(no subject)

[Ten days ago.]

He's not entirely certain how much time has passed. The room itself has one chair, which is fastened to the floor and can't be moved. He's tried.

There's a cot, which folds into the wall, and a recess for other -- necessities -- that does the same.

Walls and floor and ceiling are all the same color -- the palest of blues -- and unbroken by even the smallest line, except when the door opens. There are no windows. Bright white light emanates from somewhere, evenly, but he can't find the source. It never fades, no matter the hour or the day.

It's been days, he thinks, but he can't tell how many any longer. Sometimes he sleeps until he wakes, and sometimes he's startled abruptly from sleep. There's food, at intervals, but he's not certain of the regularity. It's all the same as well, molded protein with no flavor to distinguish it.

Even the questions are always the same. He's lost track of how many times he's answered them. He's lost track of everything.

In effect, Gabriel Tam is slowly losing his grasp on reality.

99: Revelations

This time, when he gets the call about an Episode, Dr. Lin isn't making his rounds; he's at dinner. While lunch is segregated by block classes, most of the Academy eats the final meal of the day at the same time, and by and large together; although the Blue Hands never eat in front of the other staff, waiting until after they've vacated the Staff lunchroom.

He leaves his protein paste and canned beans and hurries. It's Lilli again, according to the tinny voice on his comm. He heads this time not to the large main dining hall, but to the Advanced Students's Mess, swiping his keycard at the electronic door to get in. She's made so much progress.

As he moves towards, once again he activates the listening device in his tie pin.