Façade for a Fantasy [Book 1 | Connivance Series] -- REVISING, SEE NOTE INSIDE

The Representative's Job

Touch me so I think I'm here.
Skin my senses,
barely breathing,
minus human...

Please squeeze the world and drip it down my throat again,
down my throat again...

---

Mirrors. Mirrors. More mirrors. Blurs. Subject 79 had forgotten the awfulness of this place. To be blind had been a form of relief, the darkness sheltering him from his appearance. His vision had come back to him at an incredible rate, even though it was still somewhat blurry.

He wasn't exactly fond of his appearance, but four walls of one-way mirror would never get to him. It was a box. He was a rat, trapped in the cage of curiosity which was called science.

Science. Murder. Murder in the name of science.

He moved restlessly on the bed. Yes... she was there. She was always there, at the other side of the glass, even though all he saw was his own reflection staring back at him. When would he see her again?

Would he even see her again?

He snorted. She had... promised. His friend. Jonathan would make sure of it.

For a brief moment he wondered about the girl, subject 111. The erratic pump of her heart when she was transported from her cell—yes, he had listened to it all. Even from his isolated cell at the end of the passageway. But she had been calm, eerily so. He recalled the day he had being turned into... into this monstrosity. He had been scared shitless, had stared into the menacing eyes of death.

Because those who had preceded him, they had all suffered. And died. Mercilessly, at the hands of science.

Fucking science... it was merely an excuse, a humorless joke.

He had faced death, fought it in an attempt to cheat it and succeeded. But in the end it hadn't been worth it. And now? Now death wasn't an option anymore—it had turned its back on him. He had chosen to endure life rather than succumb to peace.

He had been tricked.

His nostrils flared as he bristled.

No!

He had to stay in control of his mind, this persona he was now. Not the animal, not the animal... God, no.

And then, subject 79 discerned a slight change of air. Static infiltrated his ears and his head snapped to the disturbing sound. The sound of impending torture.

Subject 79 would embrace it with open arms. Pain... it was the only choice he was still allowed to make.

His body tensed and his eyebrows furrowed. The static carried on. He heard the soft tones of whispering, the heat of an argument and last but not least... the soft melody of Anne Carpenter's voice.

"Anne?" The subject 79 rasped at the mirror, his gaze following the tenors of her voice immaculately along the glass. But he couldn't make out the words—he never could. It agitated him.

A hush fell on the other side of the glass. "Anne?" he listened intently. "Talk to me."

Whispering started again, as well as a couple of distraught noises. He strained to hear, but the static was overwhelming his concentration. "Talk to me... talk to me. Talk to me, Anne. I want to talk to you."

Even though his voice was merely a whisper, he knew they would hear him loud and clear. Ultimately, he detected a shuffle. A clunk reverberated through the speakers, and he grimaced, not having anticipated such a loud sound.