CELL

/ FORTY TWO /

Which is worse? Having no memory and having the darkness coloured in at the hand of your jailor, or recalling devastating events you'd much rather forget? What if those memories you were being spoon fed were the disturbing ones you'd prefer blocked out? How would you be aware if they were real, too? The jailor would want you believing anything they told you. There would be no way of knowing if they had happened.

Though...

Love is a potent emotion, as is guilt. Surely, one or the other would break through any deceit. If you were blamed for your family's death, as in this case, you would inevitably recognise the truth.

Brioni and Clara were Ryan's entire world. For them to be ripped from it would leave an indelible mark. He didn't believe in broken hearts or wounded souls. He did think that loss can scar you, however. As such, he fully believed Bradley was bullshitting him. There was, probably, a sliver of reality in her lies. It would be slipped in here and there, with the hope its shine would disguise the shadows of deceit.

It didn't work. It wouldn't work. The words on the screen were just that. Words. A fiction. Everything they took wasn't what made him the man he was. We were all, he mentally told himself, more than our sum. Identity and memory were only aspects. The rest was made up of intangible, unidentifiable fragments that, we hoped, slotted together neatly. In many cases, there were gaps, where parts had broken loose or didn't quite fit. That was fine. No one should be judged for things they could not control.

But, what they stole wasn't his entirety. Perhaps they were not mindful of that, for all their scientific ingenuity. They were not infallible.

And they didn't know he had figured that out.

Join them? Let's see if I can pass the probationary period.

"OK," he said. "What do you want me to do."

"OK?" Bradley repeated, appearing surprised. It shouldn't be this easy. No one just said 'OK'.

"Yes, OK." Ryan held his hands up, palm upwards. He had nothing to hide. In fact, he had, basically, nothing. "My family is dead. Without them I... My family is dead. I've nowhere to go. It seems you saved me, though your methods are decidedly questionable. I guess I owe you for that, so I'll join you. It'll be my way of repaying you."

"Just like that?"

"Well, it's hardly 'just like that', it is? After everything you've... we've done to get to this point? It has to stop somewhere. I've had enough. I'm defeated. Deflated."

Bradley stepped forward and laid a hand on Ryan's shoulder. The gesture implied reassurance. As he didn't need reassuring, and didn't believe her intent anyway, it was redundant. Still, he smiled sadly, as if it was exactly what he needed.

Play the game. Just play the fucking game.

"You've made the right choice," Bradley said. "We'll look after you."

"Thank you. I mean, I think. I suppose."

"I'll take that. I'm sure you find our methods questionable, as you put it. We have our reasons, though. Knowledge must come a certain way. Tests must be made."

"Murders must be... murdered."

"Cycling isn't murder. Not really. In fat, quite the opposite. But it is all towards the greater good. More than you could know."

"And, I'll take that. I have to, really. I'll warm to the idea as we go, I guess."

"Fair enough."

"Now what?" Ryan asked, raising his eyebrows in a semblance of anticipation.