Saturday, 9 November 2013


I didn't manage to finish the work I was given today.

In line with the experiment Smith and Miles have concocted, I was supposed to burn away a small patch of 83's skin and administer an injection there. I couldn't do it. When I arrived, 83 was sitting up, no longer comatose, exactly as he was the first time I saw him. I started by following the instructions that were left for me. Maybe I thought it would be better if I was just mechanically following orders.

I shackled 83's arms to the wall, and ignited the blowtorch. When I touched the flame to 83's arm, he screamed horribly, and I realised I couldn't do it. I extinguished the flame, unshackled 83, and left him in his cell. He was making quiet, rasping noises, and I wondered if he knew about anything other than pain. I sat outside his cell, staring in.

I don't know what happens now. I can't do the work they want me to, and I don't think that'll be tolerated here. I'm in trouble.

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