[Every now and then, life likes to give him a little nudge. A reminder that he isn't like the others; that it's his way of thinking that's wrong and strange.
Because that wasn't and has never been a question for him. Briefly, he is struck by the phantom scent of blood: mixed with mud on the Bridge Plain battlefield, old and stale in Vaclav's torture chambers, sodden in his clothes. People don't need to know each other to be cruel. In fact, it's easier to be cruel to strangers.
He tried to count, once, the people Solon told him to kill-- just so he could know, definitively, for his own bitter satisfaction, the cost of his own life. It was an impossible task. Most of them exist in a blurry and indistinct space in his memory, all the sharp details thrown together in a confusing jumble; back then, the thought to consider them as individuals hadn't even occurred to him. He can't even clearly describe the first person he saw die, or the first person he killed. It's like trying to pick out the first time he saw the sun.]
We don't know who they are, but they seem to know us very well.
[He really can't get it out of his head: how terrified Mielle Roscent had been of the way she was going to die. That was on purpose. Whoever was behind that knew her fear and exploited it. The motive they were given this week targeted her insecurities.
The only food Ai doesn't like is white rice. Jay has never been to school. He's a real teacher's pet, though!
Subtly, his posture tightens. He forces himself to keep his breathing steady, despite the twist of dread in his stomach. This situation really is very bad. The gap between what he knows (or can guess at) and what whoever is behind this knows about him is deeper and wider than the ocean.]
Maybe they have a purpose in mind, or a point they're trying to prove.
[He can't rule it out entirely. But if they had a goal, isn't this all a bit much? Wouldn't it be easier to do it some other way? Why them? Why the game? In the end, he really can only come to one conclusion.]
But if I had to guess, all of this is probably just for their entertainment. I don't think hate has anything to do with it.
[His eyes flick upward, towards one of the many, many cameras installed throughout the facility. He can never forget: every choice they make, every word they say, is being observed and recorded. And it's against the rules to tamper with the cameras.]
no subject
Because that wasn't and has never been a question for him. Briefly, he is struck by the phantom scent of blood: mixed with mud on the Bridge Plain battlefield, old and stale in Vaclav's torture chambers, sodden in his clothes. People don't need to know each other to be cruel. In fact, it's easier to be cruel to strangers.
He tried to count, once, the people Solon told him to kill-- just so he could know, definitively, for his own bitter satisfaction, the cost of his own life. It was an impossible task. Most of them exist in a blurry and indistinct space in his memory, all the sharp details thrown together in a confusing jumble; back then, the thought to consider them as individuals hadn't even occurred to him. He can't even clearly describe the first person he saw die, or the first person he killed. It's like trying to pick out the first time he saw the sun.]
We don't know who they are, but they seem to know us very well.
[He really can't get it out of his head: how terrified Mielle Roscent had been of the way she was going to die. That was on purpose. Whoever was behind that knew her fear and exploited it. The motive they were given this week targeted her insecurities.
The only food Ai doesn't like is white rice. Jay has never been to school. He's a real teacher's pet, though!
Subtly, his posture tightens. He forces himself to keep his breathing steady, despite the twist of dread in his stomach. This situation really is very bad. The gap between what he knows (or can guess at) and what whoever is behind this knows about him is deeper and wider than the ocean.]
Maybe they have a purpose in mind, or a point they're trying to prove.
[He can't rule it out entirely. But if they had a goal, isn't this all a bit much? Wouldn't it be easier to do it some other way? Why them? Why the game? In the end, he really can only come to one conclusion.]
But if I had to guess, all of this is probably just for their entertainment. I don't think hate has anything to do with it.
[His eyes flick upward, towards one of the many, many cameras installed throughout the facility. He can never forget: every choice they make, every word they say, is being observed and recorded. And it's against the rules to tamper with the cameras.]