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Victoria

I can't pretend anymore. I gasp and cough and my eyes water from the bright light that pierces me from all around. My neck aches like crazy. The rest of my body feels like what I imagine a storm cloud to be: floating, distant, but still full of thunderous rage that has the power to devastate. This month of sleep has completely unbalanced my body. Romix's calm voice stands out amongst all the panicking shouts and frantic running. When I am finally able to focus my vision, I see a smirk on his face.

"How are you doing, Victoria?" he asks, putting on a small microphone so his voice can infiltrate my prison.

I spit out the saliva building up in my mouth, "How long has it been?" My jaw is tired, too; it takes a lot of effort to talk. Choose your words carefully, Vic, I tell myself. Play dumb or else he'll know something's up.

"One month," he says.

I act surprised, but part of me actually is. "You should have let me sleep longer."

"I would have, but the Pets want information." Most people subconsciously flick their tails or ears when they lie. Romix doesn't. Instead, he gets a small tick in the bridge of his muzzle, which I'd be able to see from a mile away.

I roll my eyes -- the best expression of annoyance I can perform right now. "I told them before we left Loana that I don't know anything. I thought this was settled."

Disbelief spreads across Romix's face. "If it was settled, there would be no reason to waste all these resources to keep you alive."

I stay silent at that; he's got a point.

He walks up close to the tank, scanning my body up and down with his eyes. "Frankly, I don't care about what the Pets want. Just give me something to satisfy their paranoia for a little while."

"Fine," I say. "Tell them to go fuck themselves."

"I think they're too conservative for that," he chuckles. Bivik scampers into view, eyeing me warily. He mentions something about the explosion, but covers Romix's mic with a paw before I can glean any significant details. As I watch them talk, my mind drifts back to that poor kid. Had I known Romix was going to try to talking to me I wouldn't have risked his life like that. The routine has been the same this whole month: Romix, Bivik, and the other workers would check my vitals three times a day, and in the meantime they would leave the lab or just talk amongst themselves. So, what changed? Bivik mentioned something about Phase Two before I lost the kid. I need to figure out what that means for me. If they're not going to let me sleep then I can't lead any other helpless kids here. I can't possess adults because, among other things, they can't fit through the vents. Perhaps I should spectate what's happening elsewhere on the ship.

Romix pats Bivik on the shoulder before he leaves, then the fox starts talking again. "Why did you join the military?"

Careful. I take a moment to think about how I want to answer this. "I saw a cause that was worth fighting for."

"That's a pretty bold choice for a sixteen-year-old to make." Romix walks around the center console, sliding a finger over it. "You must have had a clear picture of what the situation was."

"Clear enough," I say. "I stand by the decisions I've made."

"Even now?" he motions to the tank in which I'm suspended.

I give him the sigh I know he wants, "I admit it's not ideal, but at least I have my life."

He scoffs, "Yeah, well, I bet a lot of people just lost their lives in that explosion. Bivik is dealing with that chaos right now..." He trails off, tapping his wristband a few times. Then he pads in front of me and talks in a low growl, his ears folded back, "Did you have anything to do with that?"

"How could I? I can't mov--"

"Don't play dumb with me," he snarls, slamming a fist against the glass. I don't even need the mic to hear how angry he is, but there's more than just anger in his voice, and that's what scares me.

I can't think of a good excuse as I look at his face, trying to figure out what else he's feeling, so I stay quiet. Though I fear that my silence says more than I had planned. Romix regains his posture and takes a long look at me. "I don't know if you've seen it yet, so I'll just tell you that there is an electric wand hanging above you that I could use to shock you into giving me answers." I tilt my head back. Huh, I was wondering what that thing was. When I look back down, Romix is standing back at the center console. "I'd rather not use it, especially considering that, if not turned off, it can kill you. So I'll ask you again, and I'm making it easy. A simple 'yes' or 'no' question: did you have something to do with the explosion?"

My ears twitch as I hear the metal wand lower behind me. I don't hear it touch the gel, but I immediately feel a tingling sensation at the base of my neck. It doesn't surprise me that the Pets would have such a device, but it is surprising that Romix seems like he legitimately doesn't want to use it. Between his anger -- and hurt, I now realize -- in his voice, and the repetition of making this 'easy' on me, it's hard for me to lie. I know I shouldn't trust him. I know he could kill me if he wanted to. I know he doesn't want to. And all this perplexes me because I don't know what he does want.

"Yes," I say, and it's a pretty firm 'yes' given the fact that I don't know for sure if I actually did. Explosions were never part of the plan.

His paw hovers above the center console, eyeing me, probably wondering why I would tell the truth. "Thank you for being honest," he says. He slides a finger counter-clockwise on the console, then taps the center. "It's the lowest setting. The best I can do."

A high-pitched squeal reverberates from the electrical wand behind me. The tingling on my neck increases. "Fuck y-!" is as much as I can get out before the wand touches the gel. The pain is agonizing enough to melt away reality. Between my shut eyes and wandering spirit, I feel the gel rise up and over my head. I'm passed out by the time they reinsert the throat tube and jab me with needles again, but it's still extremely uncomfortable. There is only darkness when I open my eyes.

I'm looking inward. The sound of my heavy breaths ricochet off the intangible barrier of my mind, but I'm not alone in the darkness for long. I never am. My thoughts come in the form of bubbles this time around. I peer into them as they float by, trying to see with which ones I want to occupy this empty space. They murmur to me. Muted gunshots? Hard pass. My parents singing me a lullaby? No, not in the mood to be nostalgic. Most of the bubbles that catch my attention are musical, but the fading color of a larger one that seems to sink below the others lures me to it. A whisper is all I hear when I focus my hearing. Just a faint, unintelligible whisper. Something so small and easily forgotten. This is the bubble I pop.

My mindscape fills with the memory, and I am positioned horizontally, with my head and upper back tilted frighteningly more downward than I would like. It's with the sliced bars of light passing through the vent I was spying through that I recognize this as the moment I lost control of the kid. We're in a moment of free fall. How long this moment lasts is up to me, now that it's a memory. My first thought is to activate the kid's wristband -- figure out what his name is, where he lives, what his parents' occupations are. If the kid ever looked at that info on his wristband, the info would be there for me to see. It might not be reliable, though, since kids are notorious for making up stories in their own heads. I tap the screen, but I'm blocked by the parents' security password. Damn. They probably did that so he doesn't change the pre-loaded settings. No name, no info, and now the kid's dead. Great.

I speed up the memory, wondering if the kid thought about anything before I left his body. Sometimes I can pick up some lingering thoughts after I leave a body. I watch as the maintenance shaft swallows me up. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing for the next few moments. I just wait to hit the ground, but before I do I hear that whisper. The one I heard when this thought was just a bubble. It's coming from my mouth. The kid's mouth. A word? 'Talks'? No, he's pronouncing it with a subtle accent. 'Tox'? That sounds more like a name.