#sigmatographer writes

[sigmadaily]

sigma: "would cats enjoy watching the hyperspheres?" venture, not listening at all: "oh my god his name is sir lard"

[sigmadaily]

His eye flickers to the camera, and you startle back before you knew you reacted - logic dictated he couldn't actually see you, there was no way... right? You were barely debriefed by an exhausted, horrified scientist who sounded like he had given the debrief to dozens of security guards - guards that didn't last - and could barely stand to do this again, but you collected that he only had... gravity powers, right?

The gaze in the monitor is piercing. He's hardly moving, but he's definitely breathing. And he's still looking, looking like he's looking at you.

Impossible.

Impossible.

You couldn't tear your eyes away, either - even knowing that no, he definitely... probably... couldn't see you through those crude little cameras.

"You've seen what they put me through."

Your breathing stops, now. Was that him? You've only ever heard him yelling - in pain - that voice - you've never heard him sound like that.

Not only that.

The voice wasn't coming through the monitor - there was no static fuzz of old systems and cheap microphones.

You heard that completely clearly.

Your fingers hover over the key codes to release his cell before you recalled what the numbers were.

Cell D825. Subject Sigma.

Has he blinked, at all, in all that time?

"You know I don't belong here."

[sigmadaily]

"I swear to the Iris if those Phreaks do anything to this beautiful laboratory..."

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