Prisoner 374215

Scar stayed by his side for the next several day and night cycles, only going out during staff meetings and his own breakfast and dinner.He cuddled 374215 all night and all night, but went back to being able to talk without talking.No more questions and outlandish advice.

Although happiness could never seep into the iron walls, he found a little peace, and a few days of peace that could be counted on his fingers.Scar took care of him, healed him as much as he could, and let him recover.The silence between them was comfortable and reassuring.He loves scars, even though he knows he's stupid.He liked it so much that he wanted to be a human being again so he could get to know this man.What would he have done elsewhere, in a different life?These fantasies began to torment him.He really started daydreaming secretly—he dreamed that he mustered up the courage to ask Scar to go out for a drink, and the two talked and laughed together.

Of course, none of this is possible anymore.Even if God suddenly stretched out a hand and lifted him out of the cell and put him somewhere safe, he wouldn't be able to attract another man.Now, all his achievements, all the important qualities that he thought was necessary for a qualified lover, were no longer in him.

He did want to ask about the burn on Scar's face, but only to hear the man say a few more words at a time.He found that he was different from other prison guards, they grew up in different places.A snippet of a song he hums reveals that he grew up in the Bojiang Starfield, a song that 374215 heard as a child.Of course, there were many Poe people on both sides of the battle, but it was strange that a Boe man would end up in such a security-related position.

He trembled at the thought of this, and hurriedly continued to do meaningless calculations in his mind.Curiosity and doubt can be dangerous.

When Scar came back from the staff meeting that day, he not only frowned angrily, but also had a strange black bag on his arm.

"I have nothing to do with this decision," he declared first, ominously, "but I have to get you dressed in 10 minutes and take you down the hall below. They say you have to read something to the media in front of the VCR."

"finish dressing?"

Scar's brows frowned more and more, he opened the bag and shook out the contents. 374215's legs went limp, and he fell heavily back on the bed.

In the bag was a set of military uniform that he was all too familiar with—the dark red jacket of the officer of the Rebel Fleet and black trousers with dark red piping.The rank line representing the position of captain is embellished on the shoulder straps.

"No." 375415 tightly closed his eyes, his stomach was overwhelmed.He tried to erase those images from his mind.I'm going to spit it out. "Please... I can't wear it."

"You can. Don't look at it. I'll give you a hand. Start filming and then open your eyes. Then you just read to them and we'll get this shit over with as fast as we can."

He shook his head, clenched his hands on his lap, his knuckles turned white.He wasn't saying no, he knew he had no choice, but he needed time.Scar remained patient, waiting for him without saying a word, and he sat trembling until he finally got up and rushed to the wall, opened the pull-out vacuum toilet seat, and started spitting.He fell to his knees, panting in pain.There was an odd sense of shame in him because Scar had to watch him break down.

"Get up, it's over." Scar helped him up, hugged him tightly, and stood quietly for a while, "It's good to spit it out now. Tyre—"

"No!" 374215 twisted and broke away from the scar, staggered away, with his arms wrapped around his abdomen, "You can't call me that! Please!"

"That's your name."

Tears rolled down his face.He was out of breath, "I don't have...no name."

"Oh my god." Scar slightly raised his head and closed his eyes.He seemed to be panting, too. "I know. I know they used to test you this way. Sorry. But you have a name."

"I...I...can't..."

"I know you can't use this without a name. It's okay." Scar didn't come towards him.He stood patiently, tapping his fingers on the wall, "Do you want to know mine?"

374215 wanted to dry his face with his sleeve: "Your what?"

"My name is Marcus."

A faint warning sounded in the back of his brain, but no matching memory matched the name.Names are powerful.Scars are what give him strength. "Marcus." He tried to call Scar's name, and he liked the way he said it, but he still had to be careful with it.He couldn't let anyone hear him call that name.

"Yes. Marcus." The man he once called Scar looked at the ground, his face first looking hopeful, then depressed.He shook his head as if trying to get rid of a thought, "We've got to get you ready now. It's better for me to help you than for them to get you, right?"

"Yes." He took a wobbly step toward Marcus, followed by a more steady step, "Yes. Help me, please."

Something in Marcus' eyes—sadness and pride at the same time—broke a corner of his heart.Oddly enough, the small gap made him stand up straighter.

"Something's going to happen," Marcus said in his occasionally cryptic tone, as he sat 374215 on the bed and helped him into his trousers and boots. "They're getting desperate. Do as they say, Watch your body. It's coming soon."

He nodded, not knowing exactly what was going on, but he did feel a wave, which he had felt for a while.There were changes, forcing chiefs to alter their schedules and routines.The chances of this being in his favor are the size of a fingernail, but as long as it gets him and Marcus together...

The thought stopped his racing brain for a moment.He watched Marcus button the intricate rows of buttons on the military jacket with a serious face.For a moment, he enjoyed the silent words and the warm comfort at night, and he no longer worried that Marcus would betray him.Oh yes, unavoidable.What was due would come, and he would gladly accept it.After all the fear and pain, a brief moment of peace and a moment of tenderness is enough.

"Ready?" Marcus grabbed his shoulders.

"Well, is it time?"

"It's early."

Marcus unlocks the cell door with a palm lock and grabs 374215 by the upper arm, as if trying to stop him from escaping.They both knew it was more of a support, a support for his staggering steps in the hallway. .

"I'll be with you. I won't leave you alone with them."

"Thank you."

He turned toward the tile house, but Marcus gently pulled him the other way.So they came to an open white room, surrounded by bright lights, and a huge mobile video trolley full of photographers.The room was extremely empty, with a table and chair taking center stage.

An invisible voice spoke, sharp and anxious: "Is the experimental subject healthy?"

Even though Marcus was holding a prisoner's arm, he immediately stood at attention in a characteristic way. "Yes, sir. In good health."

"That's enough," interjected a dry and dull voice, "put the test subject in place."

Marcus yanked, pushing him forward, and he sank into the chair.His protector walked to the corner of the room and faded out of sight, and 374215 blinked at the light.He is still here.Marcus is still here.

"Don't look at the video light," ordered an unheard high-pitched voice, "look at the screen. Can you see it clearly?"

374215 noticed the display screen directly ahead.The test word scrolls from the bottom of the screen upwards.Like the rest of his body, his eyesight has deteriorated, but if he leans forward and tries to see... "Yes."

"Big font," the dull voice ordered, "I don't want him squinting."

The characters suddenly enlarged, and he could easily see them clearly by leaning back.

TEST TEST TEST TEST THIS IS TEST...TEST...TEST...

"Better. Sit up straight, 374215."

He obeyed, folding his hands on the table in front of him, trying to ease the trembling.

"Okay. You will read the text on the screen aloud in a clear, even tone. Read whatever is written on the screen. Only the text on the screen. Clear?"

"Yes."

He would do exactly what they were told, and then he and Marcus could go back to the cell.Marcus would hold him if he needed to.Thinking of this, his back straightened up again.But when the first lines of words scrolled across the screen, his resolve faltered and shattered.

I'm Commander Tyre Gannon.

"I'm...was..." He stopped suddenly, turned around, and curled up in his chair, retching in pain, but thankfully there was nothing in his stomach.

"He can't say his name." Even though Marcus was growling, the piercing voice was so familiar, it was like a painkiller to his aching nerves, "This is the conditioned reflex training of the experimental subject a part of."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?" the high-pitched voice growled.

"It's a small problem," said the dull voice, with a heavy sigh. "Add a subtitle at the bottom of the screen. Delete that name from the article."

374215 Focus on the breath and wait for the person in charge to make changes.In the past, he would calculate the navigation parameters in his mind to calm himself down.But now he can't concentrate and can't do the math, so he does simple addition problems with random numbers.Concentrating, he straightened his back and sat in the chair.When those voices spoke again, he was ready.

"The test subject will read the text according to the instructions. Once a mistake is made, punishment and a repeated test will be implemented."

He raised his head, tried to block everything other than the text on the screen, took a deep breath and said, "Even if most of the audience don't know my face, they know my name. I am a convicted terrorist, Enemy of the parent group that takes care of us all."

The word "convicted" distorts the truth quite shamelessly.He has never been judged.

“I come here today to offer you my complete repentance and my apologies to all employees and affiliates of the Andalusia Group. Before I begin my apology, I assure you that this is a voluntary statement and my confession is also Sincerely, I have not been under any coercion."

"I single-handedly planned the blockade of Adalai. The fleet I commanded prevented the fleet of the Group from coming to assist the Archons of the Adalai system. I instigated riots and provided arms and weapons for other terrorist organizations in the region. I was responsible for the conflict. He is fully responsible for the huge loss of life and property that occurred."

"My fleet continues to disrupt trade routes with the Galactic Merchant Guilds, causing widespread shortages and unspeakable suffering to the people of several planets."

Facts, distorted again, distorted to the point of shattering into tiny pieces.It's true that he disrupted the trade route, allowing the guild's supplies to fall into the hands of the rebels, but the supplies were all munitions, and his actions did not take food from the children's mouths at all.

"I was responsible for the massacre at the colony of Elsetas. My flagship, the Exeter, was—"

He read this far, unable to speak.The name of his ship triggered other names, the Bright, the Styx, the Freya, the Confidence, all gone.The names and faces of all the dead poured down upon him, drowning him and crushing him.Colin, Thalia, Ferdor, William, Cora, Reynolds, Miriam, Atticus, Sonya, Jason, Allen, Erin Stewart, Ephraim, Eric...

Without air, with all these souls, he had nowhere to breathe.These spirits accuse him and press him.He is falling.Fall into a bottomless abyss.Sharp, severe pain spread through his body.He wept bitterly, the darkness in front of his eyes replaced the torment of memory.

"He's going to lose his strength!" he heard Max shout, his voice far away. "You are punishing him with the reflex training results you have implemented!"

"Please reserve the opinion of the medical observer of the experimental subject, otherwise he will be dismissed." The dull voice said.

374...no.I have a name.I have a name and these people know it.I used to have this name and still have it.I was avoiding them, avoiding acknowledging what I had done, and burying myself in their reflex training.Their damn reflex training.I have a name.I know what I have done.I killed you guys and I'm really sorry.

My name is Thiel.Tyre Gannon.These bastards killed you, but I sent you to them by mistake.I will bear my name and yours.all of you.Because I have to.Because if I survive, I may still have a chance to right my mistakes.

"Hey, can you hear me?" Marcus said softly, leaning over him, "It's ok. You're ok. Just try again. It's just words. You just have to read them." .”

Thiel sat up straight slowly, still dizzy, but with every breath, the room seemed to be less shaken.These sentences are not just words, they are weapons.He was used, along with all the dead he carried.The former him confessed this information, so this breath of despair will be spread today.It seems they are reduced to the point where they can only discredit the entire leader of the rebel army, otherwise why bring him in front of the camera?Why are they desperate?

"Coming soon," Marcus had said.

He sat up straight and turned his attention back to the monitor.He had to keep his voice the same.He had to keep his hands clasped tightly on the table.The change was so subtle, like a tiny crack in the cage that held his soul, but it happened.This change cannot be seen by anyone.When the electric shock made him tremble with pain, he pretended that he could get through it.

The monitors were playing the Elcetas Colonial Massacre again.He estimated that the video would be edited and stitched later.A sense of relief surged through Thiel's body, and he didn't have to start all over again.

He didn't kill the colonists, but he went to the scene of the massacre.

His foreign object detector picks up a distress message from the Colony Intercept.A young woman who appears to be just a teenage girl appears on screen.She begged nearby ships to come and rescue the survivors.Their environmental barrier is broken, and the time to stop the poisonous gas from attacking the planet's people is running out.

Tire's guards had warned him it was a trap.He knew they were right, but he was also sure that there were residents whose lives were at stake.Once in range, he spoke live with the young woman, making him even more convinced that they had to go.Suspecting that the colony is harboring terrorists, Syndicate guards launch a surprise attack, breaching the barrier and leaving the colony to die. "I don't care if it's a trap," he told his officers. "We cannot choose to sit by and let innocent children suffocate to death when we are able to help."

Unsurprisingly, that was a trap.All colonists are dead.The girl was a highly skilled digital composite of a security agent.The Syndicate's fleet obscured their readings with nearby heavy metal cargo satellites.It was too late when Tire started shouting out combat orders.

The cold memory drove him to continue reading, helping him tell one shameless lie after another, and he took on this heavy responsibility, admitting that from the moment the revolution began, most of the losses suffered by the group were his Responsibility.

Words scroll to the top of the screen.He waited for more words, his eyes stinging, his throat clogging with every breath.

"Okay, done," said the high-pitched voice.

"You can take the subject away." The sharp and tyrannical voice ordered.