had known many levels of fear in the course of the past three years, but Madeline's words terrified her. Nikita wouldn't let the other woman see that, however. She turned and left the room. As she walked down the corridor, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, Nikita was unaware of the two figures who stood on the second level, watching her.
Operations smiled as he lit up a cigarette. He turned to the man standing beside him. "Good work, Michael," he said, and the praise was sincere. He hadn't expected the young operative to survive the ordeal they had subjected him to, and he was pleased to have been proven wrong. He waited for Michael to respond, but the other man remained silent. Ops shrugged then said, "You can go now." He locked eyes with Michael for a moment and he saw a glimmer of something in the cool, green gaze that could only be described as *hatred*. And it was directed at him. But in a flash it was gone. Operations watched Michael nod, then turn and walk away. He blew out a cloud of smoke then whispered, "He still belongs to me, Nikita. Michael still belongs to me."
THE END
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