Illona wanted to dismiss the male’s words as the maniacal ramblings of a being who had been stationed in the remote lab for too long a duration.
But she had heard the same rumors about an unknown force blowing up labs that contained cyborgs. That had strengthened her resolve to liberate her patients before she died.
She would help a few more beings…if that was possible.
Picton would prevent that from happening if he knew about her plans. The male inflicted pain whenever he had the occasion to do that.
His previous planet rotation activities proved that to be true.
“The logs say you entered the chamber during the rest cycle.” She frowned at the control panel.
The guard would have brutalized Malice during that visit. He hated the cyborg, took every opportunity he was given to hurt the male.
Normally, she wouldn’t say anything. There was nothing she could do or say that would stop the abuse permanently, and mentioning it often made it worse. But to free Malice and Valor, she had to push Picton to take extreme action, to seek revenge against her.
“The machine became agitated.” The guard shrugged. “I had to calm it down.”
That was bovine shit. “The next time you have to calm it down during a rest cycle, contact me.” She met the guard’s gaze. “Either I’m present, or there will be a notification on your file. Do you understand me?”
The male narrowed his eyes at her. “I understand.”
The more notifications a being had on his or her file, the higher the likelihood they would be unknowingly experimented upon. Picton had survived as long as he had by not being caught.
She didn’t have much power, but she did have ability to put him in peril. And threatening to do so would prompt Picton to seek to eliminate her…permanently.
That could save the cyborg she had grown to care too much about. She maintained her serene expression, hiding her emotions from view. “Has the chamber been prepared?”
“The portable medic station has been locked in place. The machine has been stunned and strapped to the horizontal support.” Picton caressed the handle of his reprimand stick, his torture tool of choice. “It resisted that process.”
Fuck. The male had beaten Malice…likely after the cyborg had been restrained.
“Then you can take your break.” She opened the door to the chamber.
“You’ll take a stick to the head. Soon.” The guard said that under his breath as the door closed behind her.
If he had said the words louder, she’d have the proof she needed to write him up for that also. But Picton knew the system, knew his voice had been too soft for the monitoring equipment to register.
Reporting a being without proof deleted one notification from the accused’s file and added a notification to the accuser’s file. Illona wouldn’t survive a harsher experiment, and she needed the extra planet rotations. She had beings to save.
The male strapped to the horizontal support was one of those beings.
He wouldn’t appreciate her sacrifice.
Malice’s fingers were folded into tight fists. His muscles were flexed tight. His brilliant blue eyes blazed with unabashed rage.
Most of the anger was directed at her. The cyborg hated her with breathtaking ferocity.
She wanted him with an equivalent passion. Her nipples tightened. Her pussy grew wet.
From the first moment she saw him, she had desired him.
Any female would respond that way to him.
He was a warrior in his prime. His skin was the gray of polished metal. His black hair absorbed the light. His naked form was huge and honed, without a single scar or blemish. He was beautiful and deadly, and he could kill her without much effort.
If he was free, if the specially crafted sleeping support wasn’t stunning the cyborg at regular intervals, immobilizing him, she suspected he would do exactly that. He would tear her to pieces, vent his animosity on her.
And she would deserve that death. Her role was to experiment on him, learn his secrets, torture him over and over again, never allowing him to die but ensuring he wished for that fate.
She had little choice about that. If she refused to cut him open, to poke around his brain, his processors, his body, she’d be killed. The next medic might inflict lasting damage on him. That being might not care if Malice lived or died.
His chances of escape would be greatly reduced.
Illona extracted a handheld from one of her jacket’s pockets. “How is my test subject doing this planet rotation?”
Malice glared at her.
The flippant words irritated her also, but they were necessary. The chamber was equipped with monitoring equipment. In the future, if she needed to pass messages verbally to the cyborg, that information would be hidden within the flow of chatter.
And she liked talking to him. Her communications with other beings were limited to the reports she sent to the Humanoid Alliance every five planet rotations, her horrid interactions with Picton, and the briefest of interludes with Medic Febris.
She scanned the cyborg’s massive form. “All your primary systems are fully functional.” She moved closer to him, unable to maintain a professional distance from the male. “There are some dark patches on your shins.” She slipped her handheld into her pocket. “That signals bruising.” She skimmed her fingertips over his bare skin.
The scans had indicated his frame was intact. It would take much more than a reprimand stick to damage it. And if that rare event happened, the nanocybotics in Malice’s physique would quickly repair him.
But solar cycles of tending to humans and humanoids under device-limited circumstances had created the habit of physically verifying bones weren’t broken.
Plus, she liked touching him.
Malice liked her touching him also…although he would never admit that.
His cock twitched and his knuckles whitened.
His response was due to her being female. Cyborgs were originally manufactured to fight and to breed. The breeding programs weren’t successful, but the instincts remained.
He would react to any viable partner. His hatred of her wouldn’t interrupt that programming.
“There are more dark patches on your knees.” She pressed against his kneecaps. The male’s form was unrelenting.
That excited her and it shouldn’t. She was his medic.
And he was restrained, couldn’t refuse her advances.
Illona continued her examination. Slowly. The longer she took to examine Malice, the shorter the duration she had to experiment on him.
She hated taking apart his fine form. Each incision sliced into her soul. She was a medic, not a scientist, was trained to heal beings, not dissect them.
If she was successful, that torture would soon end. As would his abuse at Picton’s brutish hands. The guard had beaten him thoroughly. The bruising was especially dark over his groin. Malice was repairing but it must have hurt him.
She verbally noted each visible dark stretch of skin. His abs rippled under her palms. He was appealingly warm, almost melting the ice inside her.
Three beeps echoed in the chamber. She removed her hands from his form.
Malice opened his mouth as though to speak. His body convulsed, silencing whatever he was planning to say. The cyborg became still once more, stunned into immobility.
Only his eyes moved. They were devoid of all organics and they glowed with emotion, expressing his frustration, his anger, his unwanted need.