The Soldat, The Captain and The Asset

1.3: The Chair

–September 1944–

YAWA WOKE SLOWLY, finding herself strapped tightly to a metal chair, clamped around her forearms and ankles, making sure she was unable to move, unable to fight back. The seat, like the room, was cold and damp, sterile. The walls are a dull yellow colour, red marks streaking down some of the walls, causing Yawa's heart to clench in her chest. The room itself was well illuminated, showing the man, now dressed in a 3-piece suit and glasses, standing before her.

The man's suit was a deep blue, with a small pin on the collar with the same logo as before. His face was neat, well-kempt, and his hair was greying. Now that she could see him correctly, she could see that he was a short-ish, well-fed man with rosy cheeks, but despite the innocent looks and the business attire he was sporting, the man did not have a shine in his eyes did not have the twinkle that one would see in a truly innocent man. He sat down in a chair in front of her, leaning forward slightly, sitting professionally with a blank look on his face.

"You wanted to know what I was planning." He said, his voice soft, kind. He looked at her with pride. "Why did I want an innocent woman to do a man's job?"

"I never asked that," Yawa replied, trying to sound brave despite the predicament she was currently in. "I asked why you wanted someone innocent, someone who is trying to save people, why you wanted them to be a killer, why you didn't want the blood on your hands."

He smiles, sitting back. "It's simple really. I tried... I tried to use soldiers, people trained for battle, people who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. But when I injected them with this—" He holds up a small vial of a blue liquid before pointing over at the IV drip, currently feeding the same substance into her system. "—they became uncontrollable; they were volatile. All six of those I've tested so far all became unpredictable."

"So why me?" Yawa asks, looking at the substance in fear, twitching her hands, trying to dislodge the IV from her arm, clenching the arm, trying to slow the flow of it going in, despite knowing subconsciously that it won't do anything but fail, that it will go into her nonetheless, no matter what she attempts to do. "Out of anyone you could pick, why take me?"

He sighs, taking the file that was handed to him. It was semi-thick, the front saying 'Subject 3' in dark letters, standing against the dull yellow cover. He flicks it open to the second page and shows it to her for a split second before looking down at it, reading from it. "Yawa Johnson. Rank: Lieutenant." He reads, glancing at the girl now and then. "Mother, Samatha Johnson nee Barnes, deceased. Father, David Micheal Johnson, deceased. Twin brother, Yawo Johnson, deceased." He looks her in the eyes with slight pity before looking back at the file. "Housed in an orphanage from the ages 14 to 18, joined the military at 18." He looks at her curiously, an eyebrow raised.

"I lied on my enlistment form." Yawa mumbles, her voice low.

"I can tell." He replies dryly. "Ambitious made you more notable, but it also made you stand out; you didn't look like your peers. You were the only negro in your unit who was left out because of segregation. Not to mention, you're female, and it took you a lot of time to gain the respect and title you currently have. All to be seen as equal."

She glares at him, her arms tensing in the restraints, pushing her head back against the chair, the cool metal sending a chill through her spine. She looks up slightly at the metal contraption above her head like a hell-ish halo. Her breath catches, and she looks back at the man. "Who are you and why did you want me?" She asks, her voice like venom, filled with anger and hatred, her hands pushing against the restraints in a feeble attempt to break free.

"My name is Doctor Aranam Zola." He replies. "I had a vision, to make a world of order, a better world for people to live in. You must understand the discrimination faced by people of your race, of the false hopes fed by your nation, a nation that doesn't even accept you for who you are."