ｎｏｔｈｉｎｇ ｉｓ ｗｈａｔ ｉｔ ｓｅｅｍｓ ▄▀▄▀▄▀ ʀᴇᴠᴇʀɪᴇ. & ɪʀᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪɴᴇ

[reverie.]

𝒂 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌, 𝒑𝒔𝒚𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚   ʙ ʏ  ʀ ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴇ .  ᴀ ɴ ᴅ  ɪ ʀ ᴏ ɴ  ᴀ ɴ ᴅ  ᴡ ɪ ɴ ᴇ  ​

 

[reverie.]

..

JANE ACKERMAN   CLINICAL TRIALS COORDINATOR   ᴀ ᴍ ʙ ɪ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴄ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ  &  ᴋ ɪ ɴ ᴅ  ⦗ 29 ⦘​ Jane couldn't get his words out of her mind. Sometimes my body twitches involuntarily and I spill my coffee or drop my phone. At first, it didn't happen that often, but lately, it has happened more frequently. I mean, I almost cut off my finger when I was chopping onions the other day. Unless they were giving these servicemembers some sort of medication she wasn't aware of, she could only think of one explanation as to why his body would start doing this—and she did not like it. How long had she worked at Covepsy? It felt like ages ago since Emond Poltier recruited her, but it couldn't be more than three, maybe four months. How many servicemembers had she followed up with and interviewed since then? Twelve? Fourteen? The majority of them had mentioned nightmares, and a few of them had experienced light headaches. But no one had ever mentioned any physical side effects. At least not until now. It made Jane wonder if the others weren't telling the truth, or if their simulations were somehow different. She knew the program wasn't ready to launch yet—they were still working on perfecting it—but unless something had gone terribly wrong, it still didn't explain Ryan's side effect. She knew she wouldn't be able to rest before she'd gotten answers, which was why she knocked on Emond's door only minutes after her interview this Ryan was over. Not waiting for him to answer, she opened the door and let herself in. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I just have a question," she said, her tone indicating that she was not sorry and that she was not exactly pleased with whatever she had recently discovered. Because if her intuition was right, they were experimenting with electroshock within the simulations, and that was not something she would like to be a part of. "What exactly do you put them through during the simulations?" It was obvious that she knew something she probably wasn't supposed to. "You're not hurting them, are you?" She let out a shaky breath, before adding, "I thought you were supposed to interrogate them? Not torture them." It sounded like she was accusing him of doing it, even though she had no solid proof. The sole purpose of the simulations was to prepare soldiers and spies for interrogations with the enemy—at least that was what she'd been told—but now she couldn't shake the feeling that they were doing more than that. But why would they? It didn't make any sense. Why would they hurt their own people, even if it wasn't real? As far as she knew, they just put the subjects in a situation where they would encounter an enemy, and they would ask them questions the enemy was likely to ask. Nothing more, nothing less. Ryan's side effects didn't add up to this, and Jane wanted to know why. ​

dialogue: 7f4f53

 

[Iron and Wine]

..

EMOND POLTIER   SENIOR SOCIAL ENGINEERING RESEARCH MANAGER   ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ɪ ᴘ ᴜ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  &  ᴅ ᴇ ᴄ ᴇ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  ⦗ 55 ⦘​ Rumors circulated through even the compartmentalized offices of the tall white aluminum-paneled government building that one of the senior scientists was let go. However, details were scant, as the laboratories were several clearance levels above Jane Ackerman and her peers. Corporate required dossiers be drawn up for backup personnel to critical positions, but despite pouring days into the effort, Emond was rapidly coming to the conclusion that their new clinical trials coordinator was not easily replaced. Glancing up with perpetually arched brow, Emond set down his glasses and leaned away from his computer. “Not a bother. I was just reviewing the first round of servicemember feedback. Nothing but good things to say about you. You could at least make one upset…so it doesn’t look like I’m doctoring results.” His strained smile was always sphinx-like, somewhere between forced through concentration and teasing with bait. That she’d been inquisitive at first was to be expected, but direct questions after falling into the rhythm at work meant something spooked her. Ensuring the uniterrupted operations and information security of the NEUR-CON program was Emond’s primary concern, but Jane had been his special project, personally recruiting her from the pharmaceutical sector a few years post-graduate school. “Well…” he tempered his response, unflinching gaze looking up at the blonde. “Harm is relative, but no, we’re not causing lasting harm. Keep it in perspective, Jane. In operations training, a servicemember might be subjected to enhanced interrogation strategies. Now, we know waterboarding can pose respiratory health challenges. I’ve even seen a man’s cornea detach from his retina during enhanced interrogation. Your work, our work on NEUR-CON, is preventing all sorts of undue harm with our research participants.” It was not the first time Emond reframed an employee’s concerns in light of the alternative. Tapping a finger against his desk, Emond considered for a moment. Jane was thorough. Once she started a project, she saw it through. However, that same tenacity could become problematic if she continued down this vein unchecked. “We also have a comprehensive safety network, like you know. Shuttles for patients uncomfortable driving after a session. Physical check-ins. Psychological evaluations. A line for the participants to call with concerns or questions. Your notes, of course, have been critical. So, I’d be hard pressed to think of how a participant could suffer lasting harm…” Raising his brows, Emond exhaled and rose from his deck decisively. His default was to ask questions and research a matter exhaustively, but once committed to a course of action, he could be very…persuasive. “Why don’t you see for yourself? Experience an introductory simulation exercise with the NEUR-CON? It’s not standard procedure, but what’s the point of my position if I can’t pull some strings? You’re doing an excellent job, Jane, and if we can put your mind at ease, I don’t see a problem with it…” ​

dialogue: 446669

 

[reverie.]

..

JANE ACKERMAN   CLINICAL TRIALS COORDINATOR   ᴀ ᴍ ʙ ɪ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴄ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ  &  ᴋ ɪ ɴ ᴅ  ⦗ 29 ⦘​ If she'd been in his office on other terms, she might have appreciated the praise he gave her. But right now, she didn't. Jane knew she was doing a good job; she knew everyone liked her. She did everything right, everything by the book, everything that was expected of her. And up until twenty minutes ago, everything had gone according to plan. No one had experienced anything out of the ordinary, everyone seemed fine—or at least they told her they were. So, that was what she reported. Jane knew everything there was to know about NEUR-CON—or at least she thought she did until Ryan told her about his recent struggles, so what Emond told her was not news to her. And yet the way he phrased it didn't sit right. We're not causing lasting harm. Did that mean that they were causing them harm? It certainly sounded like it. "I know how important our work is, Emond. You don't have to remind me." Her tone was sharper than she'd intended. "But that's not—Oh please," she drew out, getting frustrated by his words. "Don't talk to me about the safety program. No one seemed to care about that until I started asking questions. Without me, there wouldn't be anyone answering that goddamn phone and you know it." When she first started working there, no one seemed to care about the servicemembers as individuals, only the results they provided. "The only reason my notes even exist is because I care about these people. Which is why—" She paused for a moment, before telling him what was bothering her. "When someone tells me they are experiencing severe side effects, I want to know why. So, I ask again, what exactly are you putting them through when they're in the simulation? Do you torture them?" The young woman looked sweet, some might even consider her weak, but Jane could be a badass when she wanted to. And if there was one thing she truly cared about it was the servicemembers' well-being. Ryan was only a few years older than her and perhaps the most attractive servicemember she'd encountered. It would be a shame if something bad happened to him. Of course, she would have done the same for any of the others, but there was just something about Ryan that made her extra mad on his behalf. What exactly had they put him through? She wasn't allowed to ask; he wasn't allowed to tell. But Emond, he could tell her—if he wanted to. When he offered to show her—to put her in a simulation—she didn't know whether to be grateful or terrified. While she was curious about the simulations, she had no interest in being a servicemember herself, even if it was just for a session. "I don't want an introduction," she eventually said, crossing her arms under her breasts. "I want a demonstration of the simulation Ryan Forrester went through the last time he was here." She knew she was in no place to make demands, but it was worth a shot. If she knew what he had been through, perhaps she'd be able to figure out why his body was reacting the way it did. And then she could leave out electroshock for good—if it turned out that wasn't the case. But if it was. . . She tried not to think about that scenario. Besides, Emond would never put her through that.​

dialogue: 7f4f53

 

[Iron and Wine]

..

EMOND POLTIER   SENIOR SOCIAL ENGINEERING RESEARCH MANAGER   ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ɪ ᴘ ᴜ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  &  ᴅ ᴇ ᴄ ᴇ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  ⦗ 55 ⦘​ When his usual platitudes failed to deter the headstrong woman, Emond fell back on his mentorly face, waiting with the hint of a cheshire cat smirk for Jane’s tirade to run out of steam. For a moment, his jaw clenched, but otherwise he remained the picture of calm and collected. Emond began nodding as if in agreement with Jane’s motives, but when she directly asked, he had to suck in air between his teeth, “You know we can’t discuss specifics, Jane, especially in an unsecure setting. But I never would have recruited you to a project that I felt crossed your morals.” Glancing over the blonde’s body language, head slightly cocked, arms folded adamantly under the soft swell of her breasts, he realized she wouldn’t be swayed. “A demonstration? It’s…well, it’s highly irregular… And this will help put your concerns to bed?” Emond’s wheels slowly began spinning over the implications of someone like Jane on the periphery of Covepsy’s covert research being given access. Her normally commendable tenacity could create a problem for him were she to use privileged knowledge against the company’s interests. Sighing as if defeated, Emond nodded. “Alright. Ryan…Forrester…” he repeated the name as if he had any idea who that was, looking over his computer screen to help jog his memory. “The helicopter pilot? He’s a Tier 1 operator,” he said after a moment, referring to military personnel conducting the most covert sensitive missions, often the first ones to respond. “We use a code ranking system for levels of intensity within the simulation. He’s at 6. We typically start at 1 when beginning the simulations, and theoretically it goes up to 10 though we’ve never taken it there in human studies.” Removing his glasses, the senior manager rested his elbows on the desk and folded his hands over each other. Emond didn’t ask if she was sure, didn’t explain that what she was asking for she might not be ready for, didn’t second guess Jane’s resolution. Just met her gaze for several tense heartbeats. Then he pressed the intercom down to the laboratory, “Hello Rodrigo, this is Mr. Poltier. Let’s get the NEUR-CON up and running for a Q&A check by our trials coordination team.” “Sir?” Confusion registered in the voice on the other end. “Am I allowed to…?” “Just get the system up and running. The program is Alt-Vista-Epsilon that is being used for Sergeant Ryan Forrester. Same settings, please. Get it set up for us and I’ll take care of the simulation administration.” Once Emond clicked off the intercom, he offered a falsely nervous smile towards Jane, tucking his glasses into his pocket as he stood up. “Let’s take an elevator down to the laboratory level?” As they walked, Emond explained the basics of what she could expect, “We can playback exactly what he experienced, but that is more like watching a hazy video. It’s not a direct experience. What you’re asking for… that involves engaging with the same operational parameters as his simulation, but that may express differently for each individual. For instance, the simulation might be designed to present your favorite food or something you fear… for this pilot those might be tacos or fear of failure… but those will manifest differently for you.” Swiping his black card across the RFID scanner, he moved into the elevator and pressed L1. Soon they were descending below ground level. “There’s a strict protocol for your safety. You’ll wear a mesh cap electroencephalogram to monitor electric activity in the brain, and you’ll be set up with electrode patches for an EKG to track your heart’s electric signals. You’ll need to remove your shirt because the patches must attach to clean skin. Any metal needs to be removed. If your bra has a metal underwire you’ll need to remove that as well. Metal IUDs are fine, as the imaging we use is far less than a MRI magnet. You’ll also have a pulse meter on your finger and a blood pressure cuff. Once we have your baseline, we administer the ketamine mixture and bring the visor down to begin the simulation…” The elevator shifted underfoot as it slowed down incrementally before settling on the restricted laboratory floor, and the doors rolled open to reveal a security desk. Once Emond signed in with the guard, he handed Jane a grey temporary clearance pass on a metal chain – it wouldn’t give access to any of the magnetically locked doors, but at least it would put security personnel at ease. “We’re headed in there,” he gestured through interior windows showing a dimly illuminated space with a futuristic-looking dentist chair surrounded by read-outs, gimbel arms, and computer systems. ​

dialogue: 446669

 

[reverie.]

..

JANE ACKERMAN   CLINICAL TRIALS COORDINATOR   ᴀ ᴍ ʙ ɪ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴄ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ  &  ᴋ ɪ ɴ ᴅ  ⦗ 29 ⦘​ She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and throw the words right back at him. You know we can't discuss specifics, Jane. Yes, she knew. She was well aware of that little detail; it had been drilled into her head time and time again. Whenever she wanted answers, whenever she asked one question too many, and now, when she demanded to know why Ryan was experiencing side effects similar to those you'd get after suffering from electroshock torture. She wasn't sure if she should believe Emond regarding morality, but she certainly hoped he was right. "Yes," she said sharply over his words. "A demonstration." It couldn't possibly be so hard, could it? How hard could it be to pull up the same simulation and let her experience it? "The helicopter pilot, yes," she confirmed. "I just want to see if I can connect some dots as to why he's experiencing what he does. No one has ever mentioned anything like it, and I am afraid he might be suffering from a stroke we don't know about." That was a big ass lie—Jane believed no such a thing—but Emond didn't need to know that. "It would be a shame if we had to remove him from the program, don't you agree?" He probably should be taken off the program, but then Jane would most likely never see him again, and she was hoping to at least see him once before he was removed. She was always looking forward to their sessions. With Ryan, it had always felt more like a conversation, not an interview. Jane understood the ranking system of intensity of the simulation, but she couldn't possibly know what each level contained. If Ryan was at level 6, and no one had made it to 10, she wondered where the others were at. Ryan couldn't be the only one at this level? But if he was, his new side effects would make sense. If level 6 was what caused this, she could ask them not to go further with him. She would tell them that this is the level of intensity his body can handle before his body starts to change outside the simulation. Wasn't that her job? To make sure their servicemembers remained safe and healthy? Ryan was neither, if these side effects didn't stop soon. As soon as Emond clicked off the intercom, she said, "Thank you." And this time, she meant it. She could hear it in Rodrigo's voice, that this wasn't standard protocol and Emond had just made an exception for her if not broken a few rules. Little did she know that she probably would have been better off without it. Jane realized rather quickly that she should have asked for more details before demanding a demonstration. It was too late to change her mind now. She'd look like a goddamn fool. It sounded simple enough, but she was not a servicemember—she had no idea what she was signing up for or what to even expect. "I am sure I can handle it," she said, but she didn't sound too convincing. She followed Emond into the elevator that would take them down to the laboratory level, trying not to show him how much she regretted her decision while he explained to her what would happen once they were down there. If only he had told her this before she demanded a demonstration. He was basically telling her that she'd have to be naked in order to go through with it, and the thought of Emond—or anyone working in the lab, really—seeing her small, perky breasts was making her sick. "That's uh—thorough," she muttered, obviously affected by his words. But what could she say? Take me back upstairs, I don't want to do this, after all? No. She had to see this through, even if it meant stripping down and potentially facing some of her fears. Besides, how bad could it be? It'd probably be over before she knew it. If his words on the way down there hadn't spooked her enough, the chair located in the center of the room he pointed at certainly did. Her stomach turned as she took in the sight of it and everything surrounding it. If she didn't know any better, she'd guess that they performed some sort of advanced surgery on whoever was stupid enough to sit down on it. "Is that. . Do I need to—" She swallowed hard, not taking her eyes off the chair. The blonde followed Emond into the room, the fancy chair looking even more frightening up close. "And this is the only way, yes?" She didn't tell him that she thought it didn't look safe. Or that the thought of climbing onto it terrified her. If there was another way, would he even have shared it with her? Probably not. Taking her eyes off the chair, she focused on her mentor instead while unbuttoning her blouse. "Where do I put my clothes?" she asked, trying her best to seem unfazed by the fact that her bra had to go next. ​

dialogue: 7f4f53

 

[Iron and Wine]

..

EMOND POLTIER   SENIOR SOCIAL ENGINEERING RESEARCH MANAGER   ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ɪ ᴘ ᴜ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  &  ᴅ ᴇ ᴄ ᴇ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  ⦗ 55 ⦘​ Though Ryan Forrester’s troubling experiences were far outside the norm of what other participants reported, there was a intangible commonality in what lurked unspoken behind his eyes. Mostly, it seemed to be that specter which followed service personnel who’d been deployed in hot zones, but if there was even an inkling that it was more than that… Emond’s response to Ryan’s name offered little illumination. They were all just trial participants from Emond’s perspective, bestowed with names only when it was convenient or necessary to make a statement. Unlike Jane, the research manager did not know each participant as an individual, with the ready excuse that he didn’t have enough time. In truth, he didn’t care to. It was the NEUR-CON system and getting it approved for larger deployment with their military contracts that consumed his focus. Still, Emond couldn’t help but offer a begrudging smile at how deftly Jane’s logic bobbed and weaved, scrabbling to hold the withdrawal of Ryan from the program as some form over leverage. He only raised his brows higher, but didn’t make a reply. There was something about this particular patient that had hooked Jane in and brought her relentlessly inquisitive mind to bear. He’d have to look into Ryan Forrester closer. For now, he had to navigate the delicate matter of bringing Jane into the restricted lower level, making sure she saw what she needed to see…and nothing more. “Oh, yes, it should begin very manageable. And if it ever gets too much, you can always signal and we’ll pull you out of the simulation.” His reassurances, like so much of how the man communicated, sounded genuine and yet were full of conditional terms. “Of course. We work with some of the most talented personnel in the field, so their safety is our top priority.” Emond said cooly, offering a brief smile towards Jane before directing his attention to the elevator doors. Going down, down. “Oh, uh, if you’ve got a metal zipper on your…” he gestured to his slacks, “skirt , then that will need to be removed too. Metal interferes with the electric signal monitoring and the magnetic resonance imaging. You don’t have any metal fillings?” In just a few seconds of elevator conversation, the floor was dropping out from underneath her as Jane’s commitment landed her facing the uncomfortable reality: She’d be stripped down to her panties in the machine. Reassuring a man in a white coat with the name tag ‘Rodrigo’ that he would handle everything going forward, Emond studied a readout display confirming the machine was operating within normal parameters. With a raise of his brows, he glanced toward Jane who seemed to have turned a whiter shade of pale looking at the sleek chrome and black chair. “Well, the core of the NEUR-CON is actually biometrics and programming, but yes. That is the device.” It was like a futuristic hybrid between a dentist’s chair, a gynecologist’s examination chair with separate hinging legs, and a new age MRI machine. “To experience the same simulation as the pilot…Ryan? Yes. Well, I’m not giving you the full experience exactly…” He hesitated as if he were reneging on the agreement he just made with the headstrong blonde, before Emond gestured to a series of cables and cuffs. “During his session Ryan, like all of our participants, would be connected to an advanced lie detector machine. It’s quite essential for their training in resisting interrogation, but… well, in addition to monitoring pulse, pupil dilation, and galvanic skin response… we also monitor contraction of the perineum. These are collectively what the agent is trying to fool, and it gives us a deeper picture of their mental state during the simulation. I didn’t think you’d mind deviating a bit from normal protocol, unless…” Emond raised his brows as if he were letting the choice be fully in Jane’s court. If she dithered now, however, it would cast her earlier insistence on experiencing exactly what Ryan had in a hypocritical light. Gesturing to a bin below a table with a syringe, vial of ketamine, and a saline drip, Emond offered a restrained smile. “Yes, any jewelry, your blouse, your skirt, your bra can all go in the bin there. If you need to use the restroom or get some water first, now is the time.” Immediately glancing away, he exchanged a few words with Rodrigo before the heavyset tech moved over to a separate workstation to monitor the computers. Emond made sure everything had loaded in correctly from the Alt-Vista-Epsilon program, and synched up the biometrics as a soft electric hum filled the room. Adjusting a dimmer switch, he brought the lights in the room down just enough to soften the eyes. The NEUR-CON machine, however, was underlit by a ring of yellow lights. “Once you’re settled on the chair, I’ll connect the EEG to your head and attach the diodes for the EKG. Normally biometrics are elevated to begin with, but when we get your baseline, then we lower the visor in place and there’s a two-stage injection. The first comes when the visor is lowered. The second is a ‘continuation dose’ that’s only applied if necessary about 30 minutes into the experience.” Looking up from the monitors, Emond pivoted on his stool to watch Jane, giving her a moment to ask any final questions as the looming chair dominanted the space like a black hole. There wasn’t even a changing space in the laboratory, forcing the blonde to weather the humiliation of undressing in front of her mentor. ​

dialogue: 446669

 

[reverie.]

..

JANE ACKERMAN   CLINICAL TRIALS COORDINATOR   ᴀ ᴍ ʙ ɪ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴄ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ  &  ᴋ ɪ ɴ ᴅ  ⦗ 29 ⦘​ This was a mistake. Jane would never admit it—not to Emond—but she regretted asking for a demonstration. And now, he was making it even harder for her to get herself out of the situation. The only way out of it was through. And the bright woman had a feeling she wouldn't get out of it unscathed. "That's not what we agreed," she said, putting up her best efforts to sound determined. At this point though, he must have been able to read her body language. How her eyes flickered towards the frightening chair every now and then and she dreaded the thought of getting into it. Her fingers trembled slightly when she unbuttoned her blouse, and even though she wasn't exactly jumping at the opportunity to show him her body, stripping down to her panties wasn't her biggest fear right now. Her pulse was steadily increasing, and he would soon find out just how scared she was—the machine wouldn't lie. "I want to go through Ryan's simulation. Start to finish," she said, her tone never faltering. "Nothing more, nothing less." She knew she would probably regret it—a part of her already did—but it was too late to back out. Jane could almost hear the challenge in his words. He wanted her to take the bait, to agree to a different—an easier—simulation, but she was braver than that. Perhaps he wanted to spook her into not doing it at all. And perhaps it would have worked too, if she hadn't been so goddamn stubborn. "No deviations, all right? I want to know what Ryan went through." She slid the fabric of her blouse down her shoulders and placed it in the bin under the table. Unzipping her skirt, she let it fall to the floor before she picked it up. "That won't be necessary," she said. "I'm ready." She really wasn't. Even if she knew what she was getting herself into—which she didn't—she wouldn't have been prepared. Jane stepped out of her high heels, removed her necklace and earrings, then her slim watch, and at last, her bra. She quickly covered her breasts with one arm, even though she knew it was only a matter of time before she'd have to drop it. It was not the temperature in the room that made her shiver. Jane walked the short distance to the chair in only her lace panties, her eyes studying every inch of it as if trying to figure out exactly how it all worked. Her eyes lingered on the leg- and armrests before she climbed onto the seat. The leather was cold against her bare skin. If she thought she'd felt exposed before, it was nothing compared to what she felt when she sat down. The lighting above certainly didn't help. Jane's body was almost flawless. She wasn't tall by any means—not even wearing heels—but she was lean with small curves in the right places. Her breasts were perhaps a size smaller than average, but they complemented her slim waist very well. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her and yet she wanted to cover herself up. She might have felt less ashamed if it hadn't been Emond sitting in the front row to her humiliation. She couldn't hide her discomfort even if she tried when she glanced over at her mentor. "How long does this usually take?" She should have asked that question a lot sooner. In fact, there were a lot of things she still didn't know; things she wanted to know, and yet. . . Her last question was, "I won't experience any—" She swallowed her fears. "Pain once you pull me out again, right?" Whatever she experienced during the simulation, it would all vanish once she was pulled back to reality. That was how it worked, wasn't it? Jane just wanted him to confirm it. That way she could prepare herself for the worst, and know that it was just temporary. If Ryan could handle it, so could she. Jane refused to prove Emond right. It was obvious that he didn't think she could handle it, that she needed modifications, but she'd show him how tough she was. She could handle anything. Or so she thought. ​

dialogue: 7f4f53

 

[Iron and Wine]

..

EMOND POLTIER   SENIOR SOCIAL ENGINEERING RESEARCH MANAGER   ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ɪ ᴘ ᴜ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  &  ᴅ ᴇ ᴄ ᴇ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  ⦗ 55 ⦘​ “Of course.” Emond nodded with all the feigned deference of a crocodile as he drew up the biometric monitoring data on one of the monitors, glancing at his mentee as the lines of stubborn determination writ large upon her brow. Though Jane had turned her back to him for a modicum of decency, he had a full view as the lithe blonde undressed, forced to contend with being far more exposed than a mere EKG would require. To her credit, Jane’s voice never once waivered, never once betrayed her even if her trembling fingers did. “Understood. No deviations, Jane. You’ll engage with the simulation on exactly the same terms as Mr. Forrester did. Once it has begun, there’s no easy way to intervene while preserving the experience. If your vitals start to become concerning, however, there’s a counteragent,” he gestured to a smaller needle and vial, “which will help bring you out faster. However, the counteragent does tend to scramble recollection of events while using the NEUR-CON. Sort of like a vague dream you can’t piece together.” Again, he set up another ‘out’ for the younger blonde to take should she feel overwhelmed, knowing full well the concern and doubt he was expressing would be heard as if he were testing her resolve. After all, that same drive and unwillingness to back down was one of the traits Emond most admired and made him recommend Jane for the position. Offering a firm smile and nodding toward the ominous sleekchair, he shifted his attention from the disrobed trials coordinator trying to preserve a semblance of modesty back to the computer monitors. The chair - more like a table with its angle being nearly parallel to the ground – contoured to Jane’s back, encouraging her hips into a slightly tucked position rather than being perfectly straight. From the way her legs pressed against the leg-rests it was evident they were constructed to swivel open like a gynecologist’s examination chair. Similarly, the arm-rests could be pivoted to change the angle her arms extended from her body. Bright light streamed down from above, washing her body in clinical white illumination. “The IV drip takes about 20-30 minutes to kick in, and I’ll finish wiring you in during that time. The simulation itself seems to run 60 to 90 minutes for most participants.” Rolling over a ketamine drip, Emond stood over Jane for a moment as he got several alcohol pads prepared and slid a pair of blue nitrile gloves on. Clipping a blood pressure monitor over one of her fingers, he then tested her right arm for a vein, the slippery sensation of the nitrile material haunting her forearm. “There’s often a sense of time dilation within the simulation experience – seeming like it has been several hours when in fact only one has passed, or simply losing track of time. A little pinch…” He slid the IV needle into Jane’s arm with trained precision, taping it in place. After a moment there was a sensation of something slightly cool flowing into her bloodstream, but soon that was barely noticeable. “How is that?” Moving towards her head, the pock-marked face of her mentor was upside down as he readied a black mesh cap attached with diodes. “This is for the electroencephalogram to monitor your brain activity,” he slid it over Jane’s hair carefully, leaving it snugly wrapped around her while also keeping hair out of her face, like a strange swimming cap. Gesturing to one of the monitors which he flipped around so Jane could see, Emond pointed to a live graph and a computer rendered image of Jane’s brain. “There you are. Brighter areas are points of activation. A lot of prefrontal cortex activity is normal when anxiety is elevated. To answer your question…” He opened one of the alcohol pads, looking down at Jane’s exposed body with a certain appreciation crossing the lines of what was appropriate. “There are liminal phases entering the simulation and coming out of it, but any physical pain or discomfort will not continue beyond the session. However, you may experience autonomic reactions in your body during the simulation… uncontrolled twitching or limbs moving involuntarily. It can be disconcerting, but it’s completely normal. I’ll be strapping you in so – for example – you don’t accidentally twist the needle or disrupt the diodes gathering your biometrics.” Nothing about Emond’s safety talk left Jane with much reassurance. “This might be a bit cold,” he offered as he brought the alcohol pad along Jane’s clavicles, the sleeve of his dark shirt grazing her nipple. He wiped under her left breast at the top of her ribcage, and then dangerously close to just above her left areola. “Perhaps they didn’t run an EKG during your physical? Typically it’s reserved for older employees, but it gives us essential information about your heart function.” He wiped down Jane’s abdomen to the left and right of her belly button in discrete small movements till he stopped at the hem of her lace panties. “I’ll also be attaching a TENS device to your abdomen that both registers abdominal fluctation and if you do develop a muscle cramp –it’s unlikely, but I’ve seen two cases – it can deliver very low level e-stim to soften the muscular contractions.” Silently attaching the white sticky pads to specific spots on Jane’s body, Emond word with the sort of cold precision that typified his work, making sure each pad stuck correctly despite the slightly slimy gel against her skin. He then attached the diodes for the EKG heart monitor and the TENS device on her abdomen. It wasn’t electroshock. It wasn’t. A TENS device was different. It wasn’t. Drip drip. The IV sent ketamine into her veins at steady intervals. “If you have any nausea, notify me right away - there’s an anti-nausea medication I have on standby if you need it.” Pointing to a screen, he smiled that cheshire smile at Jane, “And there’s your heart rate data. You’re feeling anxious?” It was more than an understatement, more like a blatant lie, as Jane’s biometrics were jumping erratically all over the map. Pulse fluttering. Blood pressure too high. Pulling a strap from the arm of the chair, he secured it around Jane’s right arm, keeping it pinned to the arm-rest, before moving to her other side to repeat the same restraint on her other arm. She wasn’t just trapped by her own stubornness, now she was physically trapped. “I’m going to lower the NEUR-CON visor,” he gestured to the white and black face mask that looked like something out of a virtual reality exhibition hall that hovered above the chair. “I want you to get a feel for it physically first. The simulation is not running yet, alright? Here we go. If you have any claustrophobia, we can stop.” Pressing a button there was a disconcerting electronic whine before the face mask lowered down, foam pressing lightly against the sides of Jane’s face until her eyes were completely covered. It should have been entirely black, but there was a very faint sense of light moving at the edges, as if there were indistinct silhouettes playing in her peripheral vision. “OK, pupil dilation online. Breath tracking online. You’re looking good, Jane. Part of your initial synchronization within the simulation will feel like a lie detector test. I’ll be asking you very easy true/false statements to establish a baseline.” As he spoke, Emond brought up a neck brace under Jane’s neck, clearly designed to keep her from involuntarily twisting her head out of the visor. “Ah, so let me attach the perineum monitor. One moment…” His nitrile covered hand rested on Jane’s shoulder for a heartbeat before Emond moved to the side. Pulling straps from the chair, Emond secured them just above Jane’s knees, keeping her legs restrained to the leg-rests. A disconcerting electronic buzz came from the chair before the leg-rests began sliding apart, not just to the side but at an angle causing her knees to bend slightly. They didn’t stop, instead opening wider and wider, enough so that Emond could practically stand in between her parted legs. He was counting on Jane’s stubborn pride keeping her from backing down, even as any semblance of control was stripped away from the erudite employee. “Apologies for the discomfort…” After a moment of a few mechanical sounds, Emond brought a gimble arm with a small black rubbery sphere between Jane’s legs… Drip drip. Drip drip. Blackness was threatening to swallow the edges of her visual consciousness. Gripping the edge of her panties, Emond pulled them to the side, utterly exposing the blonde without any sign of remorse or hesitation. He directed the small black rubbery sphere to lightly contact against her sensitive perineum between her ass and her cunt. Immediately, he released the edge of her panties which slid back mostly into place, save for the disruption of the rubbery sphere. Sounds echoed as if there were other people’s voices somewhere in the concrete compound, but the language wasn’t English. Kazakh maybe? A dialect of Russian or Chinese? Indistinct shapes were moving in the darkness. Her hands were…were they zip-tied to the chair? “Let’s start slow. Please state your full name.” It was Emond’s voice, but the way his voice carried in the space was all wrong. The echoes were of a different nature entirely: “Testing the TENS device, three, two, one…” Jane’s abdomen and hips quaked involuntarily, causing the black rubbery sphere to rub against her, or rather for her to rub against it. “What is your height and weight?” “And for establishing a negative baseline, can you say: ‘I am a Russian intelligence agent’, please.” Emond was there with her, but it was as if he wasn’t sitting by her side but standing closer to her feet. Drip drip. The machine didn’t lie. “Now Jane, it is important you answer the next two questions honestly. If you lie there will be consequences…” A disconcerting electronic buzz simmered in the darkness of the detention cell. Detention cell? “Are you sexually attracted to Sergeant Ryan Forrester? Yes or no, please.” The buzzing was intensifying like some sort of charge building in the background. Emond was present in his same clothes near her feet with his arms crossed, a clipboard in one hand, and a well of shadow capturing his eyes. “And what would you like to do with Mr. Forrester’s cock? Please be specific and honest, for your sake…”​

dialogue: 446669

 

[reverie.]

..

JANE ACKERMAN   CLINICAL TRIALS COORDINATOR   ᴀ ᴍ ʙ ɪ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴄ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ  &  ᴋ ɪ ɴ ᴅ  ⦗ 29 ⦘​ To say that Jane was having regrets would be a major understatement. If it wasn't for her goddamn pride, she'd be out of that fucking examination chair the second her ass hit the cushion. Emond's speech didn't exactly calm her nerves either. In fact, she was almost positive that he was actively trying to make her change her mind about it all. Oh, he'd like that, wouldn't he? For her to admit that she was wrong; that she was too scared to do this. But Jane wasn't just scared; she was fucking terrified. This was nothing like she had expected it to be—and they hadn't even started. No one had told Jane about all the preparations that needed to be done before the simulation. Nor had anyone told her that there was basically no way out of it. Not that she had doubts or anything; she was pretty certain she'd be able to see it through, but the fact that there was not a quick way to snap out of it was a big concern. She didn't allow herself to think of all the things that could go wrong, instead, she convinced herself that this was going to go perfectly well. What could possibly go wrong? Emond must have done this a hundred times already—he knew what he was doing. Jane quickly realized that that might not be a good thing. Absolutely everything he said made her more anxious. Being exposed certainly didn't help either. Still grateful for wearing her panties, she might as well have been naked. And that goddamn chair, that didn't really resemble a chair. . . with the armrests pointed outwards, she was in no position to cover her breasts or any other part of her body. And the leg rests were even worse. She'd never liked going to the gynecologist, and this was no different. If anything, it was worse. Because at least the gynecologist wasn't someone she knew very well, and it was always a woman. Never in her wildest dreams had Jane imagined that Emond would see so much of her. She was at his mercy—exposed and vulnerable. She tried not to let it show, but God knew how uncomfortable she was. She tried to calm herself down by telling herself that it was only for an hour, maybe one and a half, but that didn't change the fact that it might feel like more. Emond was no liar; she trusted his words. She did not doubt for a second that this would be a new experience for her. Surely, he would guide her through the simulation and make sure nothing went wrong. He was her mentor, after all. Jane didn't say much while he prepared her for the simulation, but that was mainly because she didn't trust her voice to hold. What if it trembled? Broke? She wasn't particularly interested in giving away the fact that she was on the verge of having a mental breakdown. But when he directed a question directly at her, she muttered, "It's all right." But was it really? Jane was starting to second-guess this whole thing. But backing out now was not an option. That ship had sailed when she set foot in Emond's office and demanded a demonstration. Now she could only hope that she'd survive it, and that she never had to do this ever again. But she didn't know that the weird swimming cap-looking thing was only the beginning of her discomfort. When she listened to him explaining how he had to strap her in and what might happen if he didn't, a part of her wanted to give up. This was a lot to take in. She watched her brain activity on the screen before she blinked up at him, all confused. Was all of this really necessary? They were sedating her, weren't they? Wasn't that supposed to prevent her body from moving? She might be mentally present in some sense during the simulation, but she wouldn't be awake—not really, anyway. The thought of being strapped to that chair—or whatever it was—terrified her. Yet she said nothing; she just watched him do his work. When the cold pad touched her skin, she inhaled sharply. Ironic, considering he'd just warned her about it. He wiped dangerously close to her nipples, and he didn't even seem fazed by the fact that he was, and a part of her wondered if it was on purpose or if it was a mere coincidence. Emond had never been anything but professional, and he didn't seem to be anything less now. She convinced herself that the man knew what he was doing and she was in good hands. He'd done this before. He knew the procedures. He knew the risks. If this was truly necessary, who was she to tell him otherwise? "And there's your heart rate data. You're feeling anxious?" ​ The biometrics spoke for themselves, but that didn't prevent her from replying. "Not really," she lied. She was beyond anxious. More like scared shitless. Her biometrics didn't exactly calm down when he started strapping her arms to the armrests either. "Are you sure those are necessary?" she asked, feeling a slight panic in her chest when she tested the restraints after he'd secured them. There was no way she'd be getting free of those, not even if she had her full strength. The TENS device felt alien on her lower stomach. In fact, this whole situation felt alien to her. And that didn't change when he lowered the mask onto her face. She wondered if he noticed the terror in her eyes before they disappeared. Jane had never been claustrophobic, but this was certainly triggering. "No, no, I'm good," she lied again. Nothing was going to make her change her mind about this, not when she'd gotten this far. The only way out now was through the simulation. She had to finish it. "What are you doing?" she asked, panic latched to her voice. Whatever he secured around her neck made it almost impossible for her to move her head. Why hadn't he told her about all of these restraints beforehand? He'd mentioned strapping her in, but this was so much more than what she'd imagined. He was basically immobilizing her. And the thought of that was terrifying while she could still see what he was doing, but now that she was blind? "Wait, what? What is that?" Jane had no idea what a perineum monitor was, but she wasn't sure she wanted to find out either. She didn't fight him as he secured straps around her legs, but when the legrests started moving, she started panicking for real. Spreading her legs for Emond was not on her bucket list. "I think that's enough," she said shortly after they'd started moving, feeling more and more exposed by the second. How much further was he going to spread them? This was certainly not the most comfortable position. Thank God she was doing yoga on Thursdays. Despite Jane still wearing her panties, Emond now had access to her entire body. She'd never felt so exposed and vulnerable in her entire life; not even in bed. And with all of the restraints he'd secured, she couldn't even stop him if he did touch her—not that she thought he would; he was a professional, after all. But the fact that he could. . . A faint gasp escaped her lips when he pressed something between her legs. He had absolutely no right to pull her panties to the side to place it either. He hadn't even asked for permission or given her a heads-up. He'd just tugged her panties to the side—no doubt seeing her waxed pussy when doing so—as if it was nothing. As if he had every right to do so because it was his job. A part of her wanted to say something, but that would result in him knowing exactly how uncomfortable she was. And how much it had bothered her. And she'd rather not make it more obvious. Her biometrics was already all over the place. Jane simply pretended she was okay with all of this, but she truly wasn't. She was so far from okay that she considered telling him she wanted to stop. To drop this. All of it. But Jane was starting to lose consciousness, and whatever she had wanted to say disappeared into darkness. But she was still there. Emond was still there. But who were the others? She tried to understand the voices in the distance, but whatever language they were speaking, she didn't recognize it. Her vision was still somehow black, but it was hard to determine if her surroundings were black or if she just hadn't gained her vision back yet. Moving turned out to be a challenge too—was she bound to a chair? Was she still in the lab? She tugged at her arms only to confirm her suspicions. She was definitely bound. "Let's start slow. Please state your full name." ​ "Jane Elizabeth Ackerman," she said, her voice carrying out almost as if she had been given a truth serum. She heard Emond's voice in the distance, but she was struggling to make sense of it. Then, all of a sudden, she winced in pain. What the hell just happened? She'd felt an electric jolt in her stomach, and now her body was on high alert as if preparing for another round of whatever she had just experienced. It felt like she was sitting on a hard chair, and yet something was pressing between her legs. Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn't accidentally enter her. It seemed awfully close to her holes. Jane tried to calm herself, and focus on what was happening around her, even though it somehow felt like she was in two places at once. "What is your height and weight?" ​ "Five feet five," she said, sounding a lot more confident than she truly was. God, she was so confused. But at least these were questions she knew the answers to. "One hundred and twenty-seven pounds." Give or take. "And for establishing a negative baseline, can you say: 'I am a Russian intelligence agent', please." ​ She blinked, not fully understanding the task at hand. It was so simple and yet she hesitated. "I uh—" she started. "I am a Russian intelligence agent." But was she? She certainly didn't feel like one. Couldn't remember being one either. And she most certainly could not remember becoming one. The words didn't taste right on her tongue. It was Emond's words. Emond had asked her to say it. Yes, for the simulation. She was in a simulation. This was just a simulation. Nothing to be afraid of. This was going just fine. Until it wasn't. "Now Jane, it is important you answer the next two questions honestly. If you lie there will be consequences…" "Are you sexually attracted to Sergeant Ryan Forrester? Yes or no, please." "And what would you like to do with Mr. Forrester's cock? Please be specific and honest, for your sake…"​ "W-what?" Jane blinked again, her brain trying to process the words that had just been spoken. What kind of questions were that? Why was it even relevant? "Uhm," she breathed, buying herself some time. She tried to focus on her surroundings, but the detention cell was still dark—wait a second—which detention cell? Why was she here? A wave of panic washed over her when she realized that she was no longer in the lab. Had there ever been a lab? How had she gotten here? Emond stood in front of her, and if he hadn't just asked her those questions, she might have been relieved to see him. At least she thought it was him. It didn't really matter. What bothered her was that disconcerting electronic buzz in the distance. What was it? Some kind of machine? Or were they just renovating outside? Jane didn't want to answer the questions; she really didn't. But what would happen if she remained silent? Or if she lied? Emond said there would be consequences if she did, but what kind of consequences? Perhaps the consequences of admitting the truth would result in something worse than lying. "I don't really see how any of this is relevant," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "Or any of your business really, but no, I—" The electrical buzzing became significantly louder, and she stopped talking. That couldn't be a coincidence. "Okay, yes. Yes! I am sexually attracted to Ryan Forrester." But who wouldn't be? He was such a handsome gentleman. Jane knew she shouldn't feel that way about him, but she couldn't control her feelings. And now Emond knew her secret too. God knew what he was going to do with that information. "And I—" Jane wondered if Emond could see her flushed face. Exactly how red were her cheeks? These questions were highly inappropriate. Did she even know what she wanted to do with Ryan's cock? She knew where she wanted it, but. . . The buzzing grew louder again, and it sounded close. Jane quickly stumbled over her words. Something was still pressing too close to her asshole. "Fine!" she yelled at him, defeated. "I want to fuck him, all right!? I want to feel his cock inside of me. My muscles clenching around him as he buries himself deep, thrusting—" Jane could barely recognize her own words, and all of a sudden she stopped talking. It was as if she'd just regained control of her mouth again. What the fuck was she saying? Why was she telling Emond all of these things? She sounded almost out of breath by the time she was done with her confession, but it was hard to tell if it was the speech that was the cause or the underlying fear of what might happen to her if she didn't comply. Probably a good combination. "This was not what we agreed," she eventually said, her tone very different from the desperate one she'd used only moments before. This couldn't possibly be a part of Ryan's simulation. Which meant that Emond most likely had his own agenda. The only question was, what was it? It wasn't a crime to have feelings, was it? She certainly hoped this wouldn't make him fire her. Every fiber in Jane's body screamed at her to end this, but she was incapable of saying the words. She was too fucking stubborn. And now she was probably going to pay the price for it. ​

dialogue: 7f4f53

 

[Iron and Wine]

..

EMOND POLTIER   SENIOR SOCIAL ENGINEERING RESEARCH MANAGER   ᴅ ᴇ ᴠ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴍ ᴀ ɴ ɪ ᴘ ᴜ ʟ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  &  ᴅ ᴇ ᴄ ᴇ ᴘ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ  ⦗ 55 ⦘​ Everything about the facility’s operations cultivated a deliberate vagueness, and nowhere was this more apparent than in the interviews Jane conducted. Mentions of the chair and the visor would slip into conversation during an emotional moment, but only in the most circumspect way and never describing the extent of the exposure the participants were subjected to – that Jane was now subjected to. Her words contrasted sharply with the biometric data. Accelerated breathing in the upper chest, dilated pupils and rapid eye movement, erratic pulse, sharp peaks on the monitor tracking her brain activity. All the signs of an early stage panic attack. Trying to move against the straps around her legs was futile, though Emond’s voice remained a steady disaffected through line. “This is part of the monitoring system,” he explained cooly as he manipulated the gimble arm of the perineum monitor. “It’s important we have multiple biometrics for tracking the state of our participants.” Her tiny voice hung in the air as an objection as the whirring of the leg-rests continued opening her wider and wider. Emond’s condescending sucked-in smile was practically audible even with the visor in place over Jane’s eyes. When the leg-rests finally came to a stop, there wasn’t just enough space for the gimble arm or Emond’s hands, but enough space that a man could stand comfortably between Jane’s thighs… Enough that a man could fuck her and she’d be helpless to wrest free… In the shuddering background blackness, the voice of Emond Poltier echoed unintelligibly, disintegrating like the shores of the blonde’s consciousness, “That’s not how…works. Now…you…” Stark white cupboards, sleek chrome appartus, synthetic straps, and bright lights were replaced by scuffed cracked concrete, dim lights casting wells of shadow, zip-ties and hand-cuffs. A single metal door in the darkness seemed to be the only egress. Foreign language or languages in the background. A constant low level electronic buzz. With the exception of Emond’s presence, the environment had all the hallmarks of a rendition, or state-sponsored kidnapping, that she’d been warned about during the onboarding training for working at Covepsy. The chair she was bound to was upright, unlike the contraption in Covepsy’s laboratory. It was metal and bolted to the floor, with a seat flaring wider at the front and angled fixed arm-rests. Jane’s straight arms were bound by zipties to the sides of the chair. Her legs were opened as wide as the chair allowed, with metal cuffs securing her ankles to the heavy bolts. The chair was just tall enough that only the balls of her feet could contact the concrete floor. Just as in the laboratory, Jane only had her lace panties covering her. Glancing up from his clipboard, Emond seemed to nod appreciatively as the young woman responded with her name, height, and weight. Was he staring at her face or her body? The way the shadows swallowed his eyes it was hard to tell. Waves of panic were crashing closer and closer spaced for the clinical trials coordinator, as she struggled with the disturbing questions. As Jane struggled to catch her breath, desperation descending into stubborn fear and anger, Emond took a few steps closer. His shoes echoed on the concrete. “Present an environment where the subject lacks control. Establish a source of professional shame for the subject. Present the subject with a scenario confronting their shame…” Emond seemed to be reading from a script, looking down at the clipboard momentarily before returning to gaze pointedly at Jane. Raising his brows as if to silence dissent, he inquired in a low insinuative voice, “This is the same script used with Sergeant Forrester. I explained that the particulars would manifest differently based on what you bring into the simulation. You asked to go through the same simulation with no deviations? That’s what we agreed?” Abrutply, a cascade of warm steam and droplets of water sprayed down on Jane, the sudden sound a shock to the system, leaving her skin glistening and her panties wet to the point that the contours of her cunt were visible through them. When the moisture cleared from her lashes, Jane could make out extremely faint projected images on the far wall – recordings of her past sessions with Ryan Forrester. “If you need to stop the process, let me know. Otherwise, try to focus on the questions, Jane,” Emond reiterated. Now that he was closer, it was evident the clipboard wasn’t the only thing he held, but also a dark violet wand – it had to be some kind of an electroshock device. “You can understand that what you’ve disclosed should have been reported to HR? At the least, it is grounds to shift responsibilities for Ryan Forrester’s debriefings to another staff member. Potentially to even transition you to a different position outside of clinical trial coordination.” While fears of being fired were catastrophizing, it was clear that this put what Jane had worked so hard toward in jeopardy. “I would hate for HR to interrupt the good work you’re doing. Let’s focus on answering these questions honestly…” The projected images bled from actual events to things that didn’t seem quite right. A comforting hand she rested on Ryan’s hand after an emotional session. Prolonged eye contact and her eyes dropping to his lap before dancing away. Him complimenting a new outfit. Those things hadn’t happened, had they? There was a line she couldn’t cross. And everything keeps building up, like this pressure, and there’s no release valve. He’d definitely said those words which were etched in her mind. I-I’d like to help you, Ryan, to find release… No, she hadn’t said it that way, not really. Their hitched breaths were moving at the same pace as Jane slid down from her chair to kneel on the floor, looking up at him. That wasn’t real. That didn’t happen. “What are you afraid of happening to you in this position? Please be specific.” Emond took another step forward, his face coming to the edge of the light that spotlighted Jane’s body. “If you had the opportunity to have a sexual liason with Sergeant Forrester without knowledge of your superiors, you would take it, wouldn’t you?” Hadn’t he said these simulations were recorded in some capacity? If she said yes, that would be further incriminating herself for any Human Resources inquiry. If she lied, however… The electric buzzing was growing louder and closer. ​

dialogue: 446669

 

[reverie.]

..

JANE ACKERMAN   CLINICAL TRIALS COORDINATOR   ᴀ ᴍ ʙ ɪ ᴛ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ,  ᴄ ᴜ ʀ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ  &  ᴋ ɪ ɴ ᴅ  ⦗ 29 ⦘​ When Jane eventually managed to take in her surroundings, the fear she'd been feeling intensified. She didn't know what she had expected, but it was not this. Not even close. This was way, way, way worse than anything she had imagined or expected. If she didn't know any better, this might as well be real. It sure as hell felt real. She tested the zip ties securing her arms to the chair—ouch. She tried to free her ankles from the metal cuffs—ouch. There was no way she was getting out of that chair without help. She was utterly exposed to Emond and anyone who decided to look her way. A new wave of panic surged through her when she also tried and failed to close her thighs. Her legs in the simulation weren't spread nearly as wide as in the lab, but because of the cuffs securing her ankles and the height of the seat, her legs wouldn't close no matter how hard she tried. Breathe, she told herself,just breathe. But Jane was freaking out, and it showed. The constant electrical buzz in the distance kept her alert. She wished she knew what it was, what it could do. Should she be worried? Because she was. Whatever it was, it couldn't possibly be anything good, not if it belonged in the simulation. The simulation was built to make you stronger, not comfortable. Not that Jane was even remotely comfortable. If anything, she was almost as uncomfortable here as she was in the lab at this very moment. But her mind was here, in this tiny room. She hated Emond for not providing her with more clothes. Would a shirt ruin the simulation? She doubted it. Instead, she was cold and miserable—and fully exposed—in her lace panties. "I—" She opened and closed her mouth, looking for the right words. The script he had just read wasn't wrong; she could see that she found herself in a similar situation as Ryan had been, but at the same time, there had to be another way. She took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat so her voice wouldn't break halfway through her sentence. "Yes," she pressed out, obviously not happy with his answer. This was exactly what they had agreed, and yet. . . it wasn't. "And I hear what you're saying, but I refuse to believe that this was the only possible scenario that matched his prompt. Because this is highly inappropri—anghh!" The sound startled her more than the actual shower. A jolt went through her body as if she had just been electrocuted instead of sprayed with warm water. It didn't hurt, but it sure as hell scared the crap out of her. The warmth disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving her shivering uncomfortably in the chair. It took several moments before she was able to see anything through the mist that lingered around her. The sight that met her made her heart rate spike. She was trying to focus on the footage that played before her eyes when something else caught her attention. The wand in Emond's hand looked awfully similar to an electroshock device. Jane couldn't see anything—or anyone—he could use it on except for her. That wand terrified her more than the videos on the wall ever could. At least she thought it did until it started showing things she couldn't remember. Emond's words didn't exactly help with her fear. "You're wrong," she said, defending herself. "Nothing has ever happened between me and Ryan—nothing." Her pulse quickened again as she imagined getting fired altogether for something so silly as having a crush. "You know I would never act on it. I would never lay a hand on him, on anyone. You know that!" Her voice was turning frantic, and it didn't calm down when the images on the wall started showing things that had never happened. "What is this!? That didn't happen! I never laid a hand on him!" If she could have pointed at the wall, she would have, but all she could do was wiggle in her chair. Jane watched the footage of herself kneeling between Ryan's legs, her hands raising to unzip his pants. She thrashed against the restraints, her eyes travelling back and forth between the footage and Emond. It looked so real. The woman in the video was her; there was no mistaking that. "That's not real! Emond, I swear—that never happened! I would never do that!" He was asking questions she didn't know the answers to. Questions she hadn't dared to ask herself. Questions she wouldn't be able to answer honestly without risking her entire career—her life. Jane didn't have time to figure out the right answer, but in reality, there was none. "No, no, no," she said, shaking her head violently. The electrical buzz sounded closer, but she tried to ignore it. Right now, she was more focused on proving her innocence. "I would never! Emond, please." Her voice went from frantic to pleading in the span of a second. "You know me." But did he? Did she even know herself at this point? "You know I would never do something so reckless. I love my job, you know I do. I've been nothing but professional. None of that is real!" She nodded towards the video again, where her head was now moving up and down above his lap. It was obvious that she was giving Ryan a blowjob. She had never given him one. If she had, she'd definitely remember. "I would never do that! Emond, please, you know me. You know I would never do that!" But what she meant to say was that she would never do that here. If—and this was a big if—she ever decided to do anything sexual with Ryan, she would never do it at here, at Covepsy. Jane wasn't that stupid. She knew they recorded everything. If she ever decided to break the rules, she would not put herself in a position where she could potentially get caught. She would never put herself in a position where she might get punished for her crimes. She was too smart for that. ​

dialogue: 7f4f53