Instinct by Jason Hough (ebook reader web TXT) 📗

to keep it upright for Doc—or me—to see. Then he turns and leaves the room.

Doc arranges me in front of the computer screen, and then his footsteps are receding. Before he closes the door, I hear a dial twist. A loud hum begins to emanate from the speakers.

The door closes.

4…

3…

2…

1.

The countdown goes blank.

There’s just the computer screen, the hum from the speakers, and the blood pounding in my ears. My jaw starts to quiver, my imagination running wild with the terrible, nightmarish things they’re going to force me to watch.

Finally the display comes to life.

Against a black background a woman’s face appears. Elderly, hawkish. Vaguely familiar. She has a tight bun of silvery hair. She seems to be looking right at me.

“You will do whatever I say,” she says in a calm, almost bored voice.

The image changes. Same woman, but outdoors now, her hair down.

“You will do whatever I say,” she repeats.

Another shift. Indoors, candle lit.

“You will do whatever I say.”

Outside overcast, from her left.

“You will do whatever I say.”

In a car, streetlights throwing shadows over her wrinkled features.

“You will do whatever I say.”

Smiling at me, quiet voice.

“You will do whatever I say.”

Full of rage. Shouting.

“You will do whatever I say!”

Left side, right side, from behind, in shadow, through a curtain, on a windswept plain, in an alley.

“You will do whatever I say. You will do whatever I say.”

The screen goes black, but the voice continues. Over and over. Different volumes, different tones, but always recognizable as the same person.

“You will do whatever I say. You will do whatever I say!”

I can do nothing but watch and listen.

On it goes. On and on and on.

And with each repetition I think to myself, Like hell I will.

I think Like hell I will, but I don’t say it.

I wish I could claim this is because of some sense of defiance or bravery. They are part of it, but mostly I remain quiet because I’m too stunned by how bizarre this all is.

After being tased and dosed with who-knows-what, there was a small part of me that still hoped all this would turn out to be a profoundly bad prank.

That hope diminished as they wheeled me to this room, but part of me still clung to it.

Not anymore, though. This video has finally convinced me otherwise.

The film took some effort to make, for starters. To edit together. To have queued up on a computer, ready to start the moment the timer ended. Stuff like that takes time and planning. Money, too.

Which means, I realize, “bizarre” is the least of my worries.

Something big is going on here. Very big.

“You will do whatever I say.”

She’s back to her original version, facing me with a black background behind her. This time the woman doesn’t repeat the phrase. Instead there’s a pause lasting perhaps thirty seconds, during which she just stares down the camera, eyes boring into mine.

Suddenly her features relax. She even smiles a little.

“You will be calm in this room,” she says.

There’s another pause. I wonder if I’m supposed to reply. But this is like a horrible game of Simon Says, and Simon didn’t say reply, so I keep my mouth shut. As long as I’m bound to this chair, helpless, I figure the best thing I can possibly do is stay quiet and observe.

The moment they let me out, though, someone’s going to get fucking hurt.

“You will not panic in this room,” the woman adds. “You will not fight in this room. We’re going to let you out now.”

Oh, good timing. I coil, mentally, ready to strike the moment I’m able.

Behind me the door opens again, sounding a bit like an air lock. Soundproofed room?

I keep my eyes on the woman’s face as two people come up to either side of me. They move around the table to stand on either side of the screen, facing me, as if acting as bodyguards for the monitor.

The man on the left is Doc, all six-foot-eight of him, bulging belly and thin arms and legs. Bushy graying beard. I feel nothing but a burning hatred at the sight of him, but I force my eyes to stay forward, face as placid as I can make it.

On the right is the Asian man. I’d seen him in silhouette before, and painted a picture in my mind of what I can only describe as a villain from a James Bond film. Which was the one with the weird dude in the no-tie suit? Dr. No? I think that was it.

My mental image was way off, though. This man is spectacled, with unkempt hair and a soft figure. He wears a tacky Hawaiian shirt under a white lab coat. Cheap, ill-fitting jeans and a pair of white running shoes complete the… well, “look” would be generous.

“The man to your right is Mr. Ang,” the woman on the screen says, challenging my perception that the video is a recording. If it is, it’s extremely well timed.

She goes on, her gaze suddenly intense. “You will obey his every command, unless it contradicts with any command of mine. Blink if you understand.”

I blink.

Mr. Ang is watching me. His mouth twitches, on its way to a smile until he gets it under control.

“The man to your left is Dr. Ryan,” the woman says. “You will obey his every command, unless it contradicts with any command of Mr. Ang’s, or mine. Blink if you understand.”

A pecking order. Interesting. I blink again.

The woman waits, and I decide finally that this is indeed a recording. She has no idea how I am responding to all this. After a few awkward seconds, she leans forward and says, “Gentlemen, you may proceed with the test.”

My heart seems to skip a beat at that. Her words, and the sinister tone. Anxiety courses through me. What test? Isn’t this the test? I blinked, didn’t I?

Doc walks over to my chair, and reaches for the strap at my wrist.

I tense,