When I awoke from my nap, lunch had already been delivered. Soup and a sandwich, which was a nice improvement from my usual fare here. The soup was cold but that was my own fault for sleeping so long. In addition to the food there were a few sheets of paper with the prepared responses and guidelines for the interview. As expected, they were a lot of non-answers, evasive responses, and flat out lies. At least the food was good, though my stomach turned as I went over the responses.

I couldn’t do an S.O.S. That would be too obvious but I couldn’t allow myself to just go along with this charade.

“Let’s practice your answers,” the voice said after I’d finished my lunch.

That was the last thing I wanted to do but what else could I do? Refuse? I suppose I could say no but then they might cancel the interview altogether. In the end I wound up going over the approved responses for the rest of the day until I could easily say the words they wanted me to say without sounding unnatural.

The next day I could hardly sit still. During the night I’d finally figured out what I would do during the interview. Sleep was secondary in my mind and waiting for the lights to come on was like waiting for Christmas, albeit fewer positive emotions and more anxiety. So actually not much like Christmas but it was the best analogy I could come up with.

When the lights finally did come on and breakfast was served I hardly paid any attention to the hot oatmeal, toast, and fried egg they served me. They were really trying to impress me with these improved meals, as though I’d just forget about everything else. Time crawled by as it often does when there’s some event looming over you. I tried singing but my voice was too shaky with anticipation. I spent some time looking down the hole in the corner, watching the waves and double checking the shadow, showing where the main platform was.

“It’s almost time,” the voice finally announced. “Come get your chair.”

The front panel of my room slide to the side revealing a basic metal chair. I grabbed it and placed it in front of the bed.

“Good morning,” said a new, friendlier voice a minute later. I could even hear the smile in her voice as she spoke. “How are you doing, Misha?”

“I’m doing alright,” I replied.

Blink. Blink.

“I’m Sandra McHalis and I’ve been given permission to come and interview you and see how things are going.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sandra,” I said.

Blink.

“So how long have you been in here, Misha?”

“Today’s my fifth day here,” I replied.

Blink.

“Are they treating you alright?”

“I can’t really complain, all things considered.”

Blink. Blink.

“Can you tell me a bit about why you’re in here?”

“I disobeyed orders and put a team of supers into real danger.”

Blink.

“What were the orders?”

“Unfortunately, the nature of the mission is classified, but in hindsight I have to admit I was wrong.”

Blink. Blink.

“About a week ago you gave your dad a message saying that you were being forced into service with the Protection Force. Can you give me a little more detail about that situation?”

“I’ve regretted that ever since I did it. I was afraid of what my first real mission was going to be like and panicked and thought this would be a way out.”

Blink. Blink.

“I see.”

There was a bit of a pause and I tried to keep my expression neutral.

“In your message to your dad you also brought up the fact that you were essentially a child soldier since you aren’t yet a legal adult. How do you feel about that now?”

“Every nation is trying to figure out how to manage supers both at home and abroad. I don’t think I can really say what’s the best option.”

Blink. Blink.

Another pause.

“I just want to check and make sure that you are in fact Misha Nayak.”

“I am.”

Blink.

“And you’re seventeen years old.”

“Correct.”

Blink.

Another pause.

“You’ve really changed your tune it seems.”

“We all make mistakes,” I said.

Blink. Blink.

“Tell me about your time at the Cain Center.”

“I was only there a short while,” I said, “before being recruited into the Protection Force.”

Blink.

“There was an attack while you were there. Your dad said you were left alone while all the other supers were either kidnapped or killed.”

“I tried to stop the attack, but on my own I wasn’t enough. It was an unpleasant few days, lonely, but that didn’t last too long thankfully.”

Blink.

“And it was after that rescue that you were forced to join the Protection Force?”

I almost said yes but caught myself.

“I wasn’t forced,” I said instead.

Blink. Blink.

“I’ve heard that your first mission was to actually rescue those kidnapped supers.”

Again I hesitated. She wasn’t supposed to know the details of the mission and I wasn’t supposed to discuss them.

Blink.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not able to discuss the mission.”

Another pause, longer this time, and I wondered if she was being questioned herself about that last question.

“France recently reported what they’re calling a terrorist attack in which dozens of their supers were killed and–

Their voice cut out. I kept looking at the security camera that I assumed they were using to look at me. I blinked once just in case Sandra was still looking.

“Sandra? Are you still there? You cut out.”

No response. I waited a bit longer. Our interview had only just gotten started. Would any of it actually get broadcast? Were they cutting it already?

The panel at the front of the room slid open.

“Please return the chair,” the voice said.

“What happened to the interview?” I asked.

“The interview is over. Return the chair.”

I complied, not sure what else to do.

“Is Sandra McHalis okay?” I asked as I returned to my bed.

No response. I could only hope they just stopped the interview and didn’t do anything else to her. I doubted they would hurt her, but then again who knows. The advent of supers was making a lot of people in power do things they wouldn’t have done previously.