//------------------------------// // chapter 57. The good doctor // Story: Becoming Fluttershy // by Hope //------------------------------// It was not worth it. I still can’t stop shaking, even though I want to sleep or close my eyes, my whole body seems determined to force this tension through me forever. The adrenaline must have built up to such a degree that I now cannot bring it down to a reasonable level. This thought does not calm me. I look around me for what feels like the hundredth time, examining the mattress, the shackles, the metal chairs and table that remain bolted to the same floor as I am. Then, lastly, the doggie bowl full of stale water, next to a paper plate which holds two full leaves of lettuce, and a carrot. My stomach growls, but I cannot reach the supposed meal, a fact that one of my captors had gleefully pointed out when I was locked up. I suppose dying of starvation will be less gruesome than some deaths. I wonder what Pinkie is doing right now. She’s most likely in new york, with Julien and the rest of my friends, and I wonder if the copycat who took my place was able to deceive them. I suppose some level of ego pushes me to think that I am unique, and they would know, but really how unique am I? Unique enough, I suppose. Unique enough to be in chains, captive. I start counting my breaths, as my limbs still themselves, losing the rush and heat that had energized me for that short burst, and I let myself lay still, counting out the moments of my life, and remembering the good times I did have. I must have fallen asleep, as I jolt awake when the door to my cell slams open. My heart races as a vicious looking thug with an AK barges in. I have time to notice that the frame of the weapon is crudely welded together instead of bolted, before he shouts. “You have a visitor!” I groan quietly, as I lower my head back to the grimy fabric of my mattress. Then a new voice appears, reminding me of a dry towel being pulled along a dusty floor. I would say that it is an old voice, except his words are too precise. Too crisp for old age. “I think she knows, Captain Davis, now could you please step aside and allow me in?” “Regulations state I have to check the prisoner’s bindings first!” the supposed captain replies, too loud, triggering a pounding in my head. Then there is silence, no footsteps, no voices. “Then why aren’t you doing so?” the whisper-spoken man asks. I have to try not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, though a pain in my back makes me wince, and ruins the smile I had started. “Oh! Inspecting bindings now!” I force my legs under myself so that I can stand, making it slightly easier for the oaf to inspect the shackles without touching me. At least the worst possibilities I have been contemplating are much less likely in an organization that has a command structure, in fact my entire plan of escape through violence was probably the worst thing I could have done. With a militaristic type of organization like this there is red tape, bureaucracy, processes that I could have used to my advantages. Naturally, I would completely mess that u... “Bindings are secure!” The shout almost directly in my ear gives me a jolt, interrupting my thoughts and bringing my attention back to the present time. The supposed captain salutes and moves out of the way. “As you were, Captain,” the voice says, clipped, to the point. The vague shape beyond the doorway seems to grow, the room losing some of it’s already limited light. Stooping, he steps into my prison. The man is tall, compared to me a giant. His clothes are wrinkled and dusty, but extremely nice. His wardrobe is probably worth as much as I used to earn in a year. He doesn’t look at me. “These conditions are abominable!” he protests, looking not at me and my situation but rather around the room, old bowls dirty in the corner, a dented and dust layered set of furniture. “How can you expect me to do my work with...these?” “Those are the regulation settings for a Class 5 Interrogation, Sir!” “What pathetic excuse of a gulag did you crawl out of, Soldier? This is the Twenty-First Century!” I sit back, staring at this odd pair that baffle me. They seem not to even care that I am here, but rather be in some sort of silent struggle to prove each other wrong. Then again I am not surprised in the least that my conditions are unbearable to a wealthy suit wearing... Interrogator? I guess I will have to wait to find out what he is. “Let me run down the list, shall we?” the rich man snaps. “First of all, the smell. Have you smelled what it’s like in here?” “I try not to.” I have to try not to laugh, despite myself. It does smell quite terrible, or it did when I was brought in. Now it has faded to a background irritant. “Don’t get smart with me, it’s far beyond your pay grade.” “Sir.” I almost don’t notice I have started to speak, except that they both turn to stare at me, so I continue the thought. “I will survive. If you are doing this for my sake, please do not punish the guard, who is simply following the best orders he has to follow,” I say, wondering if it is my exhaustion or my merged mind that is pushing me to be so upfront, but it doesn’t really matter now, does it? For a few seconds, things are blissfully silent, my gaze somewhere mid-lapel, his boring into me like an aggravating bug on a window. He then turns back to my captor. “I cannot conduct a thorough interview if I’m distracted by smells. It is no business of mine what manner of odors the prisoner cultivates in her own time. Second, what are these walls made of?” Oh, thanks Mr. Suit, implying that I want to be here. But of course I cannot do anything about it, as the armed thug tries to figure out what the walls are made of, considering that they likely just took it over a few days ago. “Granite? Um, marble? Something hard, and thick and...rebar! Yeah, I’m positive rebar is involved,” he obviously guesses, trying to placate the dark and imposing figure. “Now think carefully, Captain. If I’m going to conduct an interview, an interview that will be studied by your superiors, it will need to be recorded...on a camera.” The tone he uses is a stunningly condescending one, as though he is determined to get a reaction out of the guard, trying to make him flip out in order to prove some sort of point. Luckily the captain doesn’t lose his composure, just simply replying “Yeah, and so?” “Where’s the camera going to go? In the granite? In the marble? Oh, I know, we’ll stick in between all of that wonderful rebar!” I can feel myself getting angry, as the needless drama plays out in front of me. I almost wish that the suited man would choke himself on that expensive tie, but the cruel thoughts put an uncomfortable heat against my already scorched chest, darkening my frown further. “You don’t have to be rude, you know,” the captain objects, causing his antagonist to sigh, resting his face in his open palms. “Alright, you know what? I’m sorry.” The captain, just as confused as I am, just says “What?” in a bit of a daze, before remembering his sham of a chain of command. “I...uh mean...request for clarification, Sir!” I just stare, confused and tired, I start to have trouble focusing on what has become a baffling conversation, my gaze dropping to the two dishes just out of my reach. The two men talk, but all I can do is open my mouth and close it, trying to imagine drinking some of that water. Their words make a sort of background hum, my aching stomach taking precedence. Then the suited man openly kisses the guard, and I look back up, trying to figure out what I possibly could have missed to cause that, though the armed man doesn’t seem prepared for it either as he splutters, wiping his lips off on the arm of his jacket. I take this moment to speak up. “Could I... have some of the water?” I ask, reaching out for the water dish, the chains stopping me just short of gripping the edge. Suit looks at me and the bowls like puzzle pieces that refuse to fit, a minor aggravation, before he looks back to the captain. “Captain, would it be terribly much against regulations to allow the prisoner to have her meal before out interrogation? It just wouldn’t do to have her pass out before I finish the questionnaire.” “I...well...” “Now, I understand that you boys might have been having a bit of harmless fun. But I need to do my job here.” I try not to glare at him, knowing that he is the only chance I have to actually eat something and get some water. After contemplating it for a bit, the captain uses the toe of his boot to push the dishes towards me, water sloshing onto the floor as I snatch it up. “There, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” I hear the suited man say as I pour the water into my mouth, coughing after I manage to swallow most of it, and shoving two carrots in my mouth just in case they take the dish away from me, my breath quick, they watch me out of the corner of their eyes. I watch them back, staring them in the eyes boldly. The suited man’s arm twitches, and he turns away. “Okay, so the radio, two chairs and a table, a notepad, and of course the camera and the radio transmitter.” The captain looks incredulous. “Radio transmitter?” “In case I have to request anything from HQ,” the man explains smoothly. “All part of the procedure.” “Oh. OK, that makes sense. I think I know where I can get all of that.” “And I’ll help. I’m not above a little physical labor. Maybe a bit of a break as well. Let’s say we meet back here in 30 minutes?” “Alright.” As they walk out, oddly cheery, Suit turns and looks at me, casually, offhand. “Oh, and if it’s not too terribly out of the way, please show some degree of surprise when we return. Regulations state we’re supposed to barge in here, put a black bag over your head, all kinds of other nasty stuff. Just leads to accidental contusions, in my experience. Don’t worry, I have everything figured out.” I watch the door swing shut, and as it clicks I lay my head down, sniffling as I eat my tiny meal.