Biological Supercomputer System

An old feeling swept over her as she slid into the chair. Her eyesight hazed, and the room's edges became softer and less focused.

A weight landed on her chest, and a shiver of discomfort pricked her skin.

Emily was well aware of this feeling; she was going to have a vision and that meant she was going to lose consciousness.

"Damn..."

She got out of the chair and headed for her bed, her steps lethargic and weighty.

As she got to the edge of the bed and lay down, the room appeared to tremble and tilt.

The world disappeared and was replaced by the whirling blackness of oblivion the instant her head contacted the cushion.

She felt herself vanishing as the darkness descended, drawn into the recesses of her mind, or wherever her brain crystal power brought her, and where fate and time were entwined in a jumbled mess.

She understood that knowledge of the future-a peek at the uncertain road ahead-would weigh heavily on her when she awakened.

Even if she didn't really like when she had vision, she could only give in to its pull for the time being, though, and hope that whatever it showed would be worth the price it was going to cost her.

...

--

...

The darkness receded, replaced by a white room. Well, most of it.

In truth, most of the room was stained with the blood's redness. This amount should have been only found on a battlefield, but this room was so full of it that if it wasn't for the ceilings and some white spots around, she would have thought this room had been red to begin with. This wasn't a battlefield, and yet...

Emily's vision slowly focused, and a gasp slipped from her mouth.

There, chained to a wall, was her father, Richard Stone. His once-proud form was slumped and broken, and his clothes were torn and stained with blood.

His long beard was a mess, with short spots and long ones stained with blood, spit and snot. Parts of the beard started growing white, despite Richard still having full, dark hair.

The young woman immediately understood he was not ok. No, saying those weren't the right words to put it.

His face, normally so full of life and warmth, was gaunt and pale, full of lines of pain and exhaustion.

His father was dying.

Standing before Richard was a figure Emily knew all too well: Volkov, the tyrannical ruler of Frant.

The look on his face didn't make a mystery what the man was feeling: rage. He looked angry, so angry that Emily could swear she never saw a look so angry and scary on anyone's face. The veins on his neck throbbed visibly, as if straining to break free. His jaw was clenched so tightly that it seemed the very bones might crack under the pressure.

His nostrils flared with each rapid, heated breath, and his lips were drawn back into a thin, menacing line.

<What...> Emily struggled to fully comprehend what was happening, what had led to this situation, but it was clear Volkov tortured his father, for how long, or how many times, the woman didn't know.

What was certain was that Emily was seeing one of those torture sessions.

Volkov leaned in close to Richard, his lips twisting into a cruel smirk. "I'm sick of you, Richard Stone."

WHACK

"GAH!"

Volkov whipped at Richard. The sound it came out wasn't even similar to that a whip had to make. It was more akin to using a gun.

"GIVE IT TO ME!"

The sound of the whip echoed again.

"GIVE ME ERIK ROMANO'S LOCATION!"

The sound of the whip cracked like a thunderclap once again, piercing the silence of the room. Only Volkov's voice broke it, when the whip was not in action.

Sometimes, they happened at the same time, and the whip was much louder than Volkov's voice, despite the man shouting at the top of his lungs.

The whip moved.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

"Go fuck yourself," Richard said, not without several degrees of difficulty.

Volkov laughed. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH."

That seemed to Emily like a terrifying growl before a predator killed its prey, a precursor to unimaginable misery rather than a chuckle.

"Your attempts to resist me are admirable, but ultimately futile," he said.

"You cannot escape your fate. So, why don't we make things easier? You tell me where Erik Romano is, where his base is located, and who his people are, and I'll give you a quick,

painless death."

Richard spoke in jerky bursts, each one a battle. On the first syllable, his voice faltered, as though the air itself opposed him.

His lips quivering with each letter, he stammered, "Didn't y-you hear m-me?"

Something solid and unmoving seemed to be choking his words as if bits of something were stuck in his throat, or as if the very air was absent from his lungs.

Emily grimaced. Volkov smiled.

"Go f-fuck yourself," he said. But there weren't curses that could affect Volkov. Everything Richard said lost its impact in the halting delivery.

With the effort, his face twisted, his neck veins protruding, his eyes wide with desperation. Every word seemed like a fight he was just barely winning, and that made Volkov smile more.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAH. WELL, WELL, THEN HAVE IT YOUR WAY!"

Volkov went to a table laden with an array of instruments-whips, knives, and other tools of torture.

Emily watched in horror as Volkov selected a long, wicked-looking whip ending with multiple urchins.

She had never seen something like that, and honestly, she didn't even expect someone being so sinister and cruel as to make something like that.

But the whip was there, she was looking at it, and what Volkov was going to do was not going to be good for her father.

The general raised it above his head, the muscles in his arm tensing. Richard braced himself, his eyes filled with a mixture of pain and defiance.

"DAD!"

The sinister crack of the whip echoed once more, but this time, the barbed tips sank mercilessly into Richards' back, ripping through flesh and sending a cascade of crimson

rivulets streaming down his spine.

"TALK!"

Again.

"TELL ME!"

Emily watched in horror as Volkov brought the wicked whip down again and again on her father's battered body.

Each crack of the urchin-tipped lash elicited a gut-wrenching cry from Richard.

His opposition wavered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Hesitation briefly flickered within his eyes, but then the man remembered what would happen if he talked, how many people would die, what the blackguards and Volkov were going to do if they found Liberty

Watch.

He refused. Richard could not betray Becker. He could not make Erik, end up in the blackguards hands after what he and the others did to save Lucius. He didn't have the heart to separate father and son, but he didn't know Lucius had died already.

But even if he knew, then he would have had no reason to give up and give Volkov satisfaction.

Lucius was not the only one with unwavering will. He, Caiden, Becker. They were fighting a battle for years, and there was no amount of torture that could make him talk.

His thoughts wandered to his wife and daughter once again. Their faces, their smiles, were giving him the strength he needed to resist.

"TALK!" Volkov said, his face twisted with rage.

Another savage blow landed, and Richard's body convulsed, the chains rattling as he slumped

forward, no longer able to hold himself upright.

Emily felt as though a war drum was hammering in her ears with every beat of her heart.

The hot tears welling up and spilling over distorted her vision as she watched her father writhe in agony.

To breathe became hard, to the point each inhale came in irregular gasps, and each exhale

came short.

A wave of helplessness swept over her, threatening to drag her under. Richard's suffering left her shivering and immobile.

But then, as if her soul wanted to come out, she shouted.

"DAD!"

Though she knew he couldn't hear her, she was in a vision. Despite this being something that

was going to happen in the future, the vision itself wasn't real.

She wasn't there with her father.

But she could see. Volkov's cruel laughter echoed through the room. Her rage simmered.

The whipping continued, each strike more brutal than the last.

At some point, Richard couldn't take it anymore. Emily watched in horror as his body went

limp, his head hanging limply.

The chains separating his body from the ground.

Not even by losing consciousness, he could have a little bit of rest.

Volkov paused, a twisted grin spreading across his face, but some disappointment was clear.

"Look at you. The great Richard Stone can't handle a small and friendly talk. What a

disappointment."

The man tossed the bloodied whip aside. He approached Richard's motionless form, pressing

a finger against his neck.

Emily held her breath, her hands clenched into trembling fists. Volkov's expression darkened,

and he let out a frustrated growl. This was going to make him lose a lot of time.

But then he smiled again, because he knew that exactly like it happened in Fasard, Erik

Romano, or at least his people, were going to come and rescue Richard.

And then he was going to strike.

Emily's vision began to blur and distort. The surrounding room faded, and a sense of vertigo

overwhelmed her.

She blinked, struggling to maintain her focus, but the scene before her was dissolving.

"DAD!"

"DAAAAAAD!"

With a gasp, Emily found herself back in the Red Palace.

"No," she said, her voice trembling. "NO!"

What Emily saw scared her. Her father had his days numbered. She had to warn the others and

rescue her father before it was too late.

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