The wardens seize me, lift me bodily and slam me into the chair. They undo the cuffs around my arms and wrestle them to the arms of the chair, locking them in place inside thick metal braces. The same goes for my legs. The braces are so strong; they make me feel tiny, pathetic, like a child trying to lift a car. It is hopeless, and I know it's hopeless.
The wardens retreat to the back of the room and Ingleman comes to stand in front of me. From somewhere he's obtained a knife, a dark black plastic thing with a moulded grip and a serrated edge. He points it at the direct centre of my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut tight.
"Sometimes," he says calmly, and to me his voice sounds loud, deafening, like the voice of God. "Sometimes, in order for the whole to benefit, there must be pain. The work we did at the Academy, for example." He's talking normally, casually, as though having a conversation over dinner. "We conducted experiments that would benefit thousands. We built powerful weapons that ensured peace in unstable countries. We tested drugs to help rid society of dangerous criminals. We even advanced our understanding of the capabilities of the human body beyond the previous limits of medical science." He pauses here, but I keep my eyes shut, heart thundering, hating his voice, and yet dreading the moment when he finishes talking. I can still hear Laura sobbing in the corner. How can he make her watch this? "All very admirable, and necessary, I'm sure you'll agree. But in order for these advances, there had to be pain, and sacrifice. You know that better than anyone. Nothing in this world was ever accomplished without those two things." I feel his breath bouncing off my face. Hot and close. He's almost whispering, now. "Pain and sacrifice. For the greater good, of course. Like now, to give another example. Now when this whole grand project finds itself in jeopardy because of the actions of one little girl. In order for there to be progress, the Academy must continue. And in order for the Academy to continue I must know who you told your little stories to. In order to know who you told there must, you understand, be pain."
I sense him withdraw, and then there is the longest silence of my life. It stretches into minutes, each second that creeps by seeming like an eternity. At last, unable to stand it any longer, I open my eyes a tiny crack. Ingleman is standing directly in front of me, the knife levelled with my face, his expression set and hard.
"So you see," he says smoothly, "this is all rather necessary."
And then he moves, and I shut my eyes.
