NREM

Reflection 3/

The apartment had been uncomfortable, but not like this. It was worse than her shared college dorm-worse than her idea of a jail cell. Somewhere between her capture and waking, she had been dressed in a thin hospital gown, which did nothing to protect her from the cold linoleum floor.

My glasses... Why did they take my glasses?

No, she knew the answer. They wanted her to be disoriented. The constant tone that whined over a ceiling-mounted speaker proved as much on its own.

The room she had been thrown into had barely enough room to stretch out. There was no bed, no toilet, no light switch, and any sound echoed off the four walls for a short time before fading. This place was a prison, built specifically for people like her. It was all to keep her awake.

Somehow, she didn't find this unexpected. Though she had not expected to be kidnapped and imprisoned in this manner exactly, it made sense. She was fairly sure, at least, that she was dangerous. If not now, then she would almost certainly be, later.

Tingting made sense of it like this:

If Chloe is Alice, and Alice is the disease, and I have the disease, then I am Alice.

It was a circular logic that, when applied to everything she knew about diseases of both mental and physical varieties, made no sense. But, as nothing else was following any sort of logic, it was the only thing she could think of that resembled sense.

There was a small spark of hope. Maybe this organization, whoever they were, would try to cure her. She understood that it would be easier to just destroy her, but maybe there were people who weren't like that robotic voice in the room she had been restrained in. Maybe, among the emotionless observers, were real humans.

Until her death or salvation, she would remain static, making no effort to be comfortable or draw attention to herself. She would be the cooperative subject they so clearly wanted. Her earlier outburst would not repeat itself. Henceforth, her name would be Subject 411. That name implied several things.

1.This organization does not consider me human.

2.There are others like me.

3.They may not consider me human, but I am "important enough" to be here.

Pop!

From beyond the door came a faint sound. An impact of some kind, beginning and ending as suddenly as a finger snap. A pneumatic drill, perhaps. Maybe a door being slammed. She paid it little attention. It was too muffled and distant to be anything of real urgency. Nearer to the source, it would be quite loud, but here it did not affect her much more than the whining speakers.

-----Pop!

---------Pop!

-------------Pop!

-----------------Bang!

No, that was wrong.

It was too irregular to be some kind of machine-growing too loud to be stationary. Yes, the sound was getting closer. And it wasn't alone. More sounds like it, popping in and out at different intervals.

Shouting.

Screaming.

Tingting opened her eyes, though it made no difference in such pitch darkness. Sitting up, she crawled on her hands and knees to the farthest wall, where the sounds were loudest, and pressed her ear to it. She had watched movies that sounded sort of like this. Those pops were obviously gunshots. The voices were shouts of confusion, screams of pain, and orders being barked. Something was happening that wasn't supposed to be happening.