Monday, 11 November 2013


When I arrived at 83's cell, he was sitting on the bed. His skin was broken and bleeding, I guessed from the effort of getting up there. I almost went to get someone else - Smith, or Miles - but I didn't. 83 sat on the bed with his hands on his knees, his head down. I opened the cell and went in. 83 looked up at me with his single, milky eye.

I stood by the door, staring at him. 83 raised his arms, and I could hear his skin crackling and tearing. He held his left hand flat in front of his body and moved his fist over it. I realised he was miming writing. I was frightened. He made the writing gesture again; very carefully, I left the cell and got a pad of paper and a marker. I wasn't quite sure that I wanted to go near him, so I clipped the marker to the pad and slid it across the floor to 83's feet.

He bent to pick it up, and I felt bad about the pain it obviously caused. He took the marker, held it clumsily, and drew something on the pad. Then he slid it back to me; it was blood stained. The shaky writing on the pad said 'NO INJECTION'.  I was amazed, and nodded to 83. I went to give him back the pad, but he shook his head. His eye was already closing. It had obviously taken an extreme effort for him to write. I'll come back tomorrow. If his recovery continues, he might be able to tell me how he came to be here. Has he somehow recovered from brain damage? Or are the experiments here more sinister than I thought?

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