[still haven’t thought of a title]

I sit rigid at the simple steel table, sweaty palms making damp patches on it. That thin column of light in the far corner makes me nervous. I know how much it burns.

They say I’ve been testing for five years, but I can’t be sure. I stopped counting after the first few.

They say I’ve paid my debt.

They say that they’re going to take me home. I’m not sure if I can believe it. If it’s another test.

I still don’t know who they are.

God, I need a coffee.

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