"We are going to test your critical thinking and problem solving skills today, Six-eighty-two."
Her voice is a dull, monotonous drone, the same one she used yesterday, the same one she'll use tomorrow. She's sitting on the other side of the one-way glass, doing fuck knows what.
"In front of you is a chessboard, and a full set of pieces are stowed underneath the checkerboard. You will be given a set of pieces to find, and place atop the board in the exact order you are given. Afterwards, you will be tasked with solving the puzzle. You know how to read chess notations, right? Don't answer that."
I don't. But I do know how to understand it, and quite well.
"Let's begin. White Knight at b1." I crawl over to the board, and lift the top half of the board up to reveal a large collection of black and white pieces. I find the Knight, place it on its correct spot.
"White Pawn at..."
"Black Queen at..."
"White Pawn at..."
"Black Rook at..."
"...White Pawn at..."
After some time, I complete the board. It's a mess. A confusing puzzle that makes no sense.
"You have five minutes, play as black and checkmate the white king in as little moves as possible." Her voice crackles over the intercom.
"Timer starts now. Begin with white Queen e4"
The board is messy, but I see the solution almost instantly. A series of moves, a cascade of consequences, a dance of death and destruction. Each move has to be a check, otherwise black will have a chance to counter. Queen x f2+, Sacrificing the queen to alleviate the back rank of its sole defender.
"Rook takes f2."
A forced move. King h1 was another option, but that would lead to a faster conclusion, but white can only do so much...
Rook to d1+.
"Queen to e1."
Rook x e1+. The only move that continues the attack.
"Rook to f1."
The final defense, only one piece stands in the way between me and victory. I see it clear as day.
Rook x f1#. Defended by my own rook on e1.
Mate in four. A simple, elegant solution.
"Checkmate." I say. I look up at the one-way mirror, a small smile on my face. "And I did it in four moves. Not 'as little moves as possible', but the exact number of moves required. You could have just asked for a mate in four. That's what this is. A mate in four puzzle."
Silence. A long, tense silence. I can feel her watching me, her eyes boring into my back, her mind working, processing, analyzing. I can almost hear the gears turning, the synapses firing. I've surprised her. I've shown her a glimmer of the person I used to be, the intelligence, the strategic thinking, the... Mënskan.
"Adequate." The intercom crackles to life, her voice flat, devoid of emotion. "Clear the board. You will be given another puzzle."
I let out a small, frustrated sigh, and start to clear the board. She gives me a sequence of moves again, this one even more convoluted, a chaotic mess of pawns for black. A few for white, alongside a singular knight and bishop, They seems to have no rhyme or reason. I set them up anyways. I've always been good at chess. My father taught me how to play when I was a child, and I have always enjoyed it. A game of intellect, of strategy, of... war.
"You have five minutes, play as white and force a draw."
"Timer starts now."
I look at the board, my mind racing, my eyes scanning the pieces, looking for a weakness, an opening, a way out. But there is none. Black has a clear advantage with a passed pawn on the A file, and a wall of pawns blocking the white king from advancing his own. Checkmate is imminent as there is no way to stop the passed pawn.
King to f3. All of my other moves are useless.
"g6."
The wall of pawns is coming. The king has no more advancing moves. The pawns are trapped with their king. The only thing I can do is force black to stack the rest of their pawns by sacrificing the bishop. Bishop to d4.
"e takes d4."
Knight to g3. This blocks off the king from moving any further. He too, is trapped. The only way to force the draw. Its a risky, desperate move that could either save me or doom me.
"a2." The passed pawn marches straight to promotion.
Knight to h1. The only move that doesn't result in the capture of my knight. I cannot move anything else.
"a1 Queen." The most powerful piece returns to the board, ready to win the game. But I have other plans. I move the black queen to where the pawn was, then push the pawn off the board, it rolls from the table and falls to the floor with a plastic clatter.
The board is shrinking, the noose is tightening. I'm running out of time, I'm running out of options. I'm...
Wait.
I see it. A glimmer of hope. A tiny, flickering light in the darkness. A final, desperate move. I move my pawn, a single, square, a step into the abyss.
g3+. The lowest piece attacking the highest. Normally a stupid move, but here...
"King h3."
...
"Stalemate." I say. "Draw."
The board is a tableau of my own survival. My king is trapped, but not in check. He has no legal moves. My pawns are blocked, my pieces are gone. The game is over. A draw. A tie. A stalemate.
Silence. A long, tense silence. I can feel her watching me, her eyes boring into my back, her mind working, processing, analyzing. I've done it again. I've surprised her. I've shown her another piece of myself, another glimmer of the person I used to be.
"Good." She says.
Good.
Not adequate. Not sufficient. Good. A crack in the wall of her clinical indifference. She can be positive after all.
"Clear the board." She says. "That will be all for today. You will be escorted back to your cell." Her voice is back to its usual monotone, but the word "good" lingers in the air.
I don't move. I just sit there, my eyes fixed on the board, my hands resting on my knees. I can hear her shifting in her chair. I can feel the weight of her gaze as a physical pressure on my skin.
"Six-eighty-two. Clear the board." She says again, her voice a little sharper this time, a little more insistent.
I turn my head, and I look at the one-way mirror, at my own distorted reflection, a pale, gaunt figure in a gray jumpsuit. I look into my own eyes, and I see a flicker of something I haven't seen in a long, long time. A spark of deliberate defiance. A glimmer of hope. A... plan.
"No."
"This is not a negotiation, Six-eighty-two. You will clear the board, or you will be forcibly removed."
"I'll clear the board." I say, "But I want to play another game."
Nothing. Not a word. Not a sound. I clear my throat and speak up. "Let's play another game, a full one this time?"
"No. That is not on today's schedule."
"Doctor." I say, I've never used her title before. It feels strange on my tongue, its a foreign word, a sign of respect that I don't feel, but a tool that I can use. "I believe this would be a valuable test. You are testing my intellect, my critical thinking, my problem-solving skills. But a puzzle is just that. A puzzle. It has a solution. A pre-determined path. A game of chess... a game of chess is different. It's a dialogue. A conversation. It's a test of adaptability, of creativity, of... intuition. Of being able to think on your feet, to react to an opponent's moves, to anticipate their strategies. To be... unpredictable."
"I am not your opponent, Six-eighty-two. I am your observer. Your evaluator."
"You are." I agree. "But you can be more. You can be a participant. You can be an active part of this process. You can help me to show you my full potential. To show you what I'm really capable of. You've seen what I can do with a puzzle. But you haven't seen what I can do with a game. With a real challenge. With a... living, thinking opponent."
I can feel her hesitation. A faint, almost imperceptible shift in the energy of the room. I've got her. I've got her hook, line, and sinker. She's curious. She's intrigued. She's a scientist, after all. And I'm a fascinating specimen. A puzzle wrapped in an enigma, a mystery wrapped in a paradox.
"You are not capable of interacting with other subjects, and I cannot personally interfere with testing. Your request is denied."
"Oh but you have already," I lean forward. "I have seen you, you came to my cell to get me up on my feet, you splashed water in my face to get me up, I would not have without your act of interference. That is not observation, Doctor, that is interaction. That is... You have already set a precedent. You have already crossed the line."
"I did what was necessary to ensure the test could continue."
"Did you? Or did you do what you wanted to do? What you needed to do? To see what would happen. To satisfy your own curiosity."
"You are delusional."
"Am I?" I ask, "Or am I just a better observer than you? I see you, Doctor. Not with my eyes, but with my mind. The way you lean forward in your chair when you're intrigued. The way you tap your fingers on the console when you're impatient. The way you hold your breath when you're anticipating a move. You're not a machine. You're not a passive observer. You're a participant. And you're curious. You're very curious."
"That is not of your concern. I will not continue this conversation."
"Aha! See? You called it a conversation! You wouldn't converse with someone unless you are interested, wouldn't you?"
I'm getting to her. I can feel it.
"The conversation is over. Clear the board."
"Let's play a game, Doctor. A real game. A full game. Just one." I say. "Think of it not as a game, but as a test. A test of my trustworthiness. My honesty. My ability to follow the rules, even when no one is watching. I will set up the board. I will play white. I will announce my moves, out loud, in standard notation. You will announce your moves, in the same way. We will not see anything but the board in front of us. We will play a game of pure intellect, of pure strategy. A battle of minds. And when the game is over, you will have your data."
"I have all the data I need."
"You have the data of a puzzle solver. The data of a passive subject. But you don't have the data of an active participant. Of a... thinking, breathing opponent. You don't have the data of a person." I say. "You have me here, in this room, for another hour. You can either spend that hour watching me stare at a wall, or you can spend it playing a game of chess with me. Which one do you think will be more productive?"
I can feel her hesitation. The silence is different now. Not empty. But thick. Heavy. Charged with the electricity of a decision being made. I've piqued her curiosity. I've appealed to her scientific mind. I've given her a proposition that is both a challenge and an opportunity. A chance to gather more data, to delve deeper into the specimen. A chance to satisfy her own insatiable curiosity.
"You will not cheat?"
I've got her. I've absolutely got her.
"I give you my word." I say. "As a gentleman."
"You are not a gentleman, Six-eighty-two."
"I am today." I say. "In this room. In this game."
Another long, tense silence. I can feel her watching me, her eyes boring into my back, her mind working, processing, analyzing. She's weighing the risks. The benefits.
"Very well." Her voice crackles over the intercom. "One game. You will set up the board. You will announce your moves, out loud, in standard notation. I will announce my moves, in the same way, then you will move for me. If you cheat, if you lie, if you deviate from the rules in any way, the game is over, and you will be treated like any other deviant who disobeys my order. Are we clear?"
"Crystal." I say. A victory. A small, insignificant victory, but a victory nonetheless. I've broken through her defenses. I've found a chink in her armor. And I'm going to exploit it. I'm going to use it.
I set up the board. The rooks, the knights, the bishops, the queen, the king. Each one a soldier, a weapon, a tool in the coming conflict.
"I will play white." I announce. "My move is e4."
Silence.
"c5." Her response is quick, decisive. The Sicilian Defense. A classic. A game of asymmetry, of imbalances, of a fight for control from the very first move. An interesting choice. Not a passive, defensive opening, but an aggressive, ambitious one. She's not here to play it safe. She's here to win.
"Knight to f3."
"Knight to c6."
We play in relative silence, save for us speaking our moves and me moving the board. The quiet hum of the lights overhead. It's a strange, almost intimate dance. A battle of minds fought across a small, wooden board, a silent, invisible wall between us. I can feel her presence, her focus, her concentration. It's a tangible thing, a force that radiates from the other side of the glass, a pressure that pushes against my skin, that tests the limits of my resolve.
"Bishop to b5." I move my bishop, a pin. A subtle, sneaky threat that puts her knight in a precarious position, a challenge to her defenses. I am playing the Open Sicilian. The most direct, the most ambitious, the most... dangerous way to play against the Sicilian. I am not here to play it safe either. I too am here to win.
"Bishop to e7." She is not taking the bait. She is not falling for my traps. She is patient. She is cautious. She is...
"d4." I am seizing the initiative, forcing her to react, to respond to my aggression.
Lets see how she responds to pressure.
"You are pretty good at chess, Doctor." I say, as I make my move. "Have you played for long?"
"g6."
"I've played quite a lot in my youth."
"Your 'youth' is not relevant at this moment. Your move." Her response is immediate. Its a reminder of our roles, a reassertion of her authority. She is trying to shut me down, to put me back in my place.
But I am not so easily put in my place.
"My apologies, Doctor. It's just... it's been a long time since I've had a proper game. A real challenge. It's... refreshing."
"Refreshment is not a goal of this test. Your move."
"Right." I move her pawn, then grab a piece of my own across the board. "Knight to c3."
She doesn't respond immediately. The silence stretches, a little longer this time. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head.
"Knight to f6." She is playing a game of solid foundations, of careful preparation, of a slow, grinding positional battle. She is not looking for a quick, flashy win. She is looking for a long, drawn-out war of attrition. A game of patience. Of endurance.
"A very solid choice, Doctor. It's a game of counter-attacks, of tactical complications. A dangerous game to play against an aggressive opponent." I am trying to get into her head, to plant a seed of doubt, to make her question her own strategy.
"The safety of a player is not determined by their opening, but by their understanding of the positions that arise from it."
"True." I concede, "But the opening is the foundation. The first step on a long, winding road. A wrong turn at the beginning can lead to a dead end."
"A dead end is not the only outcome. Sometimes, a wrong turn can lead to an unexpected discovery. A new path. A new perspective."
A new path. A new perspective. It's a personal note, a glimpse into her own way of thinking, a hint of a belief system that goes beyond the cold, hard data of her experiments.
"Castles short. You speak of unexpected discoveries, Doctor. New perspectives. That's what you're looking for, isn't it? In me. In this... experiment. You're not just trying to fix a broken mind. You're trying to understand it. To... map it. To see what makes it tick. You're not just a doctor. You're an explorer. An adventurer. Charting the unknown."
"Bishop to g5."
"You've got a mean pin there, Doctor. A real thorn in my side." I say. "You're not just playing for a draw anymore, are you? You're playing for blood."
"The goal of any game is to win, Six-eighty-two. Not to bleed."
"h6."
"Do you recall what your chess Elo is? I bet it's high."
"My rating is not relevant to this test."
"Just curious." I say, "It's just... you play with a certain... confidence. A certain authority. You're not afraid to take risks, to push the envelope. That's the sign of a strong player. A player with a high rating."
"Bishop takes f6."
"You sacrificed your bishop, a good move. A bold one."
"Pawn takes f6." I move my pawn, recapturing her bishop, a move that closes the file, but opens up the center, a move that creates new opportunities, new threats, new dangers. The game is a whirlwind of complications, a maze of possibilities, a puzzle with no easy solution.
"Are you married, Doctor?"
Silence.
"Taijekan do not 'marry.' They bond."
"My apologies. Let me rephrase the question then, are you bonded with anyone?"
"Classified."
"Classified?" I ask, "Is your bond a secret? Are you ashamed of it?"
"You are not permitted to ask these questions. Queen to b3."
Wait, b3? She deviated. She's improvising. I've rattled her more than I thought.
"My apologies, Doctor. I'm just... curious. About you. About your life outside this room. Outside these experiments. You know everything about me. My history, my 'crimes.' I know nothing about you. It feels... unbalanced."
"The balance is not your concern. Your concern is the board in front of you."
"Maybe I am asking too much of a touchy subject. Er, actually, speaking of subjects, how about a lighter question, do you have a favorite subject?"
"Specify."
"Like, look at me, I am most certainly not your favorite, I must be the bane of your existence with all the problems I cause. But what about the others, the ones that don't give you a headache."
"There are no 'favorites.' There are ones that cooperate, and ones that disobey. That is the only distinction that matters."
"Really? You don't feel... anything? A spark of interest? A flicker of curiosity? A... connection? Not even for the ones that obey every command?"
I hear the creaking of her chair. I am getting to her. I am making her uncomfortable. I am forcing her to confront a question she does not want to answer. She is being pulled into my world, my game, my rules. She is being forced to be a participant, not just an observer.
"There are some that I may favor, and some I may dislike. But that is not your concern. Your move."
"Rook to f2."
"You favor some subjects over others." I say. "So you do have feelings. You do have preferences. You're not just a cold, calculating machine. You're a... person. Just like me."
"I am not like you, Six-eighty-two."
"Aren't you?" I say. "We're both trapped in this room. We're both playing this game. We're both... thinking. Feeling. Existing. The only difference is that you're on the other side of the glass. But that's just a physical barrier. It doesn't change the fact that we're both... here. In this moment. Together."
"I am capable of leaving at any moment I so choose, you are not."
"So why don't you?" I ask, a direct, challenging question. "If you're not like me. If you're not trapped. Why are you still here? You could have ended this test at any time. You could have walked away. But you didn't. You're still here. Playing a game of chess with me. Talking to me. Why?"
"..."
"It is my choice to stay."
"Is it?" I press, "Or is it your... curiosity? Your... desire to understand? Do you want to know more about... me? I bet you would not play a game of chess with just anyone, certainly not here."
"Rook to d1."
Our moves are getting further and further apart, longer and longer pauses between each spoken move. The silence in the room is no longer silent. It carries much more weight. A weight that is deafening. I am in her head. I am under her skin. And she is starting to—
"Seventeen-ninety-one."
I pause, my fingers hovering over the rook. Her Elo. She gave me her Elo.
"Wow." I say, "That's... that's quite high."
"Now yours."
"Thirteen-hundred. Its been some time since I've played. Many years."
"You are outmatched."
"It appears so." I concede. "Are you confident that you will win?"
"I have not played against you before, I do not know your capabilities in chess."
"You know my capabilities in other areas, though, don't you?"
"Yes."
"Do you like what you see?"
"No. You are sub-optimal compared to others physically."
"What about mentally? You know my thoughts, my feelings. You've seen the ways I have acted to your tests. Do you like what you see there?"
"Adequate."
"What about those that you favor? Are they smarter than me?"
...
"When did you begin learning chess?"
"My father taught me when I was a child. I was in clubs during school too."
"Did you have Taijekan classmates as a child?"
"I did. I even had Taijekan fr—"
I stop.
"Elaborate on what you just said." Her intercom crackles. A command.
"No."
"Elaborate or this game is over." A threat. An ultimatum.
"...I had a Taijekan friend. Multiple. We'd play sometimes after school."
"Would you say your behavior towards the species is a result of this... friendship?"
"No!" I snap. "It has nothing to do with it. It's just... a fact of my life."
"Did they treat you poorly?"
"No. They were... fine."
"Then why?"
"I don't have to tell you."
"You do. I am your evaluator, Six-eighty-two. You will answer the question."
"I don't want to."
"I do not care what you want. I want to understand."
"I'm a Mënskan. They're Taijekan. That's all there is to it."
"That is not an answer, Six-eighty-two." Her voice is a low. "Tell me why... Please."
I... Did she...? 'Please?'
"Um... Knight to f5."
She's... she's asking me. Not telling me. Not commanding me. But... asking me. She's trying to connect, to understand, to... empathize.
"It was before I even understood what they were. I guess I thought they looked funny, I think they were just so different to me and my friends that we just saw them as toys, and eventually, that feeling never went away, I just kept seeing them as different. Lesser. I guess. It's just... It's in the blood." A half-truth, a sanitized version of a much darker, more complicated reality.
"I see."
"It's your move, Doctor."
I didn't prod anymore after that, I spoke my moves and she spoke hers. Fifty turns later, not a single pawn has been captured, and the game ends in a draw. A quiet, anticlimactic end to a tense, emotionally charged battle. We have both played cautiously, defensively, a mirror of our own cautious, defensive dance around each other's personal boundaries. A standoff. A stalemate.
I am escorted back to the small shower cubicle to wash off the grime from the day, then back to my cell. The path we took this time around was a bit different from what I remember, but I think nothing of it. The guards are silent, their faces impassive, their movements efficient, a well-oiled machine of gray-clad order.
I turn the knob to start the water, the stream is cold. Frigid, lifeless cold, as it always is, and always will be. The small soap cake I am given does not lather, and the rough, scratchy towel I am provided with is more abrasive than the wall I lean my back against. I close my eyes and let the water wash over me, struggling as hard as I can with all my might not to shiver, not to show any weakness.
I step out of the water to grab a soap cake, then run my hand through the stream again, but this time its different. Its not lifeless and cold.
No, this time... it's warm.
Kaius paces back and forth in the small room, an assistant leering over me, brushing my hair and adjusting my clothes.
"You look good, Six-eighty-two. Very good."
"Please stop calling me that." I respond, my words muffled by the hairbrush that's now in my mouth.
"That is your name, sorry if you don’t like it" Kaius says with a rather dull looking expression on his face. I can’t tell if he hates it too, or is preoccupied with something else.
There is a knock on the door, and another masked assistant peeks their head in, The original assistant turns mine away from the door, hiding me from the intruder's gaze.
"She is ready." The voice says, a male this time.
"Good, bring her in, you both may leave Six-eight-two and I here." Kaius adjusts his tie and sits beside me on a white, featureless chair. We are both sitting across from the door now.
The two assistants leave, and I am left alone with Kaius. He looks at me with a gaze that makes me want to shrink back, or spit on him, I can't decide which.
"You look nervous."
"I am more cautious than nervous. I don't know why we are here."
"You never do." Kaius says with a sigh. "Just wait."
The door opens, and a big, bushy tail makes its way through the door. I don't even need to see the face to know who this is: Dr. Aris. She's accompanied by another, a Mënskan in his late thirties, with a stern look on his face, a face I vaguely recognize, but can't quite place.
Aris looks the same as when I met her, albeit shorter now that I am not face first on the floor. She looks a bit shocked to see me here, but quickly composes herself. Her eyes dart from me to Kaius, a flicker of something unreadable in them. Annoyance? Surprise? A warning? It's hard to tell.
"Ahem, Doctor Aris," Kaius stands himself up quickly and reaches a hand out. "I don't think we have ever properly met. I am Kaius Ovin, Public Associate from Etril's Ministry of Social Cohesion." He says with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He's putting on a show. A performance. A charade of officialdom and politeness. Aris does the same, a fake smile, a fake handshake, fake formalities. It's a dance of predators, a test of wills, a silent battle for dominance.
"Dr. Aris. Head of the Evaluation Department for the Etrilian Institute for Social Correction. An unexpected pleasure, Mr. Ovin. I wasn't informed of your visit." Her words are smooth, professional, simple, but a warning that she is not to be trifled with. Her eyes, however, keep flicking back to me. She wants to tear me apart, piece by piece, and put me back together in a way that suits her.
"We at the Ministry have been monitoring the progress of Subject Six-eighty-two," Kaius says. "And we have been monitoring your... methods of study as well, Doctor. As Six-eighty-two nears the evaluation date to determine where his future lies, It is my job to ensure that the data you have gathered is legitimate, and that there is no... conflict of interest in what you wish to do with him." Kaius sits back down, crossing his legs with an air of casual authority.
The other Mënskan clears his throat, its his turn to speak. He holds out a hand too. Kaius shakes it, and as he does so, he does not smile.
"Yes, Supervisor. A pleasure to put a face to the name." Kaius's tone is a little colder now, a little more... dismissive.
He's not interested in him. He's only interested in Aris.
"Doctor, I was made aware of your request for a level nine shock far before I was assigned as an Advocate" Kaius says, turning his attention back to her. "I must say, I was for lack of a better term, 'shocked' to see such a drastic measure being proposed. Especially one that would risk the life of a subject we have invested so much in. A subject that the state has invested so much in." He leans forward, his hands clasped together, a predator preparing to pounce.
Baryn interjects,
"Is it truly necessary? Or is it a reflection of your... failure to connect with the subject?"
"Elaborate." Dr. Aris says.
"Six-eighty-two has shown remarkable results thus far under your supervision, Doctor. Yet, you continue to advocate for the most extreme forms of 'correction.' I must reiterate that this is not a place of rehabilitation. Your duties as an evaluation officer is not to 'fix' the subject, but to 'evaluate' them. Do you recall the oath you took upon becoming an employee of this esteemed institution?"
"I do."
"Recite it for me."
She sighs and stands to her feet, "I swear to uphold the principles of scientific inquiry, to conduct my research with integrity, to respect the autonomy and dignity of all subjects, and to report my findings without bias or prejudice. I am an instrument of knowledge, a seeker of truth, a servant of the Etrilian state." Her words are a hollow echo of a promise she has already broken.
"'Respect the autonomy and dignity of all subjects.'" Kaius repeats, "Is a level nine shock a sign of respect for the subject's autonomy? Their dignity?"
"It is a sign of respect for the Etrilian state. For the safety of its citizens. For the future of our society." Her retort is quick. She sits afterwards.
"Is that so?"
"I am authorized to deliver any medium of correction I see fit to ensure the results of trials are gathered, with or without a subject's cooperation. They are not citizens, they are not a representation of the state, they are numbers on a page who will be given to the High Court to evaluate what to do with them, and how to repurpose their lives. It is my job to get those numbers to the High Court, not to give boo-boo kisses to any meager subject that decides they don't want to do jumping jacks for five minutes. The state has trusted me to be the one to do that." She turns to look at me, her gaze is intense, a mix of anger and something else. Something deeper, more personal. She sees me not as a person, but as a problem. A means to an end. "And when a subject is defiant enough to disrupt the entirety of my schedule, I will not take their well-being into consideration, as they jeopardize the well-being of everyone else."
"I see... So your methods are for the greater good?" Kaius asks.
"They are for the good of the state."
"What if their well-being is essential to the 'good of the state?'"
"High Court has deemed it is not."
Kaiu stands from his chair and paces the room, slowly. He wants all eyes on him, and that he gets. "High Court has deemed cruel and unusual punishment for all within its territories to be illegal, has it not?"
"Punishments are given to those who have violated the very foundations of Etril's justice system. Evaluations are the punishment, the acts within are encapsulated under that."
"That is not what I asked." Kaius stops, and turns to look at her. "Did High Court not rule against cruel and unusual punishment, in all its forms?"
Supervisor Baryn interjects.
"Yes. I will not deny you are correct on that, but the magnitude of which you use those tools is what makes it cruel." He adjusts his necktie. "Doctor Aris, do you recall a subject under the identification 'Four-three-seven?'" Kaius asks.
"I do."
"What was the cause of death?"
"Subject Four-three-seven was an exceptionally—"
"What was the cause of death, Doctor?" Kaius asks, cutting her off, his voice dangerously calm.
There is a long silence. The air is thick with tension, a silent battle of wills. I am not the subject of their discussion, but I am the reason for it. I am the catalyst for this confrontation, the spark that has ignited this fire.
"...Cardiac arrest." She finally says.
"In a Vegetative state I may add."
"Yes."
"And how exactly was Four-three-seven put into that state?" Kaius pushes.
"A level nine shock was administered."
"For how long?"
"..."
She clenches the armrests of her chair, her knuckles turning white.
"How long, Doctor?" Kaius repeats.
"Three and a half minutes."
"That seems rather cruel to me. And unusual as well." Kaius says, "The official report states it was an 'unforeseeable physiological reaction.' A 'freak accident.' Yet, the autopsy showed significant brain damage consistent with prolonged exposure to high-voltage electricity. A 'freak accident' that just so happened to coincide with your desire to 'encourage' cooperation from a 'non-compliant' subject."
"I'm afraid I don't follow your line of questioning."
"You have the authority of up to a level seven without consent of the High Court. Levels eight and nine are reserved for subjects who are actively violent, actively harming, a direct threat to your, or another's well-being." Kaius takes a step closer to her, invading her personal space, a subtle act of intimidation. "From Six-eighty-two's file, I see no mention of him ever being a direct threat to your life. Only to your 'schedule.'"
"He is an extremist, a threat to the very fabric of Etrilian soci—"
"But has there ever been a case where he has attacked you? Not verbally, not mentally, but physically put his hands, teeth, or other extremities on your person or another assistant?"
"...No."
"So why the fuck, are you demanding the right to a level nine against my client?" Everyone looks back to him. His soft tone, now gone, now replaced by something more, more sinister. I watch him lean forward on the table, a predator's posture, an apex predator.
Baryn interjects. He stands to his feet, his face flushed with indignation.
"Sorry, sorry I apologize for my outburst." Kaius says, "Let's return to the topic at hand." He returns to his seat, and so does Baryn. I take a moment to glance and Dr. Arin, she is staring into the table, a look of shame on her face.
I almost feel bad for her, almost.
Kaius clears his throat and puts his satchel atop the table, revealing a tan folder filled to the brim with papers. He pulls out a single page. "Dr. Aris, as lead evaluations officer, by rule all subjects are under your ownership inside of this facility," He pauses, looking up from the page to meet her gaze. "This means that you control where these subjects go, correct?"
"I do not own the subjects, I am simply their caretaker."
"You are not their caretaker, you are their evaluator." Kaius corrects her. "You see to it that they are evaluated to the best of your ability, then High Court sends them to various other institutions that best suit their 'needs.' Many of which are sent as laborers to the colony of Don Oblos, or simply euthanized, is that correct?"
"Yes. That is correct."
"So by that logic, you have the power to recommend where a subject goes, to best suit the 'needs' of the state. A very powerful position." He slides the paper across the table to her. "So you see, Doctor, I have a very worthwhile proposal as to where I believe my client would best be suited."
Aris picks up the paper, her movements slow. She reads each line carefully with a blank expression. After some time, she looks up at Kaius.
"A... medical study?" She asks. "A private institution within the state?"
"Yes. According to his records, his physical state is too poor to be sent anywhere as a laborer, but his mental and neurological state are quite within the ranges this institution are looking for in their volunteers."
"His only other option would be euthanization, Doctor." He continues, "It would be such a waste of resources knowing that someone you have put so much time into is just... gone. Like Four-thirty-seven." Kaius looks at me, and then back to her.
"Volunteers... The report says all subjects are volunteers." She says, looking up from the paper, her eyes darting from the document to Kaius. "He is not here voluntarily. He is here as a result of a court order. He cannot 'volunteer' for anything."
"You see, Doctor, that is where you are mistaken." Kaius says with a wry smile, he pulls out another sheet and hands it to her. Its a copy of that form Kaius had me sign, the consent form.
"I spoke with my client previously about this matter, and he has, of course, agreed to this 'opportunity' as you will."
Aris's eyes scan the second page, her brow furrowed in concentration, then her expression shifts. Her face contorts into a mask of disbelief, then a slow, creeping dawning horror. Her grip on the paper tightens, the crinkling sound of the document being crushed in her fist is a sharp, staccato beat in the tense silence. Her gaze lifts, and her eyes lock onto mine. There is no anger there. No malice. Just a profound, soul-crushing betrayal.
"What are you trying to imply with this form? I still authorize where he goes, whether or not he volunteers for anything."
"You are correct, but this is undeniable proof that if you, on your own accord, send my client to this institution, that it is out of both an act of your deliberation, and of my clients own will. High Court cannot possibly deny this, it's a win-win for everyone. He lives, and you get your wish of him being out of your fur." He gestures to me with a dismissive, almost contemptuous wave of his hand. "This is a legal, and viable option to your proposal, Doctor."
"My... proposal?" She scoffs. "What proposal?"
"To be relieved of Six-eighty-two."
"I never made any such proposal."
"You have made several, documented requests to be authorized the right to a level nine shock, a punishment that, as we have established, would most certainly result in the termination of my client's life. A life which the state has invested a significant amount of resources into. A life which, I might add, is the very subject of this... proposal." He leans back. "You wanted him gone. I am simply offering you a way to make that happen, without the... messiness of a formal inquiry into the death of another subject under your care."
"I... You..." She stammers. Her gaze shifts from Kaius to me, then back to Kaius, a trapped animal looking for an escape.
"You have been trying to get rid of me for months." I pitch in, but Kaius is quick to put a hand (paw?) on my mouth.
"This is a discussion for the adults, Six-eighty-two." He says, not even looking at me, his focus entirely on Aris. "Whatever choices you choose to make with your other subjects, that is none of my concern. If you request the use of a level nine shock on any other subject, rest assured that I do not care, in both the eyes of the law and at the personal level. But for my client here, I would suggest you accept this generous offer, as it is the only one on the table."
"I have to... discuss this with my superior." She says.
"By all means, Doctor." Kaius says. "But I would advise you, this proposal must be accepted or denied today. The window for my client to be moved is closing, he would need to leave today. Within the hour. After that, this opportunity will be gone, and he will have no choice but to be put to sleep. Forever." He lets the word hang in the air, a final, chilling threat. "Your superiors can be involved as much as you like, but the decision to keep him from being put down, for good, is yours to make. Will they be here in time to make the call?"
"I... I would need more information on this... institution." She stammers.
"Of course." Kaius says, reaching into his satchel again and pulling out a thick, glossy brochure. "I have had the chance to personally get some rather classified information from them, and this is both the first time you and Six-eighty-two will be hearing about it, but also the last." He tosses the brochure onto the table, a splash of color in the sterile, white room. The cover features a serene image of a gleaming, futuristic facility, nestled amidst lush green hills. "The 'Institute for Cognitive Continuity and Understanding' or 'ICCU' for short. A privately funded, but state-sanctioned research facility, dedicated to the study of the mind, the brain, and the very nature of consciousness itself. They are at the forefront of neurological research, pushing the boundaries of what is possible, of what is... known." He taps a finger on the brochure, an almost arrogant gesture.
"They are looking for volunteers for a new, groundbreaking study. A study that could change the very fabric of our society. A study that requires a specific kind of mind. A mind that is... resilient. A mind that is... adaptable. A mind that is... unique. They believe my client possesses the necessary qualifications."
Supervisor Baryn asks.
"That is classified, delegated to the knowledge of the subject prior to the trials." Kaius says. "I myself do not even know the details beyond what I was told when touring the location, but from what I have seen, they are legitimate. They have the full backing of the Ministry of Social Cohesion. They have the full backing of the High Court. They have the full backing of the Etrilian state. This is not some back-alley, fly-by-night operation. This is the future."
"Then why are they so interested in a subject like Six-eighty-two? Why not a willing participant?" Dr. Aris asks, her eyes fixed on the brochure.
"Because there have been none. Nobody wants to be a part of a trial that has no information until you are strapped into it. At this point, they are willing to look to the more... voluntold group instead. And like I said, he has the qualifications they are looking for."
Dr. Aris turns to Baryn. Baryn, however, merely shakes his head. He is caught in the same trap, a cog in a machine far larger than himself. He has no power here, no authority to intervene. He is a witness, a spectator to a battle he cannot win.
"I..."
She looks at me, then back at Kaius, then at the brochure. She is a scientist, a rational being, driven by logic and evidence. But she is also a living, flawed, emotional creature. And right now, her pride is on the line. Her authority is being challenged, her methods questioned, her very competence called into question. She is being backed into a corner, forced to make a choice that will define her career, her reputation, her very sense of self.
"Alright."
"I'll sign the transfer order." She looks at Kaius with a defeated, almost broken look in her eyes. "But I want it on record that I am doing this under duress. That I am being coerced into this decision."
"Of course, Doctor." Kaius says with a smile that is both triumphant and sympathetic. "I will make a note of it. For the record." He pulls a small tablet from his satchel alongside a stylus that glows with a soft, blue light at the tip. "If you would just place your thumbprint here, and here, and sign your name at the bottom." He holds the device out to her.
She takes the device and places her thumb on the designated spots. It beeps softly with each confirmation, then she scrawls her signature across the bottom of the screen. Its a jagged, almost illegible scrawl that is quite the contrast to her usually neat, precise handwriting.
She hands the device back to Kaius.
"Excellent." Kaius says. "Then I believe that Six-eight-two and I will take my leave,"
He pulls a device from his satchel and without hesitation jabs it into my neck, I feel a cool, numbing sensation spread through my body, a wave of dizziness washes over me. The world starts to blur, the voices of the people in the room fading into a distant, muffled hum.
I see Dr. Aris' face laced with confusion and anger, her mouth moving, but no sound coming out. Supervisor Baryn's face, a look of shock and dismay. Kaius' face, a calm, almost serene expression, a predator who has just made a successful kill. The last thing I see is the door of the white room, a rectangle of light, and then…
Then nothing...
