damned_institute | Nightshift 51: Disciplinary Therapy Room 5 [M-U for Soma Peries]

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m-u,
soma

Nightshift 51: Disciplinary Therapy Room 5 [M-U for Soma Peries]

Such improvement of the human body was astounding, and an undeniable privilege to study. This particular subject was the product of genetic engineering and modifications so skillful she was almost like a work of art, the masterpiece of scientific minds that the doctor could understand. Oh yes, indeed. If only he could duplicate the work of his worlds-distant brothers in spirit he could count himself quite accomplished, but... for now he could only study what they had produced and hope he could come to understand their methods.

He flipped a switch, flooding the room in which she lay with an intensely bright light that seemed to banish all shadows, rendering all within almost too clearly outlined, too real. After a second he chided himself for his fancy with a soft chuckle and turned his attention to the displays before him. All was prepared and ready, the room's design and decor a careful duplicate of the place that had almost been her second womb, for there she had been shaped and changed and made more than what she had once been. The only difference was a necessary one, for he hadn't the luxury of being able to simply observe from behind a glass wall; no, his instruments were prepared in an unobtrusive corner, above her head where hopefully she wouldn't be able to see it and thus dispel some of the illusion.

The subject herself, though, lay protected beneath a clear, hollow-cube shield, even clad in the same simple white top and bottom she once had in that years-ago laboratory... though this time, once she woke, she'd not be blind to her surroundings. Not trapped within her own mind, searching for one who was able to hear what voice she had left to her. Would she recognize it, though? Would she know what he had so carefully reproduced, all for her benefit?

Well. And his, as well, in a way... but he was motivated only by how he could serve mankind through his discoveries. Of course.

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Strangely enough, the smell was what first alerted Soma to the change of surroundings. The difference was subtle but unmistakable, the dry, sterile scent of the laboratory far more familiar to her than that of the institute. For the briefest of instants, she was certain she had returned to her own world. It had all been a dream, and now she was going to wake up, and the HRL's finest researchers would run one last set of diagnostics before she was free to go. Except--

Slowly, the memories came trickling back. The door unlocking early. Her nurse and two orderlies entering. One of the orderlies reeling back, bleeding profusely from the face, and the nurse seizing her arm. There had been a needle, she was fairly sure of that, and then Mele had--then she--

Soma's eyebrows drew together. The world had gone white and soft after that. And now she was--here. It wasn't Special Counseling; she wouldn't be lying here if it were. The experimental sessions, then. The idea that she had been sent back to her own world was too much to hope for.

She opened her eyes, squinting against the light that flooded the room, and waited for them to adjust. A clear pane of something--glass?--stretched across her field of vision a few inches from her nose, and as the last remnants of the sedative faded, realization slowly dawned. They had placed her in something like this before, after the incident at the orbital elevator.

She lifted a hand and pressed it against the glass, half-expecting it to slide open at her touch. She wasn't particularly surprised when it didn't. After all, the procedure had yet to begin.

Awake, was she? And calm about the whole thing -- though that shouldn't be surprising, given her past experience. What a novelty it was, to have a test subject who didn't immediately start giving demands and making threats. If she continued so cooperative, that would certainly help his work.

The doctor glanced back down at the displays before him, double checking the readings, but everything was still within the expected parameters. Excellent. All set, then. He picked up his tablet and moved over to stand beside the table on which she lay, his expression almost impossible to read behind the visor that covered his eyes.

"No lingering headache, I trust?" he asked, though his tone made it more of a statement and his attention was more on the readout than the actual person. People could lie or make mistakes, after all; only the instruments could be trusted. "If not, we should be ready to begin."

The doctor's voice carried clearly through the glass. His figure was barely visible beyond the harsh glare of the lights, but she caught a glimpse of a grey headpiece over his eyes. So they were at least capable of this level of technology, although that was hardly surprising given their ability to snatch people from what seemed to be countless worlds and universes.

No, it was highly likely they had deliberately chosen this setup in order to evoke certain emotions. As it was, she felt no fear--if indeed that was what they had wanted--only quiet anticipation.

"None," she said, her voice returning rapidly to the flat tone she had always used before. The idea occurred to her that Senna, Meche, and Hokuto would surely notice when she failed to appear, but it was a faint and distant one, and she didn't dwell on it. After all, this was just another experiment, and if it resulted in improvement, she had little room for complaint.

"May I ask what you intend to do?"

Even better, even better. If only her attitude would spread to the others in this place -- the experiments were so much easier when he didn't have to deal with the threats and the fighting. Restraints, whether physical or chemical, would always interfere with the purity of the work. This one wasn't even trying to argue, much less escape.

"Mm?" He glanced up, the overhead light glinting against the lens of his eyepiece. "Oh, it's a simple procedure. Quite painless, I'm sure. But it should remedy some of the... mm... side effects you've experienced in the past." His attention dropped to the tablet he held, and he tapped at several buttons in succession before adding, absently, "I'm going to give you back your past."

One more tap of his finger and the process began, the only obvious sign a faint hiss and hum of machinery. But silently, invisibly, and best of all efficiently, his device began to work. Chemicals, delivered through the very air she breathed, starting to make their way through tissues. Impulses subtly influencing enhanced glial cells. All carefully choreographed to open mental pathways long closed. Painless? Certainly, physically. But sometimes memory could be more painful than a blade.

Side effects. Did he mean the headaches she had experienced whenever she had met E-0057 in their own world? She had yet to experience them here, but if they could be removed entirely, she would hardly be opposed to it. It was, after all, beyond what the scientists at the Human Enhancement Agency had been capable of doing.

The doctor's last statement brought her up short. Her past? What did he know of it, and what did that have to do with anything? Faint confusion appeared on her features, but before she could ask for an explanation, the chemicals began to take effect and her world grew blurry and dark.

This time, however, she remained conscious of the darkness, as if she had only shut her eyes for a moment. The quiet hiss of machinery had faded entirely, and after a moment she realized she couldn't even sense the table at her back anymore. She tried moving her arms; no such luck. There was only an overwhelming sense of nothingness, and she floated for a while in a silence that was very nearly comfortable.

Hello?

Soma would have started had she been able to move, not because there was someone else in the darkness but because she recognized the speaker. The voice was her own.

Hello? Can you hear me?

Again the high, clear voice. Younger, certainly, but unmistakable, and it seemed to issue forth without any conscious thought on Soma's part. I'm here, she tried to say, I can hear you, but the other-Soma appeared to take no notice, and Soma could only wait and listen as Can you hear me? Is anyone there? continued to float out of nothing at all.

Outside, she remained perfectly motionless, golden eyes staring blankly into the light, the flickering readout on the doctor's devices the only sign that there was still life in her comatose body.

The doctor smiled just ever so slightly, pleased by the successful beginning. There was so much else to do, of course, but the experiment could always have failed entirely. Theories were all well and good, but until they were put in practice on the right subject one never knew what would happen.

Still, judging from the readings he could see, it was working quite well indeed. Not that he could see or hear what she did, but the very stillness of her was a good indication of what was going on, and the brain wave patterns were within the correct parameters. He thoughtfully studied the tablet for a moment, then adjusted a couple of settings. Just a little more there... and there. It took a delicate touch and patience to make such changes without any more side effects, but he was confident in his own skills.

Can anyone hear me? Anyone? repeated the voice of a little girl who hadn't quite learned to lose hope just yet. Soma's voice.

But it wasn't Soma, was it? Not this little girl. That was slowly becoming clear, as was her identity. But Soma didn't want to think about that. Not yet, not Soma Peries, the Human Reform League's first (only) complete supersoldier. To do that would be to renounce her own identity.

Over here. I'm right here. Can anyone hear me?

Was this what the doctor had meant about her past? This wasn't her past. This was the past of someone else, someone who didn't exist anymore and never would again. Not if E-0057 had been telling the truth--

Are you the one talking to me? said E-0057.

Soma felt the words rather than heard them. So did the little girl, with a sharp burst of happiness that flared so brightly Soma could feel it. She tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the growing dread in the pit of what would've been her stomach had she been able to feel her body.

You can hear me? Where...where are you?

I'm right here in front of you, aren't I? Faint confusion in the words, the frequency of the brainwaves as familiar as they were painful. Soma tensed.

I'm sorry...I don't understand. But I'm glad we can talk. I've always been alone. And then, with gratitude so strong it was nearly tangible, Thank you so much for coming here.

A pause before the next words floated out of the dark. And you are?

No, said Soma automatically, but the response was prompt and self-assured.

Marie.

Marie, repeated the voice, with something resembling wonder.

No, said Soma again, but the little girl cut her off: What about you?

I don't know, said E-0057. I can't seem to remember who I am, or why I'm here. I can't even remember my name.

If the little girl could have clapped her hands together, Soma was sure she would have. Well then, I'll give you a name!

She knew what was coming next. He had told her himself, here in this prison away from their world. She struggled; she didn't want to hear it. Wake up. Wake up.

Let's see...your name will be...Allelujah. Allelujah sounds good!

Allelujah? Hesitance. Surprise. Perhaps a hint of hope. Soma fought harder. This wasn't her past. This was Marie Perfacy's past, this was a conversation where a girl who didn't exist had given an identity to a failed experiment who didn't deserve it, and she wanted no part of it.

It's a word of gratitude towards God, began Marie, but her voice was beginning to fade, and Allelujah's response was lost as the faint hiss of machinery became audible once more. Soma let it fade as gravity took hold and feeling gradually returned to her.

The fact that the conversation hadn't ended there didn't matter, because now she remembered the rest of it. Faintly, distantly, as she should remember a conversation that had taken place almost ten years ago, but she remembered it nonetheless. He had been bitter; she had told him that there was still joy to be found in being alive. But that didn't happen to me.

Soma blinked once, carefully. The doctor was still standing there, reading from a tablet. Did he know what he'd done? Of course he did.

Aloud she said, with a voice that held an undercurrent of anger, "These aren't my memories."

"Hmm?" The readouts had told him when she'd returned to herself again, but it wasn't as though the doctor had intended to strike up a conversation as soon as she was able to speak to him -- his interest in her was limited entirely to the experiment and her part in it. When she spoke, though, it reminded him that she was there, and he glanced up to face her direction.

After a pause he processed the statement and replied, "Of course they're your memories. Who else would be in your own head, after all?" The man gave a somewhat rusty-sounding laugh that barely deserves the name, given that it sounded more like a wheeze, as though he'd forgotten how one was supposed to laugh.

She'd never been in the habit of speaking to the doctors before, at least not unless she was spoken to, but this was different. There was nothing here that spoke of anything resembling removal of unwanted side effects, no signs that this would do anything but anger her.

Those memories belonged to someone who ought to have stayed locked away. Marie Perfacy was good as dead, and Soma Peries wasn't. Wasn't that enough?

The brief dismissal of her statement only further aggravated her, and faint emotion flashed in her eyes at the doctor's words. She propped herself up on her elbows; the height of the glass shield didn't allow her to sit up fully. "If this is your idea of improvement, I'd like to request a different doctor. Those things happened to someone else. She--" had been here first. "--was never Soma Peries."

His amusement, if you could call it that, had disappeared almost as soon as he finished speaking, and the doctor's attention returned to his tablet. "Someone else, hn," he echoed absently, tapping at the screen to adjust a few settings. "Another you, another doctor, no... no, you get what you have. You should know that, you're a soldier."

The man frowned slightly, absorbed more in the patterns of light on the screen before him. "And how did that go, a rose called by another name would still smell sweet? Mm. Soma, Marie. What does it matter?" The hum of the machinery increased slightly in volume and the temperature within the confines of the glass seemed to drop several degrees as he worked; after a moment he lifted his head again, regarding her with a deepening frown, as though disappointed in her reaction.

"It matters," Soma began, with sudden vehemence, "because--"

Because what? There was a difference, she knew that much. Had Marie been the one to step out from behind that glass enclosure, had she been the one to don the grey-green uniform, things wouldn't have gone the same way. That was undeniable. There was a difference there--it was just that Soma couldn't quantify it, or didn't want to.

Soma would never have been that precocious, cheerful little girl in a box.

The sudden chill on her bare arms and legs jolted her from her thoughts. Out of habit, without finishing her previous sentence, she forced herself to calm and waited, keeping her eyes fixed stubbornly on what little she could see of the doctor's face.

She could glare, scream, even fight if she liked; it was all the same to the doctor, really. As long as his work was completed, he was satisfied, no matter how little his subject appreciated it. Oh, certainly it was a mild disappointment that she didn't consider just how much work he was doing on her behalf, but... ah, well. It didn't matter. Progress was progress, no matter who tried to stand in its way.

He didn't particularly care why the subject thought it mattered which name she used for herself, so he was hardly disappointed when she cut herself off. In fact, it was almost a relief, as it allowed him to focus on what he was doing rather than pretending to pay attention to anything she might say. He turned back to his tablet, adjusting a few settings with almost fussy precision before finally activating the next phase of the process.

In the end, she would be different. For the better, in his mind, for she'd have access to all of her self instead of just what she'd become. And he would be the one who'd improved upon what those he admired had created. How lovely was that?

[asdfjkl; sorry for the wait! ;_;]

The darkness descended upon her more quickly this time, and Soma didn't resist. There was little point in doing so, even if this ended up being less beneficial than she had hoped. She had been created for this, a hand-crafted test subject for the most cutting-edge gene therapy her world had to offer.

No. The thought sprang into her mind like a reflex, like some sort of defense mechanism. She hadn't been created for this, Marie had. And Marie had failed. And wasn't that what was important? Marie hadn't been perfect. Soma was perfect. Soma was--

--Marie--

--the voice came as it had the previous time, out of nowhere, and this time there was not only him but the sensation of image, something dimly grasped, vague pictures painted by his voice: sterile testing rooms, panes of glass, unmoving machinery.

He had visited again and again and again, and no-one had stopped him.

--Marie--

Once, he had brought a book, had seated himself next to her glass box and read it out loud, describing every picture between turns of the page. She had never thought to ask where he had gotten it, when he had managed to lay his hands on something so simple, in between all the experiments, the endless testing. She had never thought to ask why they had let him do it, why no-one had stopped him from entering the room and reading, to her, slowly and haltingly, a book she couldn't even see.

Soma would have been suspicious. Marie had been grateful.

--Marie!--

--and that was always the problem, wasn't it, that was the Marie he had remembered, the Marie he had visited day after day and made up stories for and spoken to as if she were his only friend in the world (which she had been, Marie and Allelujah, and it had been just Allelujah, one lost boy not yet split in two). And Soma had arrived here, had seen him from across the room, and he had seen her, and for one blinding moment there had been joy in his eyes--

Because he saw you, said Soma to the darkness, and the darkness said, Yes.

You were wrong to trust him, said Soma, and the darkness did not reply. E-0057 is a murderer, a thing, a failed test subject who wasn't disposed of properly.

His name is Allelujah, said Marie, and the darkness became light once more.

Soma opened her eyes, and if the echo of Allelujah lasted a little longer than it had the first time, she didn't notice.

There was an interesting alteration in the brainwave patterns now, subtle and slow to display, but quite unmistakable. And promising, as well -- a sign that things were definitely progressing as they should be. He glanced up from the tablet, studying the subject's still form through the anonymizing lenses of his visor as though that would tell him something more than the readouts.

She opened her eyes again only a moment later and he neither moved nor spoke, waiting to see if she had any reactions he could make note of. It was all going so well, but observations were important for later reference. He'd been intrigued by the way she'd immediately rejected her old memories; would the trend continue, or would she come to understand?

Soma took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to keep calm as the memories flooded back in. Panic was beginning to bubble up now. It was an unfamiliar emotion. She fought to keep it down.

This wasn't her past. It couldn't be. How could the HEA have locked it away for so long? It wasn't her past--it was Marie's--but she knew she was lying to herself. He had told her himself on that day she thought she was someone else, and he had confirmed it on the next. It had happened to someone who'd been in this body, even if she didn't remember it, and now that she could remember it all...

But what good was that? What was the use of a soldier who could remember her childhood? It was an unnecessary distraction. Anything that would have given Marie pause in battle might very well now give her pause, too, even if she didn't want to think it would. And one pause would be all E-0057 would need to gain the advantage. He might not even need the pause. She knew that from experience.

She didn't need to face that orange and white suit in combat and think this is the boy who used to read me stories when no-one else would.

She fixed her eyes on the lights above her. She said, "I don't understand how this benefits me in any way."

The doctor blinked once, even though the gesture wouldn't be visible to the subject even if she had been watching him, then dropped his attention to the tablet again. "That's hardly a requirement," he observed in a dry tone, tapping at the screen briefly before entering a quick note along with the readings. "Either that you understand... or that it be of benefit to only you."

She was a soldier, was she not? A piece of a whole, designed to keep things running smoothly. If a single cog demanded something that would only help it, then how would the rest of the machine continue to function well? Not that it mattered to him, anyway -- if he wished to conduct his experiment, then he would, no matter what else.

"At any rate, things are progressing nicely," he continued briskly, lowering the tablet as he moved away, disappearing behind the bulk of the machinery at the table by the top of her head. "Perhaps you'll understand soon."

Her past wasn't something she needed to remember. He clearly knew her well enough to recreate her surroundings, a pitch-perfect copy of an operating room in the HEA before it had been destroyed. He ought to know, too, that this couldn't help her in anyway. And what was this to begin with?

She frowned slightly, feeling an answering twinge of something in her head, but when she concentrated, searching for it, it slipped away.

The fact that she couldn't see him didn't deter her. She was used to that. She was far less used to the concept of arguing with or even speaking to the scientists who experimented on her, but the few months she had spent in the company of the colonel and the few weeks she had spent here with her friends had changed her more than she expected. "You told me it would be a remedy for something. How is this a remedy for anything?"

The answer was slow in coming, not because he didn't have one, but because the doctor simply wasn't as interested in responding as he was in what he was working on. There was simply so much to keep track of, to ensure that all the parts and pieces and various elements of his carefully-crafted setting functioned as they should, and he was focused on making adjustments to the equipment for the moment. Thus, for some time the only sounds were the soft electrical hum, occasional beeps from the tablet he held, and finally a quiet hiss as the doctor carefully altered the gas mixture within the clear-walled chamber that held his subject.

"Hmm, so demanding," the doctor finally replied, as though just realizing that she'd asked a question, his voice slightly distorted by the echoes within the room. "But perhaps that's a good sign. Mm. Yes." He paused to make another note, recording the observation for later consideration.

A moment later he stepped around the bulk of the equipment, coming into view on the other side of the table. "A soldier hardly needs to know the reasons behind her orders. She merely needs to obey them. But then," he added, lightly tapping his stylus against the transparent cover above her, "you weren't always a soldier, were you, Marie?"

She waited in silence for a response, fists slightly clenched, that something in her head just out of reach, hovering like a transmission that wasn't quite tuned to the right channel. That wasn't normal. As far as she knew, she shouldn't be hearing anything else beside the hum of the machine around her and the sound of the doctor adjusting his equipment. But each time she tried to listen harder, it vanished.

The doctor's response, when it came at last, was less than informative--at least until he posed his question and tapped, infuriatingly, on the glass in front of her eyes.

Then, at last, the presence that had been hovering dormant came into sharp, familiar focus for the briefest of instants. Something took over without really meaning to, and, caught off guard, Soma could only watch in confusion as someone else--someone else that wasn't her--said, with Soma's mouth, and very quietly, "No."

The doctor gave another of those wheezy, rusty-sounding chuckles and turned back to his tablet again, obviously quite pleased by the response. "Of course, of course," he muttered, only halfway audible. "And now we're getting closer, hmm."

He paused for a moment, then glanced back at her with an obviously false smile, of the sort given to nervous children when assuring them that an upcoming procedure wouldn't hurt a bit. "I'm sure both of you will be quite pleased with the results when this is all finished. For now, though, time is short, so let's keep moving."

To be quite precise, there was plenty of time remaining before they had to finish. Before morning. But there was a certain momentum that had to be maintained, else he'd have to simply start all over again, and wouldn't that be frustrating? No, efficiency was far more appealing, not to mention the fact that he was ever so pleased that his efforts were working, and he wished to see the final result himself.

I- began the voice that wasn't Soma's, but it was already fading into the background, and Soma clamped down and grit her teeth to make sure it didn't come back. As much as she tried to hide it, panic was beginning to show in her eyes and in the set of her jaw. Where had that come from? Why was it in her head? Who--but she already knew the answer to that question. That one was easy.

She balled her hands into fists again and inhaled, then exhaled slowly, still staring as resolutely as she could at the ceiling. Escape was out of the question; the doctor had done his homework. She was trapped in here until he let her go, and to beat uselessly at the glass before then would only serve to drain her energy.

It was still there in her head. She was still there in her head, quiet, unassuming, and unwelcome. Closer, the doctor had said, and both of you, which meant--

--E-0057. They were going to make her like E-0057, two people trapped in one body. Her breath hitched slightly at the thought before she focused on keeping it steady. No. No, they couldn't--that was as good as killing her--

Breathe. She inhaled again, exhaled again, and stayed silent, refusing to respond.

Her silence was hardly noted at all, except in the detached, clinical observations the doctor was noting on his tablet. Subject displays unusual emotion was about the limit of it, and his thoughts moved away from that almost immediately after he'd finished the comment, returning him once more to silent contemplation of the equipment. The next step was a risky one now, one that had to be taken lest the entire experiment fall, but had to be done with such careful precision that he didn't unbalance his subject's mind.

It was something like a tight-rope walker, he mused to himself as he almost absently moved over to study the displays on the machine out of her sight. One treading a precarious line over a long fall and fire, though if he were to fall the only injury would be to his pride and professional reputation. It mattered little to him what kind of state the subject would be in after, though it would be a pity to spoil such a fine masterpiece of scientific accomplishment. Ah, well.

He frowned at the display, pushing aside the momentary fancy and focusing on the next step. With one finger he flicked the control to activate the next phase, then carefully adjusted the controls with the finesse of a concert pianist, though this would create chords and resonances in the brainwave patterns of the female's mind, rather than any mundane music. This was far more difficult... and meaningful, in his thoughts.

One day, he didn't come.

She called out into the darkness for what seemed like hours to no response. He would have said something if he were still there. But it was a long time before she could accept he was gone.

He wasn't dead. She knew he wasn't dead, because she was sure she would have felt something before he died--a message, her name, some sign of trouble. No, he was alive, he was unharmed, and--she was very certain of this, as certain as she would ever be of anything--he had managed to escape.

He didn't even bother to say goodbye, thought Soma, but where there should have been at least anger from Marie there was only quiet understanding, some sort of acceptance she didn't understand. It wasn't as if he could have taken her along. She wouldn't hold that against him. He must have wanted to. But he had sounded so very young, and if he had escaped alone--well, there must be something keeping her trapped here, it had sounded as if there were, and it wasn't very realistic to assume he could have taken that along with her, too.

She only prayed he was safe, that he was with friends now, that he would live and be happy that he was alive.

It was, all things considered, an anticlimactic ending, but that wasn't what was keeping Soma occupied as she floated aimlessly in the darkness. She had known how it would turn out; E-0057 had told her himself. The only difference now was that she remembered all of it as clear as day.

No, what bothered (and terrified, and panicked) her was the presence in her mind. Somehow, during the last few minutes (was it minutes? It seemed like weeks), it had expanded, had come sharply into focus, and it showed no signs of receding. It was as if she'd found a wing in her house that she had never noticed before, but gave all indication of having been there for years; the sensation was not painful as much as it was disturbing, and she couldn't fight it because there was nothing for her to fight.

The sensation didn't fade as her senses gradually returned to her. Nor did the fear and confusion, though she hid it well. From the presence in her mind there was only curiosity, and then surprise: sensation was slowly given to the little girl on the other side of the wall, and her sudden joy, unwelcome as it was, took Soma unawares.

She almost smiled. But it wasn't her smile, and she pressed her lips together tightly in response.

And... there. The doctor hesitated for a moment, then drew his hand back from the controls with what could almost be called a flourish. His work was done now, his objective apparently accomplished, though it would certainly take further observation of the subject before he could be certain. But at this point it was now up to her -- or them, perhaps -- to complete the rest of it.

He moved back over to her side, a thoughtful frown creasing deep into his face as he examined what he could see of her within the glass case. "Any observations that you'd like to have recorded?" he asked, tone brisk and businesslike. "Any unusual side effects or thoughts that occurred to you? This is all very experimental, so anything could potentially help in the future."

There was someone else in her head.

That fact was growing more and more evident. Soma only wished the trauma would stop increasing at a proportional rate. There was someone else in her head, another consciousness in her mind, and it didn't matter that she knew precisely who it was, that it might even be argued that this other presence was the original owner of the mind in question. It didn't matter that the other person was, for the moment, silent, content to simply feel for the time being. None of it helped. There was someone else in her head.

Soma resisted the urge to curl up, but her hands rose automatically and clutched at her temples, as if that might force the intruder out. No such luck.

Soma Peries, said the voice, voice of a little girl who wasn't a little girl any longer. There was almost something resembling joy in the voice, as if she were happy to make a new friend despite everything. You're Soma Peries.

"You're in my head," choked out Soma. Perhaps it wasn't the most scientifically helpful observation she could have made, but it was difficult to think of much else at the moment.

The man's frown deepened momentarily as he considered her words, then he gave a mental shrug and turned back to his tablet and recorded them faithfully. "...in... my head," he muttered to himself as he noted it down, then glanced back up again and gave her a pleased-looking nod. "Seems like everything went well, then. Excellent. Excellent."

He tucked the tablet into his coat and reached out to pat the glass enclosure almost fondly. "Well, we're done here. You'll have the rest of the evening to yourself, so get some rest. Wouldn't want our best soldier in anything less than perfect shape." The doctor gave a mechanical, forced smile and turned away, disappearing behind the bulk of the equipment above her head.

A moment after he'd left the clear material covering the table receded with a soft hum of machinery, leaving Soma free, as at the same time the door's lock clicked open.

Soma lay there in something resembling silence for a while after the door unlocked. She needed to get her bearings. Experimental treatment--that was the second floor. She'd never been up here before. But the institute was only so large--it would be fine--

It was some time before she realized she had curled into a ball.

Pathetic, she thought, and forced herself into a sitting position. As long as she was here, she could do worse than search the cell. There were groups looking for that sort of information, and she was here, unharmed--uninjured--she had a pair of eyes and a working brain--she could find something.

Soma? said the voice. Are you all right? I'm sorry if--

"Shut up," said Soma savagely, and slid off the table.

There was, as it turned out, nothing in the room. Oh, there were switches and control panels and screens, but none of them were labeled and none of them looked familiar, despite their superficial resemblance to the laboratories where she had spent all her life. The floor was spotless, the screens were crystal clear. There was nothing to indicate that even the doctor had been there.

She could feel tears of rage and frustration building at the back of her eyes. Without another word, she pushed the door open and stepped out into the hallway.

[to here]

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Nightshift 51: Disciplinary Therapy Room 5 [M-U for Soma Peries]

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