Genosha - In the Balance: Rewards
Jun. 2nd, 2012 10:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsBe a good boy, get a reward.
The bruise on his face stung. The guards had given him some ice cubes wrapped in a ratty washcloth to use as a cold compress. He leaned his head back against the wall of the cell, staring off at nothing in particular.
The 'exercise yard' was an even smaller version of the walled courtyard that the Warden of the prison had used during the prisoners' intake, and clearly something of a sop to international agreements about that sort of thing. The small amount of greenery in the courtyard was nonexistent here, and the primary exercise seemed to be walking aimlessly around the area, or perhaps a game with an elderly ball begged off of the guards.
Doug had no real interest in games, or exercise for that matter, and simply shuffled idly around the area, alone and staring off blankly.
"Is this groove in the path taken?" came Amanda's voice at his side - she'd managed to be able to approach him without him noticing, a sign of how disjointed he was at this point. She looked tired and harried, as they all did, her hands jammed into the pockets of her jumpsuit to avoid her chewing her already-chewed nails down to bloody fragments.
Doug's response was a diffident shrug. "Nope." Maybe he would have rather moped in private, but making a scene would have just been selfish and mean for the sake of being mean. It was Amanda, and they'd been through a lot together. Besides, he just didn't have the energy for much of anything beyond passivity.
"Ta." She walked beside him in silence for a while, letting him drift in his own thoughts as he was obviously so intent on doing. Then, her voice dropping to something just above a murmur, she said: "Next session, you tell them about the plan."
That got a reaction where little else had in the past few days since Doug's first interrogation session. "What? No," he said harshly, almost shouting before barely reining himself in enough to not draw attention from the guards around the yard.
"You have to!" Amanda hissed at him, struggling to keep from seeing if the guards had heard. Looking suspicious was what they were trained to spot. She tried again, working to keep her tone reasonable, as if she was simply suggesting it was his turn to get the coffee. "Look, Doug, I know it's been hard, but this is the plan. You have to do this."
I. Am. Not. A. Traitor. The five words that he'd growled at his interrogator burned in his brain. But then they were replaced by five different ones, from a few weeks before. Just because it's my personal... He took a deep breath. It was part of the plan, he told himself. And they'd believe it, coming from him. They'd believe that they'd broken him, with what they'd done. Of course, who was to say they hadn't? He'd been so sure, so fiery, ready to resist. Amanda didn't know just how hard it had been, just what they'd done to quash that fire in him.
"I'll do it," he told her quietly, almost inaudibly. He didn't like it, but he would do it.
"I know. Personal's not the same as important," she reminded him, with uncharacteristic gentleness, before she nudged his shoulder with hers and strolled off, looking oddly small and vulnerable with the high walls surrounding them.
One of the guards rapped at the door to the cell, and made a beckoning motion at Doug. When Doug got up and walked over, the guard opened the slot that was used to pass food and drink, and passed Doug a small styrofoam cup, full to the brim with soda. Doug carried it carefully back to his cot, and tilted the cup backward as he put the compress back on his cheek.
Knowing it was all part of the plan didn't make it taste any less like ash in his mouth as he drank down his reward for being a good boy.
The bruise on his face stung. The guards had given him some ice cubes wrapped in a ratty washcloth to use as a cold compress. He leaned his head back against the wall of the cell, staring off at nothing in particular.
The 'exercise yard' was an even smaller version of the walled courtyard that the Warden of the prison had used during the prisoners' intake, and clearly something of a sop to international agreements about that sort of thing. The small amount of greenery in the courtyard was nonexistent here, and the primary exercise seemed to be walking aimlessly around the area, or perhaps a game with an elderly ball begged off of the guards.
Doug had no real interest in games, or exercise for that matter, and simply shuffled idly around the area, alone and staring off blankly.
"Is this groove in the path taken?" came Amanda's voice at his side - she'd managed to be able to approach him without him noticing, a sign of how disjointed he was at this point. She looked tired and harried, as they all did, her hands jammed into the pockets of her jumpsuit to avoid her chewing her already-chewed nails down to bloody fragments.
Doug's response was a diffident shrug. "Nope." Maybe he would have rather moped in private, but making a scene would have just been selfish and mean for the sake of being mean. It was Amanda, and they'd been through a lot together. Besides, he just didn't have the energy for much of anything beyond passivity.
"Ta." She walked beside him in silence for a while, letting him drift in his own thoughts as he was obviously so intent on doing. Then, her voice dropping to something just above a murmur, she said: "Next session, you tell them about the plan."
That got a reaction where little else had in the past few days since Doug's first interrogation session. "What? No," he said harshly, almost shouting before barely reining himself in enough to not draw attention from the guards around the yard.
"You have to!" Amanda hissed at him, struggling to keep from seeing if the guards had heard. Looking suspicious was what they were trained to spot. She tried again, working to keep her tone reasonable, as if she was simply suggesting it was his turn to get the coffee. "Look, Doug, I know it's been hard, but this is the plan. You have to do this."
I. Am. Not. A. Traitor. The five words that he'd growled at his interrogator burned in his brain. But then they were replaced by five different ones, from a few weeks before. Just because it's my personal... He took a deep breath. It was part of the plan, he told himself. And they'd believe it, coming from him. They'd believe that they'd broken him, with what they'd done. Of course, who was to say they hadn't? He'd been so sure, so fiery, ready to resist. Amanda didn't know just how hard it had been, just what they'd done to quash that fire in him.
"I'll do it," he told her quietly, almost inaudibly. He didn't like it, but he would do it.
"I know. Personal's not the same as important," she reminded him, with uncharacteristic gentleness, before she nudged his shoulder with hers and strolled off, looking oddly small and vulnerable with the high walls surrounding them.
One of the guards rapped at the door to the cell, and made a beckoning motion at Doug. When Doug got up and walked over, the guard opened the slot that was used to pass food and drink, and passed Doug a small styrofoam cup, full to the brim with soda. Doug carried it carefully back to his cot, and tilted the cup backward as he put the compress back on his cheek.
Knowing it was all part of the plan didn't make it taste any less like ash in his mouth as he drank down his reward for being a good boy.
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