6. PAIN AS AN ARGUMENT
— «A l-lie?» — I slowly raised my head, feeling a cold, rational anger building inside. An anger that seemed to belong to the Biological Functional Module, not to the human, Sergey. — «You demand truth from me when you yourselves are the art of a lie? The ghost of my friend, passed off as an alien handler? Really! What will you do if I say I don’t believe a single word you say? Will that also be considered a lie?»
Slavik Komarov slightly tilted his head, and his deathly lips stretched into a thin, barely noticeable smile, devoid of any humor.
— Disbelief is an emotion, Sergey. It is not a lie. A lie is a contradiction between the information your brain already contains and what you vocalize. Try it. Say: «There is no gravity on Earth.»
I snorted. The threat was too transparent, but curiosity — or rather, the technical interest of my internal «biomodule-prompter» — took over. I suddenly realized that I absolutely needed to test the parameters of this system. — «There is no gravity on Earth,» — I stated without hesitation.
In that same second, the blue line along the perimeter flared up, turning into a thin, blindingly white stripe. All the illumination in the probe grew brighter for a moment, and then went out. And what followed was not at all that harmless «non-existence» I had observed when the +Ang demonstrated its magnificent cube. No.
A blinding flash followed, leaving jagged purple traces on the retina. And with it came the pain.
Not external. It didn’t feel like the blow of a heavy object. It grew from within as a sharp, penetrating spasm, a vise crushing my lungs. As if they were controlled not by my will, but by an invisible, icy hand gradually clenching into a fist. A sensation comparable to an instinctive, pre-death inhalation underwater — absolutely useless, since there is nothing to inhale.
One second. Two. Three. Many…
The deafening metronome of approaching death…
The brain, deprived of oxygen, conjured prominences of crimson flashes, similar to the red bursts that had woken me up after passing out. But this time, no alarm messages followed. Nothing followed. Crimson flashes and the fading of a consciousness slowly twisting into a dot, engulfed by an expanding diaphragm of darkness. I convulsively drew in air once again, and suddenly the spasm let go.
My organism, despite the Purge, reacted to the threat of death with banal organic panic. Quite natural for human nature.
For some time, I inhaled and exhaled convulsively, experiencing untold relief and… pleasure from the banal, externally uncontrolled ability to breathe. They let me out for a walk. Temporarily. Kept on a short leash.
— Convinced? — Slavik’s voice now held a metallic ring. — Our control over your autonomous biological life support system is absolute. A lie, even the most innocent one, causes a technical malfunction for us. We cannot allow your testimony to be intentionally distorted. This is what the Interrogation is.
I still couldn’t get enough air, trying to calm the violent trembling that had seized me.
— «You… you control my lungs?»
— We control your physical reaction to a lie, Sergey. That is all you need to know about the security system of the «Mediator» probe. And now, back to the point.
Slavik suddenly drew himself up to his full height and stepped forward, crossing the space between us in a fraction of a second. He stopped right in front of me; his eyes, despite their cloudiness, seemed to penetrate my brain, categorically scanning my thoughts.
— Who is Sergey Dmitriev? Tell me about him. Only what you truly remember. And start with why you are in space.
> ⚠️ **ENTITY STATUS: PAVLOV’S DOG IN A VACUUM.**
The protein-based mind astounds with its craving for self-destruction. It calls this suicidal impulse «research interest» and «rational skepticism.» It seriously thinks it is testing the parameters of our interface by uttering a childish lie about gravity. What charming, unfounded naivety. Higher Logic does not take tests from proteins — it trains them.
One targeted strike to the autonomous respiratory center, one closed valve within his own organism — and all his vaunted pride deflated along with the pitiful remnants of oxygen in his lungs. Now he has learned firsthand the basic truth of the Underside: his breaths no longer belong to him. The +Angi have simply leased his biological body back to him short-term, and the rent for every breath is absolute, blind submission.
Keep reading, organics. Let’s see how quickly this grand «Contactee» learns to whine and wag his tail on command from a walking corpse.