Page 538 of Fated Mates of Breeder Prison
I concentrated on my breath, steadying it against the onslaught of my swirling surroundings.
It was more difficult to resist this time.
The images on the holo-screen were still blurry and disjointed, just out of my reach.
I could feel the strain of my mind trying to decipher them, the headache building behind my eyes.
The Supervisor’s voice echoed in my ears, an incessant drone of:
“What do you see, Ceara?”
But I fought back, retreating into the corners of my mind, away from the intrusion of the truth serum.
Thankfully, I could still reply with the same answer:
“Nothing.”
I gripped the chair tightly, my knuckles turning white under the strain.
All of it served to ground me, to keep me present even as I fought to stay away from the forefront of my consciousness.
I fought until I couldn’t anymore, until the darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, and I succumbed to unconsciousness.
When I came to, I was met with the sight of the Supervisor yelling at the Scientist.
His booming voice echoed around the room.
I squinted, determinedly blinking the blurry images into unfocus.
I didn’t want to see those images on the holo-screen.
Whatever purpose the Supervisor wanted me for, it could not be for anything good, and every day that I managed to resist him was a victory.
The Scientist looked even more frantic with his round goggle-like glasses, his many hands flitting nervously around the machine.
I watched as the Supervisor’s anger grew, his large form looming over the Scientist, his voice reaching a fever pitch.
It was clear that he wasn’t getting what he wanted, and he was far from pleased.
A cold dread settled in my gut.
If the Supervisor didn’t get what he wanted from me soon, he was going to take drastic action.
I had no illusions about what that meant for me.
Perhaps he would decide I wasn’t worth the trouble and have me executed.
The thought should have terrified me, but instead, it brought a strange sense of relief.
After all, who would mourn the death of a captive alien?
Who would care if I disappeared from existence?
I was alone, completely and utterly alone.
And maybe that was for the best.
Maybe death was the release I had been unknowingly yearning for.
