The past
The fluorescent light above him flickered, its strobing illumination reflecting off the brushed metal table, the computer screen facing away from him momentarily casting shadows.
"Now concentrate 342. What am I looking at?"
Hatred curdled in his stomach, his hands balled into fists strapped as they were to the sides of the chair, an array of wires snaking from the metal restraints.
"I don't know," he snarled. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, biting back a yell as the electric shock surged through him.
"Let’s try again shall we. What am I looking at?"
"I don't know."
The man in front of him calmly removed his glasses and wiped them on his long white coat. "We have all night, 342. I'm sure you will succeed in the end." Without warning his bony hand whipped out and turned the dial again. He yelled out loud this time.
"Dr Flanagan." He turned to look at her. "Dr Flanagan, he's only a child."
Dr Flanagan glanced up, and put the glasses back on.
"No, Molly. This is not only a child. This is a special child with special abilities."
His eyes followed the bony hand as it reached out for the box. His breathing quickened as the doctor turned the dial again, pain coursing through his arms, down his spine, into his head. "Stop," he gasped, turning to the young nurse. "Pleeeease, make him stop."
"She can not help you, 342, only you can help yourself. We've done this before, there is no reason for you to be so uncooperative."
A choked sob escaped his lips. "I'm not... I'm not..."
"Yes you are. Cease this pitiful act at once." His head snapped back around, and he glared at his tormentor.
"What am I looking at, 342?"
A final surge of defiance flooded him, "I'll kill you," he hissed.”I’ll kill you all.”
The Doctor sighed, then turned the dial to full. He heard himself scream, felt his body convulse, coolness soaked his pants as he wet himself. The pain didn't stop this time.
"A CAT!" he sobbed. "IT'S A CAT."
The pain subsided.
"Very good, 342. And what am I looking at how."
He slumped forwards and closed his eyes. “A car,” he replied, his voice dull and monotonous.
“And now?”
“A tree... I see a tree.”
“Excellent 342. You see Molly. All he needed was a little bit of encouragement.”
A solitary tear ran down his cheek and he squeezed his eyes shut tighter.
“Now what’s wrong?”
“I want my Mom,” he mumbled, immediately ashamed of himself. He should be stronger. He had to be stronger.
“She’s been reconditioned, 342. You belong to us now.”
He looked up. “Who are you?” he whispered. “What did you do to her?”
“You don’t need to know who we are, you just need to know this…” The Doctor leaned forwards, a malevolent sneer twisting his thin mouth. “You’re alive because you are useful, and to stay useful you need to behave. We have other methods of persuasion, 342, other ways of ensuring your obedience. They aren’t nice though, they aren’t nice at all. We don’t need you to be sane to be valuable to us.”
