After long enough quarantine, the conditioning was complete and her feelings were repressed enough so that, when the shackles were released and she was set loose to roam the building unrestrained, she did not run away. The instinct to flee was solidly placed in a jar on Marayek’s shelf, contained and ready to be thrown away during a moment of rage, or the slightest hesitation on her part. She had become Gwen the Sanitized, the ultimate rag doll for self-indulgent men who have a tendency to ownership. A living sacrifice to all that is pure and loyal, lacking self; Gwen as much as she wanted to, could not speak against him. He had become her mascot, which maintained a solid position of “Not Too Sure Reality Exists”, and the only lifeline she held between “who-knows-what” and “reality”, holding the perimeter of “I hope Reality exists, because this Un-Reality really sucks”. 

 

The time between became known as a memory, a subjective result from over-exertion of mental, physical, and sexual energy. Of course, this is often known as abuse, but to Gwen at the time it seemed like a way out. A way out of the mundane, continually oppressive, always never having enough, hoping to get ahead. A way out of the history, the memories, the dreams I thought would be sooner, a way to navigate towards and get paid, she answered his calls, fingered the intercom, filed papers and organized the files, reorganized the files, scheduled his appointments and fucked him in the slow hours when they were alone in the office. Then they would go downstairs and really get to work. After she finished a few fake orgasms, and wiped off the remnants of his sleeping, stolid self, she walked to the console and signed in as MVK. The world was her playground, and she was its slave. Sans collar, sans chains; Open mouth and snore, open security and let me roar, she held the keys to a sleeping kingdom.

 

I’m thinking of a cavity, something in front of me, hold my thoughts. 300 baud arithmetic clouds my brain, slowly eating away. The transmission path is clear, “Can you hear me?” I am thinking of something white. Something unlike the others: Something truly unknown. Disowned from society, a renowned thief of sanctuary, known only as the, oh, I forgot. You were asking about my dream, “Oh the scheme of those guys, please now don’t surmise the meaning behind my words, it’s absurd to think that this all leads to an indictment, an incitement of the” And he pauses; breath forsaking throat, refusing to be absorbed, and a cough of phlegm, evacuating.