Abner's vague sense of unease grew as he watched Anderson retreat, leaving him alone in the cell. He stared at the door–left open–and felt the urge to close it behind him. The lieutenant might get mad, though, and he didn't want that. So he stayed in his corner, knees drawn up to his chest, watching the door like a dog waiting for its owner to return.
He'd been trained not to ask questions. This one, in particular, felt like something he shouldn't even want to ask. But it would help with the investigation, right? He could tell himself that. Focus on that, not on the itching curiosity about his programmed condition and the idea that someone might actually understand it.
When Anderson reappeared he sat up straighter, shifting to a less guarded position. For once the food went ignored as the man started to read aloud. Abner focused on his voice with an almost frightening intensity, none of his usual fidgeting or twitching. The words had sparked something in his brain–hollow, dreamlike fragments of speech, half-remembered through a drugged haze.
Subject observed entering dissociative state during–
–recommend proceeding to phase–
"Dissociation," he said, as soon as Anderson finished his speech. "They called it that once, I remember that. But it wasn't...it wasn't trauma, sir." It wasn't, right? He felt the mask slipping as he curled back into himself, wrapping his arms around his legs. More blood on his wrists and nails where he couldn't remember scratching. "They did it on purpose, back when I was someone else. He wouldn't do what they said otherwise. So I guess it's not really the same as what you're talking about." He sounded almost disappointed. "Is there another word for when they do it on purpose, sir?"
no subject
He'd been trained not to ask questions. This one, in particular, felt like something he shouldn't even want to ask. But it would help with the investigation, right? He could tell himself that. Focus on that, not on the itching curiosity about his programmed condition and the idea that someone might actually understand it.
When Anderson reappeared he sat up straighter, shifting to a less guarded position. For once the food went ignored as the man started to read aloud. Abner focused on his voice with an almost frightening intensity, none of his usual fidgeting or twitching. The words had sparked something in his brain–hollow, dreamlike fragments of speech, half-remembered through a drugged haze.
Subject observed entering dissociative state during–
–recommend proceeding to phase–
"Dissociation," he said, as soon as Anderson finished his speech. "They called it that once, I remember that. But it wasn't...it wasn't trauma, sir." It wasn't, right? He felt the mask slipping as he curled back into himself, wrapping his arms around his legs. More blood on his wrists and nails where he couldn't remember scratching. "They did it on purpose, back when I was someone else. He wouldn't do what they said otherwise. So I guess it's not really the same as what you're talking about." He sounded almost disappointed. "Is there another word for when they do it on purpose, sir?"