CELL

/ FORTY ONE /

Condescension was rarely an attractive attribute.

There were those who wielded it like a sword, cutting down any before them with wide slashes of disdain. Or it's a shield, held up to protect the user from the damaging opinions of others, often by damaging those opinions in the process. Ryan wondered which Bradley brandished. Was Bradley arrogant, sure of her hubristic place in the world, or only a pretender to her father's throne, and so feeling she had to look down on others to force them to believe she was genuinely above them?

He was unsure. She held power, but how much of that was self-gained and how much was nepotistic? Either way, her insistence he was too stupid to grasp the intricacies of cycling was an insult. She knew nothing about him. His records could show details of his previous life, from his address to his favourite tipple to his inside leg measurement. That wasn't him. What if there was a page all about his education history? He did OK at school. Not anything massively impressive, except in English (he loved the subject), but it wasn't bad. Better than average. What did that mean? He was interested in the sciences and, though he wasn't and never could be a scientist, he followed most of what he read.

Words on a screen were not a complete, nor accurate, interpretation of the plentiful parts of a person.

So, alliterate the shit out of that, Dr Fiona Bradley.

"Fine," he said with a shrug. "It's all science and I'm a Muggle. So, what do I do?"

"You know how to whistle, don't you?"

"Huh?"

"Just blow!"

"What...?"

"It's on the fucking computer. Just look at the computer!"

It was Ryan's turn to smirk. He knew what she meant, but the faux ignorance was his way of playing into her sense of superiority.

"Right," he said, enjoying her look of distaste.

He pressed Enter.

There was the menu. The options. The truth, or perhaps their version of it. One word seemed to be in a larger, emboldened font now. It wasn't, but it drew his attention, which in turn, emphasised it.

PARTICIPANTS

Just select that and he'd know everything. He'd also fall in line with whatever she was doing, otherwise it wouldn't be so important to her. And that was what really gave him pause. She was pushing him. She couldn't understand his reticence, and clearly needed him to see his records. Bradley wanted him to know the truth, and that... that was unnerving. Up to that point, it was his search. Now, he wasn't so sure. Had they been guiding him all this time? Had his escape been engineered?

It must have been. The repetitions proved they were fully aware he'd end up at this point. He'd been so naïve! Perhaps, he should make them cycle him a final time, and just remain quietly in his cell, in all ways, in the dark. That'd mess with them. He'd be a happy little lab rat, doing nothing to change his situation. And, they'd hate it.

PARTICIPANTS

The word was waiting for him to select it. It was a patient series of letters with nothing else to do than hope for human interaction. It didn't cry out to Ryan or pester like Bradley. It simply lingered on the screen. He mentally thanked the screen. At least someone/thing was on his side.

Fine.

It was time. Not because Bradley said, but because he knew there was no point in dragging it out. He wanted to know, so had to stop procrastinating. It would appease the doctor, and perhaps give him the information he needed to get out and rebuild his life. He wouldn't give them the chance to cycle him, and nor would he piss them off more than he already had. He'd just...