Getting a Technology System in Modern Day-Chapter 896: The Spear Head

"I never signed up for this," thought the man, standing stiffly among a packed crowd inside a sterile, well-lit room.

He had joined the pirate crew barely three months ago, hoping for a fresh start after giving up on finding peace on his home planet. Now, he found himself waiting in line, waiting for a torture session dedicated to victims he had never even met.

He hadn't done anything yet. When he joined, the pirates were in a quiet period between raids, gathering intelligence, waiting for vigilance to die down after their last attack. He had never participated in any crimes. Never killed. Never even boarded a ship.

Yet none of that mattered now.

As an enhanced interrogation specialist once said, the most painful part of torture wasn't the torture itself, it was the waiting. The anxiety. The knowledge that pain was coming, but not knowing exactly when.

He could feel it: the terror that made his muscles cramp, made his breath catch. His body tried to find a release, and he shook violently, feeling on the verge of soiling himself. Yet, somehow, even that small escape was denied. He could neither piss nor shit. His body betrayed him again, holding it all in, forcing him to stay fully present with his fear.

The capture had been a nightmare. The pirates had been vigilant, they knew every government, every military force wanted their heads. They were always ready for a fight. Yet, when the enemy came, it was like their ships were ghosts. No warnings. No alarms.

One moment, life on their patched-together base was normal; the next, everything shattered.

The fleet had used powerful tractor beams to rip apart the mismatched ships that made up the pirates' base. Rooms, compartments, and anyone not strapped down were thrown into the vacuum of space.

But death didn't come quickly. There was no instant freezing, no instant suffocation. Instead, there was...an invisible barrier. It kept the air from escaping fully into the void, but stretched it thin, so thin that even those who could still breathe found the oxygen running out, slowly choking them unconscious. Some died instantly from impacts; others, like him, passed out much later.

When he woke up, he was here. Placed front-row, forced to watch the nightmare unfold.

Through the transparent wall, he saw the pirate leader on the other side, lying down, tortured again and again. A man with the power to regenerate bodies was at work, restoring severed limbs only to cut them off again, each round dedicated to a slave or civilian the pirates had murdered.

Every round came with an image, sometimes detailed, sometimes vague, of the victim's life. Who they were. How they lived. How they died.

It had been over a week. And with every hour that crawled by, his turn crept closer and closer.

The terror grew, gnawing at the edges of his sanity. He had nothing to confess, no blood on his hands, but it didn't matter. He was one of them now. And here, guilt wasn't just about what you had done, it was about what you belonged to.

And soon, it would be his body on that table. His turn to scream.

…………………..

A year later — in VR time.

Inside a massive theater-like building, over a thousand people sat frozen in absolute silence. If someone entered the hall with their eyes closed, they might have thought it was empty.

No breathing sounds, no fidgeting.

Even their inhales were so slow and shallow they made no noise, as if the slightest sound might bring death itself crashing down.

The silence stretched for over thirty minutes, heavy and suffocating, before a figure finally ascended the podium.

Dreznor.

"With what we have gone through together this past year," he began, his voice smooth yet carrying a weight that pressed against their chests, "I now consider you to have repaid half of what you owe." He paused, letting the faintest glimmer of cruel amusement flicker in his eyes. "And now," he continued, "it is time to begin repaying the other half."

At those words, the seated prisoners grew even paler — a feat thought impossible after everything they had endured.But not a single one moved. Not a single one dared even to breathe too loudly.

They had learned. The lessons had been carved into them, somewhere deeper than flesh and blood, etched into their very instincts like genetic memory.

Misbehavior, complaints, or hope for mercy only led to being called back for fresh rounds of "dedication."

Dreznor let the tension hang for a long minute, savoring their terror, before speaking again.

"Don't worry," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips. "This time, I will not be the one torturing you."

No sighs of relief. No loosening of muscles. Nothing.

He went on, "Instead, you will atone for your crimes by fighting to liberate the oppressed. You will be my vanguard, soldiers who will free as many as you can, fighting until you either die or are deemed worthy enough to earn your freedom."

He scanned the audience lazily before asking the question, already knowing the answer: "Is anyone against this plan? Would anyone like to be exempted?"

Silence.

"Good," he said with a pleased nod. "Then we will begin your training immediately. As you are now, you are weak. Unworthy. Hindrances to the cause. And we can't have that, can we?"

"THANK YOU, SIR!" they shouted in perfect unison, voices ringing hollow, as if rehearsed a thousand times during their trauma-forged captivity.

Dreznor chuckled lightly. "One last thing. Don't think you can die on the battlefield to escape this fate. Each of you has had a chip implanted in your brain. It reads your thoughts. Should you attempt self-sabotage, the chip will seize control of you immediately."

He smiled, and this time, it wasn't even a pretense of kindness. "If you're caught trying to cheat your atonement," he said, "you'll be disqualified and sent back for another visit to our room of dedication."

His words slammed down like a hammer.

"Good, then. Good luck with your training," he finished, waving a casual hand as the theater, the audience, and everything around them began disintegrating.

He had not told them they were still trapped inside VR. He preferred to let their imaginations fill in the blanks. Some of the wild theories they had come up with had made even him laugh, brief moments of amusement in a grim task. But soon, there would be no laughter. Only war.

Turning away from the fading scene, Dreznor opened a hologram interface. "How long is the kid's punishment?" he asked, remembering the young boy who had been captured alongside the pirates.

Unlike the others, the boy had not yet committed atrocities. No raids, no killings, no defilements.

{Since he has not participated in piracy, rapes, or the torture of captives in their station,} the Little Protagonist AI answered, {his punishment is light: one year of service in a non-combat role. Afterward, he will be eligible for a memory wipe and a chance to restart his life.}

The boy's brain scan appeared, his memories and history laid bare. Dreznor gave a slow nod.

"Good enough," he muttered. He closed the hologram with a flick of his hand. "Let's get moving. The training can continue during transit."

He turned to face the pirate base, still trapped within the shimmering oval shield.

"But first... let's finish that," he said.

The shield began to shrink, compressing everything inside, debris, bodies, and shattered metal, into a dense, sizzling orb. When it reached critical mass, Dreznor detonated it.

A blinding flash. A molten sphere, glowing ominously, was all that remained, drifting in the void of space.

A mystery for future travelers to stumble upon, with no answers and no survivors.

Exactly how he wanted it.