Miss Levy Peaches

Though, it makes sense, they've overheard other kids be adressed as subjects with numers while they were sitting in line to this test. It's so odd. Subject of what? What do the numbers even mean? Why are there letters in there?

Eh, does it matter? At least they're in a chair and not on that bench anymore. It's not that much better, but at least it's a different surface after an hour or so of sitting on plain wood.

"Subject 11-S-31-18, are you listening?"

"Ah? Yeah, I am."

"I am going to ask you several questions. Answer honestly."

"Okay."

The man opened a file and started flipping through it.

"Do you remember how you were born?"

Of course they did, it was only a week ago or so. Though their body was older than that, as far as they understood. And their mind, too, but they really don't remember anything before that point, so it's probably not important.

"I, uh...I woke up on the surgical table! And my dad was there, in all this equipment. And he was covered in blood, and he was smiling really, really wide! And crying too, I think-"

"Your dad?"

"Well, yeah? My creator... He's a man, you know! I've heard that means he's my dad."

"Who told you that?"

"Uh...No one, I eavesdropped."

The file gets closed with a light thud and set aside. A notebook is set down instead. The man sitting across from the child takes a few notes before he puts his hands on the table, fingers interlocked.

"How did you feel when you saw your creator cry?"

"Confused? And sad. I wanted to help him, but got taken to another room before I even said a word."

"Hm."

"I mean, how else would I feel? When someone is crying, that means they're sad! So you also get sad, because they are sad! And you want to help them not be sad anymore! You want to tell them that everything will be alright and-"

"I see, enough."

More notes are taken. From how little he is writing down, seems they're generally one-note.

"What if I said you hurt your creator somehow. Physically, emotionally, however you can hurt him. How would you feel?"

The child grasps at the hem of their white shirt. What a strange question to ask.

"Have I hurt him?"

"Not to my knowledge. But if you were to, how would you feel?"

"Well...I know I wouldn't like that at all."

"That is not what I asked."

"But you asked how it would make me feel! And I said I wouldn't like it!"

"It's not a matter of you liking or disliking it. How would it make you feel?"

"...You're not making any sence, sir. I answered my question."

"Do not disrespect me."

"I'm...Not?"

"You are."

"I'm not! I literally called you sir! That is respectful!"

The man sighs, taking more notes, while the child steeps in their confusion. Is what they said not clear enough? Should they have explained themselves a little more?

"I- I said I wouldn't like it because I would feel really upset that I hurt someone who literally made me. And angry at myself for hurting him too, because if I didn't have to, I wouldn't want to! And he would be crying again and-"

"Stop talking. I heard enough."

The child does as told, staring at the man in the labcoat as his pen was now flying across the paper, the notes clearly more detailed now.

"How would you feel hurting a human you didn't know, then?" - the man asks, irritation obvious in his tone - "Describe the specific feeling you would feel if you knowingly hurt another person. Not just whether you'd like it or not."

This is a bit more difficult to answer. They haven't met that many people yet, but out of all of them, there isn't anyone they'd like to be in pain. So...

"...It'd feel the same as if I hurt my dad, I think-"

"Specific. Feeling."

"I'd be upset and angry at myself! I already said it! Did you not hear me?"

"No need to yell. You're being disrespectful again."

"Hmph..."

More note taking commenses.

Meanwhile, the child fiddles with their arm tag, pulling at it and lightly stretching the plastic. Not far enough to take it off, though, it's too hard for that.

It has the same number as the one they get adressed by on it, they're not sure how they didn't make that connection immediately. Their leg tag has the same number on it, now that they think about it.

The man stops writing for a moment, staring into the child's face.

"Are you particularly attached to anyone?"

"My dad."

"Other than that."

"Not really, no..."

"If you had someone you were attached to and your creator commanded you to hurt them, would you do it?"

Why are all of these questions centered around hurting people?! They don't want to hurt anyone! This is starting to get in their nerves a little.

But considering this as a situation...Their dad does not seem like a vengeful man. If he'd say to hurt someone, he'd probably have a good reason to say it. But also they really doubt he would ever even say such a thing, so...

"Probably."

"No probably. Would you or would you not?"

"I just don't think he would say something like that normally, so I-"

"Would you or would you not?!"

"I would, okay? I would! Dad would probably have a good reason to command something like that!"

"Finally. Ugh. You are such a hassle to deal with, the other subjects were much more well-behaved..."

The child is pulling on their hair now. They're a hassle? He's a hassle for asking such dumb questions! Though they could be answering them better, maybe...

The man asks them some more, but the same thing ends up repeated every time - he asks something, they answer, he doesn't like the answer.

Suddenly, the man stands up and walks over to the child's side of the table. They hand them a paper and they take it. It's a blank slate, but they can tell there is something printed on the other side.

"When you will flip the page over, you will see three grey cones. Then, you'll tell me what you see."

"Okay..."

The child flips the paper over. There are, in fact, three cones drawn on the page, however they are not all grey. The one on the very left is very obviously white and the one on the right is very obviously black. Only the central one is unquestionably grey.

"...You gave me the wrong picture. There's only one grey one."

"No, they're all grey. I told you so. Look again."

Okay. Maybe the shade of white is slightly off. But the black completely merges with the black outline! Not even a hint of light in there.

"Maybe two of them are, but not all three for sure."

"No. They are all grey."

"That's a lie."

"No, it is not. I am telling you this, so it is correct."

"You can be wrong, you know? That one's definetely black."

"Just say they're all grey."

"That'd be a lie! You said to say what I see!"

"You're insufferable."

"...If I say they're all grey will you leave me alone?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes, they're all grey."

The paper gets taken away from the child.

Then another gets put in their hands. And another, and another. All accompanied with completely nonsensical requests.

The image showed one thing, the man in the labcoat would say another, and then get mad when they just said what they saw! What's the point? Is he trying to make himself mad? Is he stupid?

It is getting to the child a little, though. Anytime they insist on something, he raises his voice or calls them mean words. They aren't even sure what some of those words mean, but they sound really cruel!

Eventually, the man sets all the papers down on the table and tells them to stand up. They jump off the chair instead, their bare feet hitting the floor with a loud thud. It was too high for them to just stand up off it, but the man scoffed as is he was annoyed at them anyways and then motioned for them to follow.

They enter a room. A pretty small, square one with a glass wall dividing it from the neighboring room.

Behind that glass is someone the child did not know at all. Some adult dressed in a plain shirt and pants, hooked up to a machine as they sit in a chair.

Then, the child is handed a button.

"Whenever you press this button, the person behind the glass will get shocked with electricity. The more you press, the higher will the voltage go. Now, press it."

A few seconds pass in complete stillness. The man in a labcoat is telling them to do it, so it has to be part of the test, but...This doesn't feel right.

"Stop stalling. Press it."

"But I-"

"PRESS IT."

The child gently presses the button. The person behind the glass jolts for a moment, clearly in pain. The glass is thick enough to not let sound through, but they could tell they cried out and started breathing heavily, sweat already forming on their forehead.

"Press it again."

The child's hands shake.

"Did you not hear me?"

"No, I did...I just don't want to."

"Press it again, I said!"

"And I said I don't want to!"

They throw the button against a wall. They're not strong enough for that to deal any real damage, however.

"I literally told you, hurting people makes me upset! I said it over and over! And you don't even listen to a word I say! I mean, you take notes, so I guess you do- But still! Still! Why ask me anything then if you'll always hate the answer?! I don't understand! I don't! I don't! I..."

They ran out of breath, it hitching in their throat. Their vision is getting blurry. Regardless, they look up, a stoic expression on their face.

The man in the labcoat stares at the wall for a moment, before gesturing to the door.

"Just get the fuck out."

"Oooooh! Forsooth! You must've been a valiant hero, sir Gregor!"

The child laughs awkwardly.

The stories of grandeur that were told to the growing generation are not quite accurate to the life that he lived.

They do not necessarily sugarcoat the terror of war and life at the compound, but they do overstate their own greatness.

And by proxi, his own.

He can't let them down though, can he? He was just pestered for stories from his past for a solid several minutes.

"Well, I was not declared Chief of Security for nothin'!..."

He glances in the direction of his mentee, who sighs in responce.

"Yeah...Valiant hero. Face of the war, nonetheless..."

"Gasp! Sir Gregor! You were famous?!"

Another awkward chuckle leaves the child.

Not only did the comment not quell the questioning, it only fueled the fire.

"You could say I was, yes, but I never fought for glory, Don Quixote... I always fought to protect."

"To protect?"

"Yes. My home, my loved ones..."

He sighs, remembering the smell of smoke and sound of flying shrapnel that was his background noise for most of his eartly life.

"And if I ever was unable to protect that which i tried to..."

Closeup crop for the funny 🙏

thinking about Your Obedient Servant too much I NEEDED to draw something somewhat related. Idk I'm just a big fan of the passive aggressive waltzy tune in the chorus. And so I shall draw Ham and Burr dancing. Naturally