II. Session 22: Sunset.

The sidelights shone an amber light onto the dancers, outlining their long, flexible bodies as they twirled in unison to the music. As the tempo increased, so did he dancers' speed, their silky, purple skirts flaring about them. The lead dancer came forward. Her curly brown hair was loose and flowing behind her as she spun faster than her accomplices. The audience clapped and whistled. The girl smiled, although she could not see the peoples' faces due to the glaring lights.

In a final flourish, the dancers reached one arm gracefully up to the ceiling. For a second, their bodies seemed to propel upward and they were about to lift off the stage floor. Then, they collapsed, as a block of dry sand falls onto itself: their foreheads touched he cold black floor, as they crouched down. The lead dancer let out a silent breath and then heard thunderous applause. She slowly stood up and bowed as a few camera flashes dotted the audience.

Then, the flashes became more numerous and more frequent. The dancer's smile faded as she realized that she was now alone on stage. Odd. She hadn't seen her friends leave the stage. They were supposed to stay out until the curtain was drawn. Something flew past her ear. Then another. The people in the audience were not holding cameras any longer, they were holding weapons.

She heard a hazy, yet commanding, voice near her ear. Or, was it a voice? It was an order. A trigger: "Dodge them." She had no choice either way; the bullets were everywhere now.

River Tam looked around her. This wasn't a stage. It was one of The Academy's "Movement Training" rooms. Continuing to follow the choreography of a morbid dance, she darted past the bullets.

"Very good."

River heard the comment, spoken from the other side of the barrier on one side of the room, where the gunners were placed. She recognized the voice. It belonged to one of her professors at the university. Like all the rest, excluding Dr. Methias, she neither knew the teacher's name nor face. And, as with her other lessons, she did not want to learn what she was being taught; however, if she struggled, they would sever into her brain once again, to tear out her defiance. At least this time I'm not hurting anyone, she thought. River let her conscious self step back once more as she watched the "doctors" program her body into the perfect weapon.

"Proceed to Level Six." The bullets whizzed by, this time with more speed and accuracy. River, or the empty River, continued her dance steps with more urgency. It was her first time on Level Six, so her body was not accustomed to the pace yet. As she executed another pirouette, she landed on her foot the wrong way. She yelped as she stumbled forward. A bullet grazed her thigh, and another tore the side of her forearm. The pain forced her conscious self back into her body as she collapsed onto the floor.

"That's enough," said her movement trainer. River desperately clutched her arm, but the blood continued to leak onto the floor, staining her green pants and smock. It oozed thick and red and glistened under the bright lights. She began to feel nauseous. "Take her to the infirmary. There is another set of incisions to be done this evening. He wants her repaired by then."

Repaired? She thought, Am I some sort of machine now? No! River began to breathe heavily, as if she were running out of air. She tried to kick and push the guards' hands away from her, but there was blood everywhere, and she slipped. Then, she receded to the wall as she sank to the floor, her clothes and hair drenched in her own sweat and blood. Her head was too light and the rest of her body was too heavy. The lights were no longer amber, as they were in her reverie, but white. They grew brighter, into phosphorescent blobs that spread across her vision.

"Infirmary. Now. She's losing a lot of blood. Let's move!"

She floated towards the ceiling, towards the lights, which had now all fused together. It's the sun. Am I home?

--

River remembered the high noon sun back home, and the wide lawn of the Tam estate. She remembered her room, and more than anything she wished that she could return there. She remembered her bright red sari comforter, her polished mahogany bureau, and her vibrant drawings which she had taped onto the walls. She spent hours carefully peeling off the depictions and placing them into a folder, so that she could again look at them on her dorm room's wall whenever she felt nostalgic. But, the two guards who took her packed bags never brought them to her room.

Her room at The Academy resembled an asylum cell. There was a padded exam table and a side door to a small room with a toilet. She didn't even have her clothes. There was only a cream robe suited for a kind of medical patient waiting for her on her "bed" when she returned from the infirmary. Since it was the cream attire, she knew that she was either due for another physical check-up or interview.

She didn't know exactly how much time she had spent at The Academy. At least a month or two--maybe even more. She was never let outside. The only time she ever saw the sky was when she was led up the flights of stairs to see the Interrogator, who she met every other day. "To keep a data log of her progress," he explained.

---

"...but you understand why these treatments are important?" the interviewer asked River.

"I don't think..." She began, and then she paused in order to regain composure. "I'm sorry." She would make them let them go, with her reason. All she had to do was word her request correctly, and they would see. It was just like talking her way out of trouble with her parents. "I think there's been...an error. I don't think..." No, that's not the right way to phrase it. However, River found that the more she tried to articulate her request, the more difficult it was to speak cohesively. The fact that she rarely spoke outside these interviews, besides screaming, did not help."I think I may not be the right subject for these...for this program."

"It's perfectly natural to feel nervous--"

"I just--If it were possible to be transferred, I would make a...I would like to request a transfer."

"You want to be back in Jan Ed?" asked the interviewer with a smirk, as he mentioned her old university.

"Please," she whispered.

"You told us that was no good for you--it was too slow; that's why you're here."

"Please," River implored again. "It...hurts."

"Well, I can help you with that. You know how proud Dr. Methias is of how you're progressing--"

"I'm not progressing!" River shouted at the man. Then, she felt movement behind the one-way window behind the interviewer. She could swear she heard voices. All at once images began to flash across her mind, as if she were flipping quickly through pictures in a book. River fell back into her seat, strands of her wavy, brown hair obscuring her face from the Interrogator. What is this? she thought. She began to pant as someone else's memories rushed into her mind:

Corpses. Millions of them. On the memorial's steps. On a park bench. In a bedroom. The lips of on the faces had long receded from their teeth. Their skin had turned a tint of yellow or green. The eyes were rolled inward. None of them were injured. A woman's shaking voice reported: "...and then they stopped everything else. They stopped going to work, they stopped breeding, talking, eating. There's thirty million people here, and they all just let themselves die." Miranda.

The interviewer saw the subjects eyes glaze over as she unconsciously tilted her head to the side, as if listening to something. He quickly flipped to a new page in his notebook. These were the symptoms the doctors had told him about, when she somehow became able to reach into peoples' minds. He had to record it.

The Parliament officials watched the subject from the other side of the window, unknown to the interviewer. She stared at the officials beyond the glass, as if she could actually see them, but her eyes were glossed over.

"'It's the Pax.'" the girl stated quietly. The interviewer took her statement as a result of her psychotic episode, but one of the Parliament members shifted uncomfortably as he continued to witness River Tam.

"Tell me what you see," the interrogator demanded

River turned towards him. "You lost the first one. You cut too deep. He died on the table. One of your attendants cried and you comforted her: 'We're doing such good work.'" Then she began to shiver, as, slowly, she retreated from her daze.

"Do you understand that that is true? The work we do here is very important, and you're a part of that."

As River felt her conscious self return to her body, she realized that they wouldn't let her out. She couldn't escape. No one would come for her. Not her parents, but...Simon. Simon. "I would like to see my brother," she said.

"Well, you can write to him anytime you'd like--"

"I need to--to.. .please...to see my brother."

"Well, I'm sure he's very busy."

She had no choice but to agree. There was no way Simon would know what is really happening at the Academy anyway. They scanned all her letters before she sends them. I'm trapped. She nods. "Yes. I'm sure." No one will come to take me home. The sun has set forever.

--

So, Simon Tam suddenly stopped receiving letters from his little sister.