@elusivehumanity asked ❛ what’s the matter, my dear, don’t like your toys? ❜
bend until broken. softer wants and wishes, she knows not, curling inward at the meager suggestion of pushing past all possible limitations. it’s the subject of the hour, the day, the month, or the year that rings protesting alarms in her ears — countenance shattering over and over again, but her face ever remains stalwart.
“ they’re people, ” she says, jaw stiffening. “ — not toys. ” not playthings, not experiments, not for the betterment of humanity when one is testing on humanity. datasheets and pads scrawl in forged text: VOLUNTEERS and yet by the defensive marks on arms and legs, miranda knows better. still, there is no room for her to dispute or scream falsehoods beyond the calivere interest of the man before her.
he sits so plainly, legs lazily crossed and cigarette burning into a long ash trail simply forgotten. awaiting her response, awaiting her anger or retribution. none comes beyond that initial slip of tongue.
the ice in his whiskey glass clinks and she breathes. “ i understand we need test subjects before we begin work on the lazarus project but they needn’t be ... procured. ” what makes them different than the collectors ? than the reapers ? she’s tired of listening, faith waning ever briefly before propriety measures itself a harsher mistress, “ — have faith in me that i don’t this kind of crutch to get results. no practice needed, SIR . ”
