Hardie’s head felt dizzy, as if someone were choking him and cutting off the supply of blood to his brain. He started to panic and stopped brushing Eve and started clutching at his chest, then pounding his breastbone, as if he could simply will his heart to continue to pump despite what the poison gas was telling it to do. He dropped to his knees, facing the drain, and some part of his brain that was still firing neurons—
—thought it almost funny, staring into a drain as you are circling it…
And then it happened.
He thought of the way out.
The drain.
THE MOTHERFUCKING DRAIN!
Hardie put his lips against her ear. “Help me.” But Eve didn’t understand until he guided her hands over to the drain.
The drain, which led to the steel room containing Prisoner Zero.
The grunting moron, who, Hardie now realized, was the mysterious Prisonmaster.
They wormed through the passageway in silence. They didn’t dare breathe, not until they put enough distance between themselves and the poison. When they reached the steel anteroom where Hardie had been trapped (weeks? months ago?), Eve had to help up him to his feet. Hardie was proud, though. He’d managed to hang on to his cane.
“So you’re thinking that Zero is the Prisonmaster,” Eve said.
“There’s no poison gas back here,” Hardie said. “The Prisonmaster has to be someone who’s nearby at all times, who can gauge situations as they evolve. Who better than the guy right next door? Who conveniently doesn’t speak or move? Who has the guards take care of his every need?”
“Can’t argue with your thinking. But…he’s missing limbs, for Christ’s sake. He does nothing but grunt.”
“Ten bucks he’s got a phone under that mask and can speak just fine.”
They both stared at the steel door.
“Are you ready?” Hardie asked.
“Absolutely not.”
“We’re going to have to force this open somehow.”
“Well, I didn’t think this would be easy.”
Eve was stunned, then, to have the door slide open at first pull. Fluorescent lights now provided erratic bursts of illumination. Both Eve and Hardie could see the interior of the chamber in little half-second microbursts. They could see that Prisoner Zero was waiting for them.
Even though he was blind, his head was twisted to the right, and he seemed to be staring right at them.
* * *
“How are ya, pal?” Hardie said.
Zero, face still hidden by the mask, merely lay there on his rusty bed. Staring at them. Immobile.
“Sure, keep playing the mute now.”
Zero said nothing.
“You know the way out of here,” Eve said.
“Do you really think he’s going to tell us that?” Hardie asked.
“We’re going to
“Guh-huh-huh-huh-huh.”
“Okay, that’s it, take off his mask,” Hardie said to Eve, and then to the prone form of Prisoner Zero: “You try anything, I will light you up.”
Eve reached around and unfastened the straps behind Prisoner Zero’s head. There was no lock. When the metal mask came loose it made a wet, peeling sound, then revealed a ghastly yet boyish face. Impossibly pale skin. Eyes sealed shut under a waxlike mass of scars.
“Oh, God,” Eve said.
Zero’s mouth opened slightly, revealed rotted teeth, lips curled into a parody of a smile.
“Guh-huh-HUH. Guh-huh-HOOOO.”
“Quit the act,” Hardie said, trying not to shudder. The man was an absolute mess. “I know you can speak. Pretending is not going to help you.”
“Guh-huh-huhhhhhhh…”
“Okay, asshole,” Hardie said, but actually only managed to speak the first syllable (maybe) before something hot and vicious jumped up through the soles of his feet and made impact in the general vicinity of his testicles.
Hardie smelled burned hair and was already on the floor when he realized that someone was speaking to them. He rolled over and saw a beefy form hanging from the support beams overhead—a prisoner in a metal mask.
Horsehead.
—Instructions to participants in the July 1961 Milgram experiment
HORSEHEAD TOLD THEM, in perfect English:
“Prisoner Zero is not faking. He lost the ability to speak a few years ago. The words are all in his head, but they get lost on the way to his mouth. Not sure why. Could be the number of electric shocks he’s received. Or something else altogether.”
Hardie realized that the metal floor was electrified in here, just like the floors of the cells. Wired for punishment. Nonlethal, of course. Nothing in this facility could actually kill you. Just make you
“Actually,
Eve had been hit hard, too. Her body trembled as she pushed herself up to a sitting position. She squinted as she looked up at the man hanging from the ceiling.
“I don’t understand. Why would you pretend to be a prisoner if you were actually the one in charge?”
“Boredom,” Horsehead said. “To control a facility, it’s important to see it from all sides, don’t you think? And I must admit, the beatings do help keep my thinking sharp.”
“Why the fuck are you doing this to us?”
“That doesn’t matter,” Horsehead said. “What matters is what happens in the next sixty seconds. I’m giving you the chance to decide your own fate. One of you will be my guard, one of you will be my prisoner, and we’ll rewrite the rules of this facility from scratch once the others wake up from the knockout gas. Wonder who should play which role?”
WHITE
HOT
pain that shot through Hardie’s palms, spinning his body around until he landed on his chest, his nose inches from the metal floor, and all he could think was
Horsehead jumped down to the floor. He was now wearing rubber-soled boots, Hardie noticed, so he could push that button all he wanted.
“Eve, I think it’s better if you join me as a guard this time,” he said, then reached around to undo the straps
