It was one of the biggest waystations in human territory, central to many of the planets humans now colonized. His crew would want to disembark for a reprieve as well.
Horace rose from his station. “Goodnight, Captain,” he said, making his way out of the bridge.
Hysterian nodded, continuing to download whatever he could about Libra for future use.
“Captain,” Horace said from behind him.
Hysterian broke his connection to the network. “What?”
“The crew’s been gathering in the lounge for drinks in the evenings. You should join us.”
Hysterian lifted his head and stared at Horace.
Is…is he inviting me? Odd. The crew had recently started to gather in the lounge, but he hadn’t paid it any thought. He only knew of it because Alexa joined them, and because of that, he couldn’t get her alone elsewhere. He didn’t give a fuck what the others did as long as they stayed in line and did their jobs.
“I’ll consider it,” he said.
Horace grumped and left. When his new second-in-command’s footsteps receded, Hysterian leaned back, commanding the bridge doors to close.
An empty quietness settled in once he was alone. The subtle buzz of tech hummed in his ears. He focused on it, letting his mind clear within the white noise. These few minutes after the end of the day shift were his favorite. He savored it, knowing what was in store for him for the rest of the night.
Water, pain, secretion, replenishment, and more secretion. More pain. The nights were getting worse. He was naturally diurnal, and the constant darkness of space shimmering at him through the port windows was fucking with his mind.
He couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t power down.
He could only secrete, empty his body, and start all over again, hoping, for once, he’d tire out and deplete his systems long enough to get through the next day.
When was the last time I slept? Weeks. It was weeks ago. Hysterian leaned his elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his head. His systems urged him to rest. He ignored them. But for how much longer?
He eyed the timing it would take for them to get to Libra. Three days if the port had a spot for his ship. Three days until he could have a better outlet than his hand. He stared at the tent in his uniform. Hysterian reached down and squeezed the growing bulge.
He knew why he suffered.
It hadn’t always been like this.
Once, he’d been head interrogator. During the war, he was known as the Tormentor because of his special ability. He could ingest any poison—toxin or otherwise—and his systems could replicate it within seconds. With a small touch, he could make men scream, go mad, or spill their guts and come clean.
He just couldn’t make his secretion benign…
Traitors, deserters, murderers, and spies were delivered to him, and it’d been his job to get them to confess, and during the war for which he’d been made for, his superiors brought him droves of prisoners. He could make anyone confess. If not with torture…with getting them ravenously addicted to him.
He smirked, remembering the good times.
Hysterian had more control then. He had an endless outlet that kept him satisfied.
He’d come to realize he’d been built wrong as the years went by, as the bodies piled up. He may have not spent much time on the front lines of the war, bringing down battleships, but he’d killed more than his fair share. And unlike his brethren, he was tasked to kill and torture humans.
Stepping into Dimes and becoming Raphael’s glorified pet had been an easy transition after Hysterian left the service.
Almost too easy.
He rubbed his shaft through his pants.
He always envied human men who could commit atrocities and not be bothered by it. He didn’t know how they did it, being entirely made of organic matter. If he didn’t have his systems to check him, to manually lessen his emotions, he wouldn’t know what would become of him.
I’ve spent my whole existence perverting life. And sex… He squeezed his cock again. Sex creates life. At least it could…
It wouldn’t fix him but he hoped it would help. And he didn’t want to create life as much as lose himself in the act of it.
Somewhere, in the back of his royally screwed up DNA, his animal demanded he fertilize. Fertilize what? Who the fuck knew? Humans didn’t fucking lay eggs. And there was no pleasure in the thought. But he was certain, until his animal was wholly satisfied, he was never going to stop overproducing secretion at the