Warning: This story contains graphic depictions of non-consensual & semi- consensual same-sex scenes. If this offends you, do not read this story. If you read the story after reading this warning and are offended anyway, too damned bad. Program Initiated part 1/3 [Out of the Shadows part 3] part of the 'Latitude' universe by Galenn Better learn to go it alone Recognize you're out on your own, Nobody's on nobody's side. -- Nobody's Side from the musical "Chess" He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, instantly regretting it as stars exploded behind his eyes and his stomach roiled with nausea. _Where the hell am I?!_ he thought, realizing that the hard metal chair he sat in was a far cry from the soft bed he remembered. And this time he *was* alone. _You bastards lied! You sons of bitches *lied* to me -- and I fell for your bullshit! Oh hell -- what have I done?!_ he thought with impotent fury. When his eyes finally focused and he could move without feeling instantly ill, he slowly stood and studied his surroundings. Aside from the chair (which was far from comfortable) there was no furniture, only vents around the floor and bare utilitarian light fixtures. It looked like a bare concrete bunker with a heavy metal door. No other way in or out, and no hinges or lock to be tampered with. He was trapped. He realized he was dressed in the soft shirt and trousers that had been under his flight suit. *Someone* (with fingers, not claws, he suspected) had dressed him; put him back in the clothes he'd been wearing before this whole mess started. _But my link, sidearm, and every-damned-thing else I had on me is gone..._ "Where the hell *am* I?!" He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until his voice echoed hollowly in the cell. _Nuts!_ A wave of dizziness washed over him again and he grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself. _What is *wrong* with me?!_ he thought, staring at the floor in an attempt to orient himself. _I've been drugged,_ he realized uncomfortably. _That's why I don't remember getting here, or someone dressing me -- or why the hell They did this to me!_ He frowned then, realizing again what he was thinking. _Goddamn it. The Shadows -- bad enough I gave in to them back on the ship, too damned weak to put up with the pain in my life. Too damned weak -- *again*. And now I'm expecting honesty and -- friendship from them? The enemy?! Everything we've been fighting against -- everything Jeff left to fight against? Oh gods, what a fuckup!_ He pounded his fist on the back of the chair, wincing as the metal made far more of an impact on his fist than his fist did on it. "Aww *fuck*!" He sank to his knees, choking back sobs. _Jeff, I've screwed up bigtime... I'm *sorry*! God, I wish you were here -- I'm not strong enough myself..._ "You seem to be rather distraught, Mr. Garibaldi..." a voice echoed through the bunker. Badly startled, Garibaldi lurched to his feet and spun around, searching for the source of the voice. "How long have you been watching me, you son of a bitch?" he snarled, glowering darkly at the ceiling of the bunker. "Who are you? What do you want?! Where the *hell* am I?!" The voice laughed... --==**==-- He was tired of the questions -- whoever the nameless voice was, Garibaldi wasn't about to tell him what he *remembered* about his time after the ship had taken him! Who in their right mind would admit to a stranger that they'd spent the time -- however long it was -- being fucked by the Shadows?! There was no way for him to tell how much time passed here, either. There was nothing to do in the bunker, and the voice had taken to waking him up at odd times during his sleep, further disrupting his sense of time. He knew what They were doing -- They were wearing him down, exhausting him, until fatigue got the better of him and he slipped up on something important. He'd seen that method used before, and knew that sooner or later, it always worked. He had to find a way out before it did. But there was no way out... He'd gone over every inch of the bunker at least three times -- each time to the accompaniment of laughter and jibes from the nameless voice. He tried to glean the identity of his tormentor from what he said, or the way he said it, but it gave absolutely nothing away. He knew who it *could* be, though, and that knowledge made him far more desperate to find a way out... --==**==-- It was driving him mad. Slowly but surely -- or at least it seemed that way. Of course with nothing to do but count his pulse or do push-ups and sit-ups (and that cold concrete floor hurt...), everything seemed slow. But this time the voice was more insistent -- maybe They were running out of time, too? Whatever the reason, They were pushing now, and the voice finally let on that They knew he was lying. He snapped. He didn't know why, he just did. Began screaming and ranting back at the voice, pounding on the chair. Crack! Satisfyingly, the chair gave. He yanked the arm from it and began pounding on things, breaking the ugly lights, smashing at the concrete, the door, yelling... The voice told him to stop, but his fury was in full swing now, adrenaline thundering through his veins as the lightbulbs shattered... Until They released the morph-gas. He looked down at the vents in shock, realizing that once again he'd underestimated Them -- and fell. --==**==-- His mind struggled towards the surface, but something he felt sent it recoiling back in fear, searching for a dark, safe place. Somewhere where he could hide, where They couldn't find him -- where They couldn't hurt him. He stumbled across a memory: he and Sinclair, struggling through the cold sands on Mars, trying desperately to get back to EarthForce and make their report about the Shadow ships... No safety or protection there, though -- the Enemy was nearby and they had barely managed to escape it; there was something -- something he could *almost* remember, but didn't want to...and Sinclair wasn't around anymore to lend support when he needed it. There was no one to lend support at all, he realized. Trapped, alone, abandoned -- by his friends, and even by those who so recently promised he'd never be alone again. Another memory: a seductive voice in the strangely alive blackness, <> _No -- I don't want to punish him! (Want him ba- no, I *can't* -- he needs to be where he is!)_ <> _No. (Yes!) No! I just -- I just don't want to be *alone* anymore._ <> _I can't *have* what I really want, damn it!_ <> _I- (damn it, this is the hardest thing I've ever done...) I don't want him like that. He needs to be where he is -- he'd never forgive me otherwise. What's the use of having what I really want if he won't want me?_ <> _No! That's no good. Not what I want... I just...I just don't want to be alone anymore._ _Please?_ <> they'd told him. And yet now here he was, completely alone, again. //No, Mr. Garibaldi, you're not alone...// What?! It was the voice again, but now it was inside his head! _Oh no..._ His heart sank as he realized what must have happened: some telepath, most likely PsiCorps, had ridden into his head on his fear, and he'd given that telepath an all-expenses-paid tour of everything he'd been trying to hide from Them... //Very perceptive, Mr. Garibaldi. Now why don't you come back to the surface and make things easy on yourself?// _Fuck you,_ he thought viciously, initially refusing to cooperate. //Okay, then stay in here and make things easy on *us* -- I don't care.// _Bastard,_ Garibaldi thought furiously. He groaned and let himself surface, his eyes flickering open slowly then snapping shut again as cold white light stabbed at them. "Very good, Mr. Garibaldi," the voice said, aloud this time. He tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, found himself restrained. "Don't be alarmed, Mr. Garibaldi. You were becoming violent, so we restrained you in order to keep you from harming yourself." "Well, jeeze, I can't imagine *why* I'd be getting violent -- I mean just because you're holding me *prisoner*!" Garibaldi snarled, straining against the straps. "Calm down, Mr. Garibaldi, that will get you nowhere," the voice said. Even with his eyes adjusting to the harsh light, Garibaldi still couldn't see who the voice belonged to. "Besides, you want to stay on our good side -- if you please us, we might please you..." It was like a switch was flipped in his mind -- sudden, devastating pleasure burned along his nerves, settling in his groin. He gasped, feeling his cock come up hard, feeling sensations he knew he couldn't be feeling because he knew no one was inside him... And as quickly as it started, it went away... "No!" he gasped before he could stop himself, then frowned at his own weakness. "So, we have your attention now, Mr. Garibaldi?" the voice asked. He looked in that direction, saw a figure -- male -- dressed in black. Squinting, he could make out the reflection of light glinting off a PsiCorps badge, but he still couldn't see the face. "PsiCop..." he muttered. By the voice, he knew who it *wasn't*, and uncomfortably realized he wished it was. "Now that's interesting," the PsiCop commented, "You actually wish Alfred Bester was here?" He laughed, a sound that chilled Garibaldi, and said, "You know he's been after you for some time. Now you'd be glad to see him, and he's not here. Such a pity..." The laughter in the PsiCop's tone made the colour rise in Garibaldi's face, and his initial reaction was a defensive one. _Damn you, that's *not* why I wish he was here..._ he thought angrily. "Oh? Then why do you?" the PsiCop asked, and Garibaldi could feel him pressing into his mind. "Why do you wish Bester was here? You *know* he's a ruthless and efficient interrogator; he could make this far more unpleasant for you than it is... So why do you want him here?" _Oh -- shit,_ Garibaldi thought, realizing the danger in that line of questioning. He tried to fill his mind with useless information -- security officer schedules, customs rules, anything other than why he wished Bester was there. "Amusing," the PsiCop commented, "Most of them use nursery rhymes. Not that those work any better..." _Get out of my head get out of my head getoutofmyhead!_ "And you can't keep that up forever, either..." _Get out get out getout!_ "You don't really want me to. If I did, then I wouldn't be able to do *this*." -Flick- Sudden pleasure burning through his body, feel of a hot cock shoved deep, fucking him relentlessly, pounding savagely against his prostate. Gasping, squirming against the restraints, his legs involuntarily spreading, begging for more... //Only if you're good and tell us what we want to know...// Pain balancing on the edge of pleasure, body on fire, world dissolving into nothing but hard cock, tight balls and hungry ass -- _Oh god fuck me Fuck me PLEASE!_ //I think that's enough for now...// -Flick- "No!" Garibaldi gasped, panting raggedly and struggling in the restraints. "You aren't here for *your* pleasure, Mr. Garibaldi. Although, if you cooperate, you will be well rewarded." Even dazed, Garibaldi retained enough of his senses to know that was a new voice. A sudden chill skittered through him that had nothing to do with the cool air drying his sweat -- something about this new voice was familiar. He strained to sit up as far as he could, looking over where the voices had come from. There were two men now, standing off to one side and discussing something animatedly. The newcomer was shorter than the PsiCop, although from his vantage point, Garibaldi couldn't tell how much shorter. He was powerfully built although much of that was disguised by the dark suit he wore, and his hair was thick and glossy black. Something about him was familiar, but Garibaldi couldn't place it at first. Then the man quietly said, "You already know what is planned -- it doesn't matter if he *sees* us." He turned towards Garibaldi and flashed a dazzling smile, then approached. Pale skin, dark eyes, a powerful square face -- Garibaldi wracked his mind, going through his mental catalog of faces and coming up with one he hadn't seen in nearly a year: "Welles!" "Very good, Mr. Garibaldi. I'm pleased -- we barely met during all of that fuss with the assassination attempt on Sheridan, and still you remember me." "I never forget a face -- especially not one belonging to a troublemaker," Garibaldi muttered in answer. "A troublemaker?" Welles asked, amusement tinting his tone. "I am a government official, Mr. Garibaldi. *You* -- a rebel and a traitor -- are the troublemaker." "What the hell do you want from me, Welles?" Garibaldi asked angrily. "What do you think we want, Mr. Garibaldi?" Welles answered smoothly, giving him a dark smile. He gently laid a hand in the middle of Garibaldi's bare chest, then lazily trailed the very tips of his fingers through the hair there. When he reached a nipple he paused to tease and pinch it, smiling as Garibaldi squirmed helplessly. Panting, Garibaldi rasped, "What the hell is a NightWatch slug like you doing working with a PsiCop?" Welles only laughed, and moved on to the other nipple. "God damn you, you son of a bitch, answer me!" "We're the ones asking the questions, Mr. Garibaldi," Welles purred. "But because you're a *good* boy, I'll answer this one. However, I expect you to continue being a good boy, or we *will* hurt you. Very badly." He pinched the nipple hard and Garibaldi yelped, but instead of twisting away from the pain he surged up into it. Welles smiled again and released Garibaldi after a sharp tweak, then said, "I'm working with them because I'm one of them." Colour drained from Garibaldi's face as Welles smiled down at him. "Oh Michael, it's hard to face your worst fears come true, isn't it..." "You bastard," Garibaldi growled. "More laws Clark's broken..." "You're a fine one to talk about breaking laws," Welles purred. "How many EarthForce Marines did you personally kill when they were trying to reclaim your rebel station?" "We were defending ourselves against forces following illegal orders -- defending the EarthAlliance constitution!" Garibaldi ground out as Welles returned his attention to the erect nubs of flesh peeking out from the hair on Garibaldi's chest. "You toe the Sheridan Party line well, Michael," Welles purred, trailing a finger lazily down Garibaldi's abdomen, smiling broadly as Garibaldi's cock rose up again the closer the finger got. "I wonder what else you do for him..." "Not *that*, you sonofabitch," Garibaldi said harshly, trying now to squirm away from Welles' touch. "Surprising," Welles mused, "I heard you'd spread for anyone..." Now his fingers were lightly brushing the underside of Garibaldi's cock, tickling his tightening balls. Garibaldi turned his face away from Welles, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as colour rose in his cheeks. "What the hell do you *want* from me?" Garibaldi ground out as Welles continued his teasing strokes. His face burned crimson as he realized his legs had spread wider again, shame overwhelming him as Welles smiled. "So good, isn't it, Michael..." he purred, sliding his hand down between Garibaldi's thighs, reaching for the tight entrance there. "What are you so frightened of, Michael? That we'll learn all of your secrets, or that we'll find out what a *slut*-" He jabbed a finger into Garibaldi for emphasis, pleased when Garibaldi groaned and writhed, working the finger deeper instead of trying to evade it - "you really are?" Welles laughed then, shoving his finger as deep as possible given the difficult access, pleased by the little strangled moan that escaped Garibaldi. "So good, isn't it, Michael? So incredibly good to feel something up that hungry ass of yours, isn't it?" Welles asked, starting to fuck him with the finger. "There's more if you want it, but you have to be good..." "Ooooh -- goddamn you," Garibaldi moaned as the pleasure began to overwhelm him, "I don't -- I -- ohgod, *please*..." Abruptly, Welles pulled the finger out and turned to the PsiCop. Dazed and desperate, Garibaldi turned to look their way and caught part of the discussion. "We shouldn't risk it -- if he--" "He won't. You've seen how he is, you've seen what's in his mind. And besides, we're far more powerful than he'll *ever* be. One of the playrooms will be fine, but I want some time alone with him," Welles directed. _Playrooms?!_ Garibaldi thought nervously, trying to douse the fire raging in his body. Aloud he said, "If you've seen what's in my mind, you don't need to question me anymore..." Welles and the PsiCop smiled and looked his way, then Welles purred, "But we *want* to..." He smiled as the colour rose in Garibaldi's cheeks again, then turned to the PsiCop and ordered, "I want him in one of the rooms in five minutes." The PsiCop sighed and said, "All right," and Welles walked out of Garibaldi's view. He heard a door slide shut, and then the PsiCop was next to him, touching the restraints. "Okay, Mr. Garibaldi, you're going to behave yourself and come with me," he instructed, then unbuckled the straps. Garibaldi smiled as soon as he was free, but his smile quickly faded as he realized he couldn't move. "What the hell have you *done* to me, you bastard?!" he snarled, trying to lash out and feeling a cold chill settle over him when his arm refused to move. "Let me *go*!" "Now do you understand the power a telepath can have over someone, Mr. Garibaldi?" The PsiCop's question came to him both aloud and inside his mind, and Garibaldi shivered -- at least as much as he could... "What the hell are you *doing* to me?" This time the answer was purely telepathic: //You've already felt the pleasure we can give you just by stimulating the right parts of your nervous system... You could easily overpower me physically and escape, but I am not allowing you to do so. You don't *move* unless I allow it... //I could make you do anything, Mr. Garibaldi. *Any*thing.// An expression of horror spread over Garibaldi's face as the words sank in. The implications were -- terrifying... They were something else, too, but he tried, futilely, to hide that from the PsiCop. Chuckling slightly to himself, the man said, aloud, "Don't bother, Mr. Garibaldi. You can try to hide what's in your mind, but your body is showing it as plain as day." Garibaldi blushed furiously as his erection jumped in reaction. Then a subtle pressure built in his mind, and suddenly he was sitting up on the table, then swinging his legs off the side and standing up. "Come along now, Mr. Garibaldi. Wouldn't want to keep Mr. Welles waiting." Garibaldi walked out of the room through a small doorway, his mind screaming at him to stop and fight while his body obeyed the PsiCop's directions without hesitation... --==**==-- (continued in part 2) Babylon 5 is (C) 1997 PTEN & Babylonian Productions. This story is not intended to infringe on these copyrights. Program Initiated is (c) 1997 Galenn. Song lyrics used without permission.