Page 23 of Operation: Defiance

Everything here is conditional. Even silence.

“How long is the evaluation period?” I ask.

“You weren’t instructed to speak,” he says sharply.

I pull in a quick breath, then have to swallow the small, pained sound that wants to escape as my ribs protest.

“Do you understand the rules?”

I nod once.

“Use your voice.”

“I understand,” I say. “I will follow the rules.”

“One more thing,” he adds, his tone unchanged. “This isn’t punishment. This is care.”

Care? This isn’t care. This…is control.

I keep that thought to myself.

The door shuts with a solid sound, and silence settles back into the room, broken only by the mechanical whir from a camera somewhere in front of me and the constant rush of air from the vent.

The cold follows, weaving its way up from my feet until staying still takes more effort than moving would.

The hood traps my breath, the air growing stale and overused.

No light. No movement. Nothing I can catalog or analyze. Total sensory deprivation.

I focus on what I can control. Slowing my breathing. The pressure of the chair against my back. The way the cuffs pull at my ankles.

After a while, time stretches into something with no meaning. My muscles start trembling. My mind strains for noise that isn’t there. I rock once. Just barely. Enough to remind myself that I’m still here.

Follow the rules.

Find the gaps.

Work the system you’re in.

Survive.