S.H.A.D.E. [{ Completed }]✔ (#Wattys2018)

The Taste of Blood

8.

"No," I say, feeling indignant, "I will not answer your questions, I've only just begun asking you mine!"

He just told me that I had been kidnapped, had a chip inserted into my brain, and had all my memories taken from me, my whole entire identity.

I am in a stranger's body. This person who I am now, Ebony, is not supposed to exist. I am supposed to be chasing after that girl in the park.

A pang of longing squeezes my stomach.

Copper glances up from his clipboard at that moment, an intense look on his face. "What just happened?"

"What?" I snap at him, pissed beyond belief at my situation. Pissed that he is so damn calm while I am scrambling around mentally for any recognition of myself. But all I see is this blaring white room surrounding me.

This is me now.

"That feeling you just had, what triggered it?"

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the master of my soul, apparently."

He writes something in his notes.

"Could you stop doing that?" I growl. "What am I to you? Just an experiment? I'm a person!"

"You're a Shade," he says simply. "Now, I want you to rant off a series of five sentences." My face is as blank as this room. When I say nothing, he gives me one of his rare look ups from his notes, expectant. "Arbitrarily," he grunts, waving his hand as if I need a visual to understand.

"Why do I have to do that?"

"Just do it. Start at one."

I loll my head back, letting out a defeated sigh. Then I smile, thinking at random.

"One-- Copper is a massive psychopath."

He writes this down, unfazed.

"Two-- I'm convinced that Copper is a robot."

The corner of his mouth twitches, in annoyance or amusement, I have no idea.

"Three..." I'm running out of ideas and steam, so I just say, "... I wish this room was filled with memories of who I was."

I notice that Copper goes to say something, but thinks better of it. I let it go, just wanting to get this over with.

"Four-- John likes potatoes. Five-- Jane likes Popsicles."

Copper pauses his typing. He is careful not to look up at me, but I see the way his shoulders straighten ever so slightly. "And why did you choose those names, in particular?"

I cock my head at him, leaning back in the chair. "I don't know... John and Jane Doe? They are no one and everyone at the same time."

"You and your metaphors."

"That wasn't a metaphor."

"You connected yourself to them. That is a metaphor. This is a good thinking habit. It demonstrates intelligence, ways to link new ideas together, a mind that can adapt to new paths."

"More neurons for you to manipulate."

"I can't tamper with your neurological processes, but I can slow or speed them up. Even destroy them."

"Thanks for the reminder. Are we done here?" I tap my fingers impatiently.

"No. Now, think of a color. What is it?"

"White."

"Don't be lazy. Think."

I groan, irritated. "Yellow."