The screens zoom in on my face in various situations – micro-expressions mapped and labelled. Anticipation. Calculation. Restraint.
Then a new label appears, blinking softly.Attachment.
I step forward before I stop myself.
The cameras surge.
“Interesting,” the voice murmurs.
I still. I breathe. I correct nothing.
The prompt returns. STATE YOUR INTENT.
I look at it. Then I look away. “No,” I repeat.
Silence stretches.
Then the room changes. The screens vanish. The cameras remain. The lights dim just enough to bring back something like shadow – false shadow, mathematically generated.
I feel it immediately.
Relief.
They’ve given me back a tool.
I smile, slow and thin.
Then the lights snap bright again. The shadows evaporate.
The relief curdles.
“That was a test,” the voice says. “You responded.”
Clever.
They are not here to blind me. They are here to teach me that every response – including restraint – is readable.
The next phase begins without announcement. The screens return, but now they show instructions. WALK TO THE CENTRE OF THE ROOM.
I do.
TURN LEFT.
I comply.
STOP.
I stop.
Each command is innocuous. Each compliance tightens the net. They are mapping latency. Micro-hesitations. The delay between instruction and execution.
They are learning how I decide.
The commands accelerate. Turn. Stop. Sit. Stand. Look up. Look down. I obey until the pattern is clear.
Then I don’t.
“STOP,” the screen commands.
