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Of all the problems Trepan expected to face during his time in captivity, he didn’t expect boredom to be the one that did him in.
Overlord was away on yet another one of his world-destroying campaigns. They agreed to forego comms outside of absolute emergencies to avoid anyone discovering Trepan’s continued functioning. It was fine at first. Overlord had left him at least a dozen living specimens to work on and he had a pseudonym to publish his experiments, but those all died off by the end of the first month. Even the dead processors had to be disposed of eventually—Trepan still possessed some restraint.
And now there he was, lying on a too-big berth staring at the ceiling, bored out of his mind. His fingers twitched as the needles inside begged to be used. Overlord won’t be back for another month at least. If he had to endure any more of this isolated monotony, Trepan might catch himself missing the damn bastard.
Pushing up to sit back against the headboard, Trepan reached over and pulled over a portable terminal. He’d been using it to publish all his anonymous papers, so it had full access to the holo-net. He hated the idea of lowering himself to the level of enjoying the drivel that entertains the masses but, oh well, just taking a look at what the web had to offer couldn’t hurt. If anything he could have a good laugh at a terrible reality-drama. Might not be enough to distract from the itching, but it’ll be something.
As he expected, it took almost no time at all for the holo-net to piss him off. He suffered through barely a half-hour of what reviewers touted as a “subversive masterpiece” of a medical drama before turning it off out of pure fury. If he had to see another show portray mnemosurgeons like inherently evil psychopaths he might just prove them right and lobotomize an entire writer’s room. Sure Trepan was evil, but he’d be evil regardless of what frame he was forged in!
Wanting to distract from that infuriating experience, Trepan turned his attention to games. He liked playing some of the old ones back during his school days, so maybe some of that interest remained after all these years. He found a recent release that looked somewhat promising. It was a clear rip-off of an old franchise, so obvious that he was surprised it didn’t get eviscerated by the company behind the franchise. Players of the game certainly shouted their love for the copycat loud enough, showering praise on the game for doing things that the old franchise never bothered with. Plus the thing was damn cheap. Trepan gave into his impulse and decided to give it a try.
It started out fairly normal. Millennia-old muscle memory kicked in almost immediately as Trepan took no time at all to adjust to the controls. He made the player character look like himself as much as possible, which amounted to shrinking the default model to the absolute minimum that the sliders allowed. It was some sort of survival-crafting game, common in the industry from what he’s heard.
Very soon he came upon the true selling point of the game—a delightful little ball of fuzzy organic cuteness. Creature collectors were all the rage back in the day, and evidently the interest never faded. The furry little creature waddled up to Trepan’s character, circling him adorably.
He punched it in the face. That measly bit of damage sent the creature flying, killing it on impact. Its dead body flopped around like a rag doll when he walked into it. Trepan cackled. Okay, maybe this game had some sauce.
For the next while Trepan followed the game’s instructions with progression. It was surprisingly easy to pick up and weirdly addictive. The progression was neatly laid out and he easily found goals to work toward, each step leading him to the next. Soon he found himself building a little base for himself and filling it with the little creatures he caught to do his job for him. Hmm… a neat idea. Maybe next time Overlord brings home a live specimen he’ll keep it to help around the house, if it survives Overlord’s lesson, of course.
Trepan kept playing, even the itching in his fingers fading into the background. Eventually he had to stop as the persistent warnings for dangerously low fuel levels on his HUD made it difficult to see the screen. He brought back an entire armful of energon to set in a pile beside the berth, just within reach. It should be enough to last another session.
—
Trepan’s optics hurt. How long has he been playing? He’d played deep into the night and he could see the early hints of dawn from the window. Still, he was on the cusp of reaching another milestone level. He’ll take a break after that.
—
The pile of energon ran out. Trepan grumbled in annoyance as he once again got up to fetch more. Maybe he’ll move the entire energon storage over to save the next trip.
—
Trepan woke up sitting in the same position, terminal in his lap with the game still running. His entire body ached from being curled up like that for so long. He pushed the terminal to the side, stretching and working kinks out of locked-up hinges. He should probably properly recharge, but the hours he’d left the game running while asleep meant all his creatures were probably hungry. He’ll feed them first. And set up that one really quick update to the fourth base he’d been thinking about. And maybe gather some of that new material he unlocked too while he was at it. And also maybe upgrade his passive stats…
—
His connection timed out and the terminal had to be reset. Trepan nearly screamed.
—
Okay, he didn’t lose any progress. Thank the gods. He had planned on recharging after verifying that his files weren’t damaged, but now that the game was open… A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
—
Past the haze over his perception of reality, Trepan distantly heard the front door of the house open and shut, followed by a familiar set of heavy footsteps. Looks like Overlord finished his mission earlier than expected. Trepan didn’t bother getting up or shouting a greeting. What was he, a doting conjunx?
As expected, Overlord came directly to the berthroom. Trepan didn’t look up from the terminal when he spoke.
“You’re back early.”
Overlord paused, “...no I’m not. What?”
Trepan looked up, “what?”
“It’s a three month campaign. Did you forget?”
“What? No, I know you said three months, but it’s only been,” he checked the date on his internal chronometer, “...huh.”
So he’s been playing for over a month straight. That was… mildly concerning. It didn’t feel like more than a week at most.
Overlord moved to sit on the berth as Trepan came to terms with the realities of time and space. He saw what was on Trepan’s screen and barked out a laugh.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been playing that this whole time?”
“Not the whole time!” Trepan protested, burning with shame, “I only played for the last month…”
Overlord guffawed. He easily plucked the terminal—which looked like a child’s toy in his massive hand—from Trepan’s lap. Trepan yelped and reached to pull it back, but his entire body was still stiff and aching from the prolonged lack of movement. Overlord found the power button and shut the device off.
“No!” Trepan yelled, “my progress!!”
“It’ll be fine. The game saves every thirty seconds.”
Trepan gasped, stuttering as he failed to make words work. “It… You… How the fuck do you know that?”
Overlord hummed in response, like a bastard. He moved to make himself comfortable, pulling Trepan into his arms, snuggled into his chest in a position very familiar to them both. Trepan still resisted, even though the position was very comfortable. He half-heartedly smacked at Overlord’s arm, which only made him chuckle deeply.
“I’ll tell you if you recharge,” Overlord finally said, petting Trepan’s back, “forgive me, darling, but you look absolutely terrible.”
“You look terrible,” Trepan grumbled pettily. It was a lie. Overlord looked great. He always did after ample bloodshed, there was this glow to him. He even cleaned off all the viscera this time. So thoughtful.
Still, being all wrapped up in those arms was incredibly comfortable. The gentle rumble of Overlord’s engines was all but a soft lullaby, and all the petting didn’t make it any easier to stay awake. Finally giving up on this hopeless battle, Trepan relaxed and fit his arms over the dips in Overlord’s shoulders, pulling himself in to press his face against those thick neck cables.
Overlord’s engines gave another pleased rumble. It was the last thing Trepan heard before he finally fell into a deep and restful recharge.