Swan is called in to perform an interrogation transcription, but Tern intercepts it and does it herself. Violence, dystopian themes, interrogation, non-con mind control. ~2800 words.
"Tern, uh... what's an 'LT' request?"
Tern looked up from her paperwork, blinking away the calculations she was doing inside her head. "Live Transcription. Like, just recording a meeting, usually. Why?"
Swan dropped into her chair beside Tern and handed over the letter. "Oh, I was just sorting the mail, and saw this for me. I don't recognise the Agent requesting it, but I guess it's important."
"You're an Assistant." replied Tern as she took the letter to read. "Everything's important, at minimum." She scanned her eyes over the letter, eyes widening as they passed over the authorising signature at the bottom. "Don't worry about it. I'll take this."
"You'll take it? Doesn't it have to be me?"
"No. It doesn't matter." Tern snapped back. She folded the letter up and stuffed it into the Assistant jacket hanging on her chair. "Just... pretend you never saw it, okay?" She turned back to the paperwork and put her head down, signalling the end of the conversation.
"I... okay, then." Swan replied, confused. She hadn't read the whole letter, so wasn't quite sure what in it provoked the reaction. Tern had never responded like that before, but she decided that it was best to keep a dropped subject dropped and returned to sorting the rest of the mail.
Later that afternoon, Tern excused herself. She hung her jacket over her arm as she walked with it, keeping the letter in the pocket closest to her. She navigated through the maze of the floor's cubicle farm to the opposite side of the building, where the express cargo elevators sat in a concrete-floored back hallway. She pulled her identification card from the pocket in her dress and pressed it against the reader between the doors, authorising her and calling one up.
Normally, this elevator was only used to go to the cargo area in the basement where all the stationary, Assistants, and other such miscellaneous items used for running the Ministry were held once coming off the cargo trains. However, once a suitably-authorised Assistant or Agent swiped their pass, the display screen listing the floors had a few more at the bottom -- the basement levels of the Ministry, the ones that outsiders only heard about in hushed, fearful tones.
The cargo lift descended quickly enough to make Tern's stomach turn over, but she was able to ignore the feeling and press forward once the doors opened to Basement Level 12. The first time she'd taken it, she'd almost hurled from the experience, but the second time she was almost ready to do it due to the anxiety. By now, the chip was able to clean up those residual memories, leaving no trace in her mind of what she had done down here. Even then, she could piece things together from other clues, things the chip didn't wipe.
She pushed the dread out of her mind and stepped out of the lift. She had somewhere to be, after all.
"Agent Milvus." said Tern, finding the one the letter was from standing beside a door down the hall. "Reporting for your LT request."
"Hmm." muttered the Agent, looking down at her clipboard. "Tern? I did specifically request another Assistant, you know..."
Tern pulled the letter out of her jacket and handed it over. "The Assistant you requested is the one I'm training."
The Agent took the letter and then pocketed it herself without bothering to check. "Yes, I'm well aware. That's why I asked for her."
"She's not ready yet."
Milvus raised an eyeridge at the Assistant. "It's been six months, Tern. How could she possibly not be ready?"
"It's just that she's... she needs a bit more time." Tern's voice wavered a little, her attempts at keeping it steady faltering under the Agent's gaze. She was usually good at masking her emotions, but the
"Every other Assistant seems to perform fine right out of their pods. Either she's not worth the Class C designation, you're not worth your Class C designation, or..." Milnus looked over the Assistant and frowned. "...or... you're trying to protect her."
Tern shook her head, even if the true answer was plainly clear. "She's much more useful up there, Agent, just... just let me do this for you. Please." She pressed her hands against her dress, trying to hide them shaking.
"I see." Milvus tapped her thumb talon on the clipboard for a second, keeping her eyes fixed on Tern.
Tern tried to match eyes, as the chip told her to do, but she found them wandering towards the floor as her demeanour faltered. "I'm much more experienced, and I know how important your job is, so I don't want you having anything but the best, so..."
Milvus held up a hand to silence the Assistant. "Tern. She was a volunteer. She knew exactly what her job was going to be."
Tern's grip on her jacket tightened as her voice cracked with anger. "If you were given a choice of dying on a colony a thousand light years away, or becoming a volunteer on the Homeworld, which would you pick?!" she exclaimed, voice raising higher than it had in the years since her Assignment. "It doesn't mean she deserves it!"
"So, we should reserve this for the former criminals like you, then?" Milvus replied, voice soft, a smile barely visible on her face. "I'm sure this was better than what you were expecting at your court-martial."
Tern flinched at the insult, her anger only deepening. "Don't you dare imply I was a traitor! You know that's not true!" Blinded by rage, she dropped her jacket, hands balled up in fists as if she was ready to defend her honour.
Milvus's smile turned to a grin as Tern's mind finally caught up with what she was saying.
"I..." Tern mumbled as she tried to compose herself. "S-sorry, Agent. I don't know what I-"
"Pick up your jacket." interrupted Milvus, voice taking on a stern edge. "Just because you're useful doesn't mean you can't be reprimanded for insubordination, Assistant."
Tern quickly ducked down to retrieve her jacket, as ordered. "Yes, Agent. I apologise, Agent." She straightened her back up and looked forward, at attention.
"Good." Milvus turned towards the entrance to the interrogation room, but paused before touching the handle and swung back. "You can't protect her forever, Tern. She'll have to face reality soon enough."
Tern's heart hammered in her chest as she tried to block out the thought. "Yes, Agent. I understand, Agent."
The two stood there for a moment. Milvus almost felt sympathy for the other Avian, but she had been an Agent for too many years to let that affect her. It was just one more Assistant crashing into reality out of the countless numbers that the Ministry had. At least, she thought, they have a chip to deal with it.
"Very well." said Milvus, breaking the silence. She turned back to the door and opened it, walking through to a darkened room. "Sorry to keep you waiting!" she called out, as if to nobody in particular.
Even though Tern didn't remember any previous sessions, she wasn't surprised by what she saw.
"Now, how about we make this a quick one?" said Milvus, mostly to herself, as she turned on the lights and closed the door behind the pair.
In the light, it was obvious what the room's purpose was. The Accord had plenty of interrogation rooms, all alike -- but this one was special. Lacking the usual recording devices that allowed the Agents to refer back to their intelligence-gathering sessions, it instead had a desk, typewriter, and a place for an Assistant to do that for you. This place was reserved for only the most sensitive of subjects, and had the tightest of controls. The Assistant that transcribed would have their short-term memory wiped afterwards, leaving whatever they wrote down the only source of truth. Even then, that typed record rarely made it into any files.
The Avian that was strapped into the chair in the centre of the room stared at the pair, eyes narrowed. They obviously weren't happy to be in this situation, and the torn clothing and taped-up beak made it seem that they didn't come without a fight.
"Assistant, if you'd be so kind to take your place."
"Yes, Agent."
Tern walked over to the desk, head down as if to not look at the one in the chair. Instead, she tried to keep her mind busy by inspecting her workspace, and verifying that everything was in order. In the middle of the desk was a standard typewriter, although the shiny finish of the steel parts and the glossiness of the plastic shell made it obvious that it was very well maintained and meticulously cleaned. Beside it sat two paper trays, one containing ample blank paper and one kept empty for the finished result. A single manilla folder sat to one side, ready for when everything was to be compiled, as well as a large jug of water and a clean glass atop a cork coaster for her. It was a surprisingly comfortable workspace for such an uncomfortable task.
Tern pulled the chair back from the desk, the scrape of wood against concrete echoing through the dim room, and hung her jacket over its back. "Everything is accounted for, Agent." she said, sitting down. She took the top page from the ream of paper and dropped it into the typewriter's paper feed, turning the knob to feed it through, and typing the date to check the ink ribbon was fresh. "Ready."
"Good." said Milvus, turning to her captive. "This is Tern, and she's going to make sure everything you say is recorded, alright? Wouldn't want your record to be incomplete." She stripped the black tape from the captive Avian's beak, not even paying mind to the insults then shouted at her.
Tern winced at the language, but kept her hands poised on the typewriter, holding still until she was told to begin.
"Make sure you get this down, Tern." Milvus said, watching the Avian before her shift from shouting to writhing in the binds of the interrogation chair. "I like making it seem like I was justified in my subsequent actions."
Tern took a deep breath to calm herself, and then began to type.
SUBJECT: You really do have the gall, doing this to me, of all people!
AGENT MILVUS: Being on the Council means nothing, here. You're just a two-bit bureaucrat like every other civilian.
S: You'll be hung for this!
A.M.: Not while the Primus is calling the shots.
S: Fuck your degenerate Primus and her [unintelligible]
A.M.: No, fuck you, purist scum. Speak of her like that again and I'll make it twenty thousand volts.
S: [indistinct whimpering]
Tern didn't look. That wasn't her job, after all -- her job was to listen, and she did it well. After a while, it was almost like the chip took over, turning the sounds from her ears into keystrokes on the typewriter. Each strike against the page was deliberate, exact, and correct. That was what she was here to do -- record -- and actually paying attention to the events unfolding before her detracted from that.
In a rare period of downtime, she had to wonder if the detachment was healthy -- but then again, she wasn't entirely sure that the memory wipes were, either. It didn't really matter, though, as she had no choice in it. As Milvus had said earlier, a Class C not capable of their duties didn't keep their designation, and that meant becoming a Class B like the rest of her floor. She shuddered at the thought -- she'd only been disciplined by a temporary re-assignment once, and that was enough.
A howl from the scene in front of her told Tern that the break had stopped. As she dutifully resumed typing, she dreaded the day that Swan's day would finally come. She knew the poor thing would never be the same.
Two hundred and sixty pages had gone through the typewriter by the time Milvus was satisfied.
"Okay, Tern, I think that'll be all." Milvus said, throwing aside the alligator clips, letting them spark on the storage trolley.
"Yes, Agent." replied Tern. She marked the document as complete and pulled it from the typewriter, holding it out for a moment to let the ink dry.
The Agent turned to the captive with a frown. "And, you. It's obvious you've outlived your usefulness."
The captive groaned and tugged on the restraints weakly, finding them just as unyielding as the past two hours. He seemed to know what that meant, but knew there was hardly a thing that he could do about it.
Tern winced, knowing what it meant as well, and just tried to focus on collating the documents and putting them neatly in their folder. "Here, Agent. That's everything."
"Good." Milvus turned to the Assistant. "That's all I need you for. Take that and wait for me outside."
Tern tucked the folder under her arm and stood to retrieve her jacket, only to pause when the captive raised his voice.
"You! Tern... wasn't it?" he said, trying to pull himself up in the padded restraints. "I'll be seeing you in purgatory... won't I?"
Tern ignored the comment and walked to the door, turning the locking mechanism as she went through so that it locked shut behind her.
"Ah, so you've already decided where you'll end up?" Milvus gave a wry smile. "Convenient."
"Fuck you." replied the captive, spitting a mouthful of blood at the Agent, who didn't pay him any attention. "I know an Agent doesn't keep a magazine in vision if she's not going to use it."
Milvus smiled and looked over at the silver trolley, where inamongst other horrors, sat a handgun magazine loaded with a single round. "Ah, yes, that's true." She unholstered her service sidearm and pulled the slide back to lock it in place, taking a moment to inspect the empty chamber.
"You Ministry types are so predictable." spat the subject, watching the Agent pick up the magazine and load it. "You'll have to answer to the Goddess, you know."
"If she sends me to purgatory, I won't mind." The Agent released the slide and chambered the single round, thumbing off the safety with a quiet click. "I'm sure I'll be running the place eventually."
The next thing Tern remembered was taking the elevator back up to her floor. She knew what she was down there for, but everything between entering the door of the interrogation room and stepping back into the elevator was gone from her mind. It was a strange feeling, but one that no longer caused distress. She'd had too much experience with it to really affect her.
"Hey, Tern." said one of the Agents, approaching her in the break room. "You don't look so great."
Tern blinked, finding herself in the middle of making a cup of tea. "I... uh..." she muttered, patting at her jacket to try and get some of the dust off it. She felt cold, which must have been why she put it on. "I just did a LT request. I'll be fine." She shook her head a little, trying to clear it.
"Oh." replied the Agent, sounding a little sheepish. She was Plume of Azure, if Tern remembered right. One of the Senior Agents on the floor, and one of the few that talked to her like she was still sentient. "I guess I shouldn't ask, then." she said, and shrugged.
"It's not like there's anything I could even remember to tell you..." Tern replied. She looked down at the teacup -- she was fairly certain it was time for the teabag to come out, from the look of the water. "Did you need me for anything...?"
Azure shook her head. "No, you'd just been standing there for... a while. One of the other Agents asked if your chip had broke."
Tern laughed. "No, no... just my head." She felt the cup, frowned, and then poured it out into the sink. Cold, and probably strong as an arctic wind. "Every time I do this, the memory and focus blanks get worse..."
"Well, you're not getting any work done like this. Go down to the pods and rest up, I'll let Swan know where you ended up." Azure put her hand on the Assistant's shoulder and guided her from the break room. "I'll need you in proper form tomorrow, we've got a lot of new assignments to go through."
"Oh?" Tern replied absentmindedly, going where the Agent lead her. "I thought we were done with the last of the Core."
"No, no, it's not that." Azure chuckled to herself. "The whispers say that there's something big going on with the Accord Council tomorrow, at least if the outstanding capture orders are anything to go by..."
The mention of the Council jogged something in Tern's mind, but as soon as it came forward, the chip snatched it away, leaving her confused. "Mrfg... yeah, okay." She shook her head again, trying to clear it without much success. "I'll... I'll go rest."