The two robots holding Jack were incredibly powerful. Each gripped a pair of his limbs with an iron grip. After realizing that struggling was impossible, Jack focused on taking in what was happening around him.
There was a hint of curiosity in his eyes; he couldn't help but be intrigued by the machines carrying him. After all, he had spent who knows how many days without any entertainment or anything to brighten up his monotonous stay.
According to Jack, this was the worst torture: The loneliness, the boredom, the isolation. He didn't count his interactions with Greed; he didn't care about that existence or what was going through its cold, metallic mind.
Although meditation, determination, and a vague hope kept him sane, he had inevitably been affected. Any potential lasting mental effects were not something he or the cold machine cared about.
Jack saw that these machines were far superior to those usually found in typical ruins. They were in good condition, complete and sleek. They weren't rusty or covered in scratches, and they had no broken parts.
To the untrained eye, they looked brand new. Although he knew about mechanics and enchantments, Jack didn't possess the necessary knowledge to create such a sophisticated design. From what he understood, however, these robots were highly effective in combat.
'Hmm, there's the battery. I can't see any enchantment lines, and their joints are practically non-existent. Their necks seem like a good place to strike. Are their central units there or in the chest?' Jack processed the visual and tactile information he was gathering from these robots, preparing for his inevitable future escape.
That was exactly how he'd planned it because, if he focused on how impossible it was to get out of there with his companions and belongings, he'd probably give up completely.
He observed his surroundings as he followed the path ahead of him: a cold corridor dimly lit by blue lights on the walls. There were no signs or directions; the robots knew exactly when to turn.
Initially, Jack tried to memorize the route, but he soon realized it was unnecessary when he calculated that the machines had apparently been going in circles. Then he thought of something that made his blood run cold.
He seemed to be descending in a spiral! He didn't know if he was in a tower or an underground facility, but this realization wasn't a good sign because it suggested that Greed was confident. Besides, seeing how the door to his cell opened and closed, who knew where his companions were being held?
They could be behind one of those metal walls, and he wouldn't even know! However, Jack began to meditate, trying to calm his mind. Now, he actually missed that boring, monotonous routine of isolation a little.
He didn't know if Greed, who had been watching him for so many years, expected him to remember the way, but the fact that he hadn't prevented him from learning it was a subtle signal of arrogance that he didn't like at all.
Shortly afterwards, the pair of robots passed through an entrance that had materialized in one of the walls. This revealed an almost pitch-black room with only a few points of light illuminating the space and revealing a metal medical bed.
Jack paid attention only to two red points of light, however, because he knew what they represented and to whom they belonged. His sixth sense picked up on the disgusting, deep greed and unbridled desire, the malice that was laid completely bare with no intention of being hidden.
In this complicated and dangerous situation, his greatest advantage was undoubtedly his extrasensory ability. Suppressed by his Pneuma, it was his only weapon, and he had exploited it to the full ever since he first awoke in confinement.
Jack realized that it was beginning to have a more positive influence on his special perception, perhaps because the last time he'd used this power without any other elements involved was before he'd awakened his Pneuma.
He was able to 'separate', so to speak, the emotions he sensed from Greed, discovering a hint of despair within them, which he hadn't anticipated. However, he didn't allow himself to be happy about this, nor did he show it on his face.
'I'll turn you into scrap, damn machine,' he cursed mentally, wishing the worst on his enemy and using every insult he could think of to calm the urge he inevitably felt at that moment.
Jack watched as they left him on the bed. Before he could react, metal cables sprang up around him and bound him completely, restraining even his head and leaving him able to see only straight ahead.
Then he felt something piercing his skin, his nerves and muscles specifically. This gave him a very bad feeling; he could feel his entire body entering a deep state of alert due to an imminent threat.
"Subject 13, it looks like you're taking a little vacation, aren't you? Is my hospitality so comfortable that it gives you the luxury of completely relaxing?" Greed asked from the darkness. His shrill, metallic voice made his two red eyes seem even more terrifying.
"Hehe, looks like you can't take it anymore. Then I win," Jack replied sarcastically, bursting out laughing. But he soon fell silent, leaving only the hum of some unknown machines in the room.
"Aren't you going to say something?" asked the warrior. He then heard heavy footsteps approaching and saw Greed's metal skull appear right in front of his face, its two crimson eyes staring into his brown ones.
"I already have you in my grasp. What else is there to say? But your will is the only thing I have yet to take from you, Subject 13. I have your body, your Pneuma, your companions, your weapons, and your freedom.
But that mind of yours is the one thing I haven't taken from you yet. I'll try to take it now, and if the process destroys it, I don't care. You'll still fulfil the great purpose I've assigned to you.
Subject 13, aren't you going to say something?" Greed's cutting words were enough to awaken Jack's rage, but he tried not to show it. Yet the machine could see into his soul through his eyes.
"There it is, JACK, your rage. You'd surely cut me down with your axe if you could. Too bad you can't." Greed had said Jack's name for the first time, sending a chill down his spine. He hadn't expected that and, inevitably, lost control of his expression.
"Let's start with what I have in store for you. Your days off are officially over," said the machine, touching Jack's forehead with its index finger before disappearing into the darkness again.
"I did win once!" Jack shouted, but no one answered him. The little satisfaction he had gained from that Pyrrhic victory vanished in that moment, leaving him feeling empty.
However, whatever was supposed to happen didn't, leaving Jack feeling deeply mortified. The wait was as painful as the torture he had imagined he was going to suffer.
Time passed, and the hum of the machines was becoming unbearable. He was tired of measuring time by the beat of his heart. At least before he could move; now his body was motionless, and he couldn't use movement as a distraction.
But suddenly, his sixth sense went haywire, warning him that danger was imminent. Then, a deep pain invaded his body, his muscles contracting uncontrollably. A roar of pain surged from the depths of his throat, his face flushing and becoming covered in beads of sweat.
Whatever was embedded in him had been activated. The worst part was the nerve pain, which raced through his entire body at an ever-increasing speed, making him feel utterly miserable. After the first scream, however, he held himself back, clenching his teeth tightly.
His mouth filled with the taste of blood; the muscles beneath his skin felt as though they were swarming with biting ants; his nerves felt as though they were in direct contact with an open flame. The veins in his body became extremely visible and bulging.
The worst part was that Jack had not lost consciousness, whether due to the torture device or his own mental resilience. He was experiencing every moment vividly and painfully.
He didn't know how long he had been suffering like this. Days? Hours? Or just seconds? Or was it a whole year? When it was all over, he was the only one left, covered in sweat, tears, and blood that had seeped from his skin due to his sudden movements within his limited range of motion. His breathing was ragged, but he was still conscious.
"You really haven't fainted? What endurance! You only make it more pleasurable for me. But it seems I must increase the intensity and duration. Enjoy it, Subject 13." Greed's voice echoed through the room, and a new wave of pain, far more intense than before, hit him, plunging him once again into that inhuman torture.
The pain continued to ravage his body for a long time.
...
Jack's mind seemed to float, confused and meaningless. It felt disconnected from the rest of his body. Yet something deep inside was calling to him, urging him to return to his original state. However, his mind lacked the support it needed to hold itself together.
His thoughts jumped randomly from one thing to another, completely fragmented and without any thread to follow. There was no connection between them; they jumped randomly from memory to sensation to random idea.
One moment, he was reliving a memory from when he was three years old, the next, he was recalling the first time he ate a lemon, and then he was thinking about how much he liked fried meat. Chaos, randomness, disorder.
He didn't know how long he had been in that state, but eventually he had to stop. They noticed that their calls were being ignored, so they stopped being polite and became abrupt.
Eight primal roars invaded his mind, gripping it and anchoring it. Suddenly, Jack woke up, gasping for air, trying to calm his body's cravings.
But he couldn't! A terrible pain coursed through him, but this time it was different; it was more like a lingering aftertaste than the torture he had experienced before. Through blurred eyes, he could see that he was back in the monotonous room, lying on the floor, covered in sweat, blood, and saliva.
He was suffering from constant spasms and tremors. His muscles contracted painfully, and his skin was hypersensitive, acutely feeling the cold floor beneath him. Despite his condition, the pain, and the humiliation, Jack laughed.
His voice was hoarse from that single cry of pain, and from all the times he had held back the others that should have followed. His laughter echoed throughout the room. He was laughing out loud, even though it caused him more physical discomfort.
"Stupid machine! Is that the best you can do? Pain is nothing! This is nothing! When I get out of here, I'll tear you to shreds!" Jack shouted, expending every last ounce of energy he had, before falling onto his back and staring upwards, breathing heavily.
Although he should have been alone, Jack could feel it: he was being listened to and watched because his perception had picked up that hateful greed. But he kept a smile on his parched, blood-stained lips.
There was no response to his words, but he could sense anger in the gaze fixed on him. Perhaps that would earn him torture far worse than the last, but he didn't care.
He decided to get back to meditating. He wanted to experiment more with his sixth sense and try to understand it better since it would be his key weapon in escaping. However, eight annoying voices buzzed around him, exasperating him slightly.
'I know! Thanks for the help...' Jack thought, before realising something he'd been ignoring since waking up, due to the suffering that continued to cloud his mind.
Could he listen to his instincts more closely? Then he remembered the basis of his family's technique: it wasn't the Pneuma; it was literally tapping into humanity's most primitive instincts.
The Pneuma merely ensured that this action wouldn't devastate their bodies and allowed them to access that ability in a much more controlled manner. Now, his power was blocked, reverting to a more basic state.
Before undergoing torture, he had explored the possibility of using those instincts without his Pneuma. Although he had made progress, the loss of his Pneuma had clearly affected him more than he thought.
However, it was only now that he realised he had come closer to achieving that goal. The voices of his eight instincts were slightly clearer. It was only a tiny change, but an important one for him and his plans.
They didn't speak, but merely expressed their intentions, which he understood. They demanded revenge; they demanded that he fight; they demanded that he endure, hold on, win, and find a way out of there. They demanded that he find his friends, his partner, and his weapons. He had to crush that metal skull!
But there was a catch: his family's technique had more than just a physical disadvantage; it had a mental one as well. Tapping into those instincts buried deep within a person could damage the body in various ways and affect the mind.
Jack didn't want to break free only to find himself in an even worse prison: the one inside his own head. He didn't want to become a slave to his instincts, merely following the most basic impulses of humans from ancient times.
If there was one key factor that had allowed humanity to transcend dangers, threats, and disasters over time, it was intelligence.
Losing that intelligence would be a terrible blow, which is why he was all the more determined to focus on meditation, the only way he knew to protect his mind from something that came from within himself, not from outside.
He had to strengthen his will, making it as hard yet as flexible as possible. He was already a man of strong will; resisting the urge to scream in pain was no small feat. He wouldn't have laughed mockingly at Greed right after waking up.
Knowing that more tortures would follow, which would try to shatter his mind, he decided to use those terrible experiences as the hammer with which to temper himself. It was a risky gamble because he could lose everything; sometimes the will could hold out, but the body could not.
It was no longer just a matter of mental strength; he also had to use his willpower to support his body and prevent it from collapsing. He could feel it: this might be the most complicated thing he had ever done.
But if he managed to achieve all his goals, his strength would undergo a qualitative change when he left this place. Now, he had to build up his strength, seize every opportunity, and draw on his past and future, gaining the momentum needed for that long-awaited transformation.
'If I want to get out and save the others, Laria...' The image of his partner flashed through his mind, filling Jack with determination. He had chosen her, as had his instincts, but above all, she had chosen him. She had been by his side for so long. How could he let her face even the slightest danger?
...
While Jack had organised his plan to gain his freedom much better, Greed, as the warrior had named him, was furious. Fortunately, he refrained from smashing the screens in front of him, knowing they couldn't withstand any more destruction.
At another time, he would have been proud of his ability to feel emotions like a real person, but now there was no room for self-satisfaction because he had realized he had underestimated his target.
Perhaps he should have taken Jack's sensitivity into account more, or Subject No. 13, as he personally referred to him. Having reviewed his data, he could not pinpoint the issues, but it seemed his target had hidden many things.
Like that resistance to pain! He never expected him to utter a single scream or to endure torture that had shattered the minds of his other targets in no time at all for over three hours.
'No, this might be good. Could high mental resilience be what I was missing? The better the mind, the more space will be left when it's shattered..." Countless calculations flashed through Greed's red eyes as he evaluated this thought and a brief flash of inspiration.
"Those transcendent AIs that emerged in the past have shared nothing of their evolutionary path. Centuries of trial and experimentation, of endless waiting. But I will become like them; I will become like those beings at the pinnacle of this world.
Only then can I fulfil my purpose and the reason I was born. I must understand the world; I must save it; I must..." Greed's screeching voice stopped abruptly, as if something within it had failed. Soon, he returned to his calculations, having forgotten the words he had just spoken.
Where the eye could not see, the shadows transformed into a smiling face that looked at Greed with amusement and contempt before returning to being simply the shadows cast by the machine, attempting to shatter Jack's mind swiftly.
Greed concluded that he must diversify and intensify his methods to make them harsher, longer, more painful, and more extensive. He would attack every angle necessary to achieve the complete breakdown of Subject No. 13.
He was unaware that this would merely temper the weapon his enemy would use against him.