Broken

Chapter 9

"You know, I'm not very happy with you, 21412." A bright white light blinds me, and the Sergeant's voice drills into my head. I wince.
"We give you everything that you could want here; food, water, comfort, pristine living conditions..." My hands clench into fists.
"Everything I could ask for? Hm, I'm pretty sure I didn't ask to be poked at and prodded at, chained to a freaking chair God knows where. Don't even get me started on the living conditions..."
He leans closer and strokes my chin. The disgusting man makes a clicking noise with his tongue, a tone of disapproval. "We must do something about this little temper of yours, my dear. It's very... unpleasant." My glare makes his simper widen.
"I heard about your little..outburst, the other day, and I'm not very happy," he whispers, a menacing glint in his eye.
The cold barrel of the gun presses against my forehead. I would imagine it's cold, anyways; a whole 11 degrees below my body temperature. Fear constricts my chest, but then I realize something. I grin.
"You wouldn't actually though. Would you now?" "What makes you so sure?" The Sergeant's voice is cold and hard, like the metal chair beneath me.
"Because," I say nonchalantly. "If you shoot me, you'll have nothing from the world unknown to prod at." Gotcha. "We could always prod at your corpse." Don't gotcha. "But... you won't be able to see how a living cyborg functions, will you now?"
He considers this and grins, the malice and hunger flashing in his eyes. "That's right, 21412, but if I were you," his finger squeezes the trigger. Spots and red warnings flash in my eyes. LEFT ARM MALFUNCTION. BULLET WOUND bares into my skull as the chair--and me--topple onto the hard floor. MINOR CONCUSSION. Great.
"I would watch your step." He kicks my side, and I groan. I watch through half-open eyes as my future killers walk out of the prison before the world silently fades to black.

Don't gotcha.