Chapter 2: The Meat of it

“Farah, would it be accurate to say we have “brainwashed” you to carry out orders against your will and that we are apt to ... I don’t know...”, he said with a lazy, wandering tone of interest “make you do whatever we want to convince this man”, indicating to Hazeem “by any means, to give us what we want or break him and you in half trying?”, he said with smile, softened back from the grin he really wanted to produce as he reigned himself in, wanting to conserve himself for the true moment of genius that was coming.

She replied with a soft “anything”, as she caressed the side of Hazeem’s face with her hand gently, trying to cause him as little discomfort as possible as she stroked it, trying to calm his wandering fears she felt pulsing beneath the skin as an erratic heartbeat pulsed there against her touch.

“Please then confirm who you are for the sake of “record keeping” and who the man in front of you is in relation to you, secured to the chair, just to make it clear”, Jared said, the same creeping smile he’d held back, daring to form on his lips as he held it down with determination.

Her eyes never left Hazeem’s as she said “I am Farah Bashar, daughter to Hazeem Bashar, restrained in this chair before me”, she said, her voice warm and tempting, as if she were sizing up a potential partner casually, before mounting him in an intimate embrace that would leave them both speechless.

“And you understand”, Jared began “that by having sex with this man, your self-proclaimed biological father, you are committing and act incestuous in nature termed as “Haram” in the faith you both share?”, he asked simply, in an even tone, setting the stage for them.

“Yes”, she replied with the same calmness, as if she were confirming she understood the rules of a simple board game she’d played a hundred times.

“Good, one more thing Farah, as his daughter I want you to regain a lucid level of awareness in this “session” I want you to act as you would normally as the daughter of Hazeem Bashar, the man before you, realizing you are being taken advantage of, through the use of a mind altering drug, which through you, we will use to exploit the man before you to allow “us” he indicated to the mirror glass screen not too far behind him, “to gain his operations vital secrets, but at the same time you will be unable to resist my commands, physically. You will be free to think clearly, lucidly as his daughter, but never counteract my orders or submit to Hazeem’s will or anyone else’s until I indicate we are done here, are we clear”, he said confidently laying out the plans for a double-layered roleplay as he watched her struggle with the reality of the situation, her once calm and seductive efforts to lull him into the belief, that he would be the one suffering unlike her now removed as the only small mercy he was given, adding a violent sting to the absurd situation, even as he watched her facade of willing seductress fall apart before him and his heart with her, as he witnessed this place for what it truly was, a test of his will, more than able to adapt to break him as Hazeem contested his efforts.

“I see doubt in your face Hazeem and as refreshing as that might be...”, he said with a voice that just seemed to be soaking up the nervous tension beginning to form in his thoughts “we are locked in now and I’ll accept not further declines, no setbacks, no reasons for you to refuse my “treatment” unless of course you naturally drop dead before this young woman can finish her job ... but we’ll get to that bridge and blow it up in due time”, he added with what he thought was a gleeful sense of wicked humour, considering what he’d read about him in his gathered intelligence files. “For now Farah”, he began as the young girl whose real identity was locked away inside herself even now as she played the role of a devoted daughter seeking only the release of her tortured father from this underground death-trap of the soul. The look on her face that of pure terror as she knew what he’d ask of her, holding her breathe as she hoped against hope he would at least start small, knowing he wouldn’t give her a choice in the matter.

“Don’t worry yourself so much, otherwise you’ll get all wrinkled like your father”, he said with a cruel smirk. “Start slow ... like a lover preparing to introduce a partner to the heaven that is the human condition in the welcome embrace of your arms, show him the appreciation you have for his body, which he won’t be able to reciprocate with you for obvious reasons. Make it feel as intimate as possible, like the stuff of dreams come true. But let me be clear, I’m am not instructing you to enjoy this, that is why you have been granted awareness, I want you to put on a display of nothing less than the true horror of your feelings as they come to you, hold nothing back. I want you to pleasure your father against his will and yours, as I have instructed and not let up until indicated by me that you should do otherwise, understood?”, he asked his tone solid and firm, without a hint of joy in them or any other emotion to allow for misinterpretation.

Farah nodded her head slightly, eyes filled with unshed tears, her throat tight with fear and anger. The room was suddenly too hot and too cold at the same time, and she could feel the bile rising up in her throat as she tried to swallow the disgust and fear down. She knew what she had to do, knew the fate of her father was in her hands and she was being asked to do something she would never have even imagined herself capable of, even in her worst nightmares.

She began simply, as he’d instructed by introducing her father to a simple kiss, her trembling hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. The taste of saltwater filled her mouth as she felt the bristles of his unshaved face, her heart breaking at the thought of what was to come. She knew that this act, a perversion of the purest love she had ever felt, would be the key to his salvation or his damnation, as her father’s eyes searched hers for any hint of malice, any clue that she had indeed been turned against him, finding only her drugged but completely lucid state of submission, as her tears began to fall unbidden down her cheeks.

Her lips met his as he tried to jerk his head back or in any other way, trying to resist the inevitable. The lack of restraints on his head allowed though for only small jerky movements as the high wooden back of the chair behind him removed any chance of pulling his head away in any significant manner, as she held onto him and slowly, with measured breathes, she used to gird her crumbling resolve with, met her father’s lips with hers, as she straddled his lap, the lack of arm rests on the modified chair itself, making it painfully easy to lean her full weight down on him, which despite her lean figure felt like it was crushing him, as she turned the kiss into a slow grind against his body, her hands exploring him, as if he were a lover and not her own flesh and blood.

Hazeem felt like he was dying, like the man he knew himself to be was slowly being etched away, like Michelangelo’s David being stripped away to a rotten core poisoned from without. Each stroke of her tongue as she deepened the kiss, eroded another nerve of defiance in his body, as her legs wrapped around his waist and hooked over the back of the chair, holding her firmly in place over him, as her hands clasped onto his face with a fierce determination not to let go, not to let him interrupt her intimate moment with him, as she prolonged it, in all its contemptible pleasure.

Farah herself felt like screaming, as the man she perceived through the drugs influence over her mind and body to be her father became the victim of her unwitting actions. She broke the kiss, staring into his seemingly depthless hazel eyes matching her own, the fear and growing panic she more than saw there, reflecting hers, as said “Don’t worry my Hayati”, using the Arabic term for “my life”, usually reserved for something more intimate like a husband or lover, “we will both hate every minute of this until you give in, or we repeat the process until you do capitulate with an utter certainty you could etch in stone. My only advice, grace your daughter with some dignity and do not let her suffer alone”, she said, half seductive, half in mourning for the loss of the person he knew her to be in his mind, beyond what they’d twisted her to, inside this godless, underground prison for their own ends, in the mental as well as physical torture they’d bred in this furtive place.

She slowly lowered his head in her hands arcing her back slightly to give him greater access to her breasts, as she positioned his head between their handfuls of generous curves and then caressed his face with them, pressing the soft, pulsing, heated flesh against his skin and his nose, her breathing hitching as she felt the beginnings of something she didn’t want to acknowledge, as her own body began to betray her, as Hazeem fought to keep his breath steady and his mind focused.

Jared watched patiently, like a lizard or a newt stuck to a wall, languidly lapping up their discomfort like the sun’s rays, feeding off them both, like it was his nourishment as his own cold-blooded nature demanded he do, observing, unmoving from his chair. This wasn’t about voyeurism, although he was perfectly willing to sit back and let them destroy themselves without interrupting. No, this was about proof of method; it was about his next step, the next chapter in his life, determined by the result rendered here. And by God he couldn’t wait, as he watched the first stirrings of what he knew were the signs of an unwelcome erection spawning on Hazeem’s person, judging not from any obvious visual cue but a mixture of body language and from Farah’s effective form of arousal, despite its forced nature.

Regardless, the human body could only hold back so much willingly in the form of pleasure before its will finally broke and the primal need took over. Hence why typical torture techniques rarely worked, even when they did, the information gathered was sketchy and hard to confirm solidly. This way, they would bargain for their lives and their decency for a way out, for no memories of what they were about to suffer or had suffered, as he thought idly how easy it would be to strip down Sandman’s Promise and refine the memory altering effects. It’d like sawing off the barrels of a loaded shotgun, reducing the amount of affects it could carry, but making it easier to heft and designed for a singularly defined purpose. Currently, what he had running through both their systems was like an assault rifle with a suppressor and high-power scope attached, capable of targeting and burying all but the most stubborn of ready corpses falling into its sights. “Devil’s Pulpit”, to his shame by comparison was as impractical as a .50 Desert Eagle hand pistol with armour penetrating bullets, it’s was overkill on a scale that defied common interest in its usage, therefore its labelling a as last resort, along with a curative enzyme, which had been the least he could do for it.

Hazeem felt it, knew Farah could too, despite how he visibly felt like retching at even the idea of feeling any kind of attraction to his daughter in this kind of way, as the steady sway of her hips over his own, the way she smothered him in the welcoming bosom of her flesh, only made him fight harder, despite outward appearances. He was not the lame cliché being portrayed here of an old dirty man, as his body acted on its own accord, to a degree he could not afford to ignore. Despite how much he tried though he could not remember his wife’s face, her name, had it been so long? So clouded by constant rack of pain, duty, the horrors he’d seen and set into motion over the course of his career, coupled so closely together almost as if he’d undergone a second marriage without noticing that he’d marred his own memories of the true and sustaining love of his life? He conceded to himself he didn’t know as he asked her “What is your mother’s name Farah? I cannot remember it”, he said as he arced his face back from the warm flesh of her pliant breasts, just enough to ask the question before she smothered him back into them. “Do not worry, tonight and every other night we share, I will your only wife my love”, Farah found herself saying despite her minds protests “but if you must know”, she added “she is called “Zari”, it means “golden” given to her by her parents by the colour of her hair and the joyous spirit of her personality demonstrated even in her early birth when she laughed wholesomely instead of crying upon her birth, which would naturally grow to nurture and welcome others into her fond heart. I do not doubt you a have forgotten even what she sounded like father, in all your lifetimes of pain and misery in places like this”, she said indicating the room around them with open arms, “now is the time you reap what you’ve sown in place of those memories. Come father, let us face the whirlwind together”, she said with finality as she lowered herself onto her knees before him. His erection though not fully formed had responded to her earlier attention as she parted the lower half of the white jumpsuit, stencilled on the chest portion folded at the waist behind his back, with his section and room cell number.

Her eyes met the half flaccid member, comparing it in size and girth to her previous lovers. Even half formed it was still resisting her efforts to coax out its full size as she looked up at her father once more with a look of pity, sadness and all around regret that seemed to shiver down her spine. “Don’t hate me or yourself, this is out of your control father, but it can be once more if you submit and save both our souls from this living hell that can only act as a preview for what awaits us, they wait for your decision”, she said with a cold, brutal honesty ringing in her every word, before she plunged her head into his lap, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin of his cocks head as she took him whole, her hands gently working her father’s balls softly in on one hand, as she stroked the length of his growing erection with her other one, her head bobbing with the gentle rhythm of her breathes, as she worked him with a passion and vigour that she’d never thought herself capable of.

Farah scolded herself mentally, disgusted with her own actions as surely as her father was, but finding no way to resist the call of the drugs influence over her body and it’s commands she was acting upon there within. She seemed fully aware like she was promised but unable to influence her choices directly, able to communicate her fears in the horror of the situation but not affect them in any meaningful way, even as her revulsion and rage for the acts she was forced to commit bubbled beneath the surface of her incestuous acts.

He could feel every swirl, every lapping movement of her tongue, combined with the suction of her lips and mouth, highlighted in his mind, despite his earnest attempts to push aside what his nerves receptors were telling him. He tried tucking himself away as he had done countless other times and survived, no doubt he’d be able to do the same now, just with obvious diminishing returns, as he watched her throw herself him with a hunger that until now had been unknown and unseen by him. Despite this he could still see the pain he was causing her, how ironic that he’d been turned into the torturer himself on the last person on this earth he’d wish to devout this or any kind of coercion to. Her faces contorted expression showed off her own struggle she refused to give up, as she looked up at him with pleading eyes, which each bob of her head, now receiving the full attention of his throbbing, fully formed erection, only making him want to apologize even more, to hold her, tell her it would all be okay, that she’d never have to do this again. But she knew that wasn’t true, she knew that the only way out was through this, as she worked his cock harder and faster with each movement because of it, feeling it pulse and throb with each beat of his heart.

Farah’s mind was racing, trying to think of any way out of this, any way to save her father from the horror she knew was coming, even as she felt her own body betray her, responding in ways she’d never allowed herself to even consider before. The room was spinning around her, the air was thick with the scent of fear and arousal, the sound of her own breathing and her father’s muffled moans filling her ears as she worked him to the brink of climax.

“That’s nice Farah, but I need you to make him regret more than a simple blowjob, absolutely crush his spirit by making you the mother of his next child or break him trying, whatever comes first my dear”, Jared said, unmoving from his chair, directing the convoluted scenario with the ease of an expert conductor in both his words and intentions, as she responded by standing up, “make him witness everything, every inch going in and out, make him understand the full scope of what’s being done to him and by who, as you sacrifice your grace and his for a much higher cause, whose grasp he can no longer escape, and whose victims demand equal and unequivocal pain in return, judging by the his dossier, that would be the least he deserves”, he said with a easy smile coming to his lips.

Her eyes filled with horror as she knew what he was asking, what he expected, the ultimate taboo, as she felt her resolve slacken like a fraying rope about to snap under the weight of the world. Farah looked over at Hazeem, his eyes filled with a mix of fear and love for her, she knew he’d do anything to stop this, but he was powerless, bound to the chair unable to even lift a finger in her defence. She took a deep breath and began to undress herself, the black dress and hijab along with the stiletto shoes the only things covering her modesty as she exposed herself fully to her father, his eyes never leaving hers even as she removed his jumpsuit completely, the last barrier between them, his own nakedness forced by the cruel whims of this twisted game.

The joke was Jared knew they didn’t need restraints, a single command and he could knock out the older man or more precisely make him knock himself out, by something as simple and making him hold his breath until he fainted from oxygen starvation. The chair, the restraints, the dress, even Farah was an idea, a roleplay implanted in both their minds, her actual name being Kiara, it was all for show, theatrics, the only real thing, the only thing they monitored were their reactions. They would turn military personnel in this base into actors, directors, monsters or plainly speaking, just more filtered versions of themselves, with fewer mental hang-ups, converting this whole sordid business into an education on theatre. Hell, Jared had recommended films like “Apocalypse Now”, “Hellraiser” and even “Saw” to give them a good idea of what they could make their victims believe was really happening, implanting suggestions that would re-write their brains so as to change their perspective on the environment with a very dream-like experience turning their own perceptions against themselves, using dream-like logic to bend possibility into reality and back again, tailoring it to whatever nightmare, the interrogator chose, no matter how exotic or intoxicating it could be.

How else could they make him believe they’d somehow convinced his “daughter” that it was safe for her in this underground pit? That it was safe to even dip a toe in its vileness without some kind of unbelievable naivety blocking every survival instinct budding at the back of the primitive human brain responsible for a flight or fight response? They couldn’t, no sane person would enter this endlessly rotating mess without a guarantee of walking back out alive let alone unscathed. In Jared’s case it was the complete affirmity that his product worked or at least that it could be cultured to tackle any obstacles they might face, real or perceived as part of the march as part of the challenge he’d accepted when coming here and the very real possibility that he could be the one responsible for progressing the entire venture into a new age. Apart from that he knew he’d enjoy himself, freely exploiting the full potential of his Sandman’s Promise with none of the hang ups like attracting unwanted attention or being distracted by the daily concerns of modern life. He could focus like a laser beam, and burn the world down, from the comfort of this lovely hole in the ground, very few people in the world knew even existed, let alone still operated at astounding capacity, most of them employed there even now as he worked.

Behind the mirrored glass, his handlers slowly evaluated the situation as it evolved, the first the official Warden of the prison, a Herbert Connor Wells, spoke up as he recognized where this was heading, along with the rest of his senior staff present there, which included his chief Medical Officer a Sarah Jacobs Carmichael, and Chief of Operations a Cynthia Keane Arwen. The warden himself a man of forty-seven years, ten of which were spent in places like this, thought he’d seen every horror thought imaginable in the terms he understood as forceful coercion, until he witnessed Jared and his product. From dry lips he simply asked outloud to the two other women present in the room “what do you think are the chances of him succeeding, based on his current actions and those we estimate they will evolve into before we meet a psychological breaking point from either the “daughter” or “father” or even Jared himself?”, he asked waiting patiently as they both took their time to answer carefully, both equipped with psychological training to withstand the rigours of their duties but Sarah in particular specializing in psychology as part of her recommendation for this post and not just as a medical doctor.

Cynthia went first, her serious no-nonsense approach apparent even now, in reflection to the goals they were trying to achieve with the balance of the potential in lives they were trying to preserve against those that could be deemed as expendable such as Hazeem and the woman Kiara, brainwashed into fulfilling the role set before them as Hazeem’s daughter Farah “Considering the intensity of the emotional manipulation and the potency of the Sandman’s Promise, it’s quite likely that they’ll reach a breaking point soon. The way Farah, or Kiara, is acting now is textbook, considering the current information we have available through Jared’s personal and working notes along with whatever we gather here now. She’s fighting the drug’s influence, but it’s clear she won’t hold out much longer. As for Hazeem, his love for his daughter is strong, and the horror of watching this unfold will either make him confess or completely shatter his mind,” she said, her voice carrying a hint of professional detachment.