To Rebuild A Man

I awoke slouched in a metal folding chair, my mouth and throat parched. I worked my tongue around in an effort to reboot my saliva glands. Wincing, I briefly assessed my surroundings. I was in a small concrete room, its only features being a rusty metal table with accompanying chair and a large metal door set flush into the wall.

No sooner had I acclimated myself than there was a loud clank of metal on metal. The door opened, and a man in a brown suit with matching goatee stepped in. “Ah, you’re awake,â€? he said with a smile. The door closed behind him. He dusted off the chair, sat down, and folded his hands on top of the table.

“Let’s start at the beginning,â€? he said. “Do you know who you are?â€? My eyes widened as I tried in vain to access this vital piece of information. “Please attempt to remain calm,â€? he said softly. “The fact that you don’t know who you are just means the treatment was successful.â€? He paused before continuing. “Your name is Robert Pritchard. You are a terrorist and a traitor.â€?

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