TAYLOR

Snively's private office is much more inviting than I would have imagined. The color scheme is dark and muted, but strangely relaxing. There are recessed gallery lights in the ceiling which cast a soft, warm glow on his mahogany desk and matching furniture. There is nothing on the walls -- no artwork, maps or otherwise -- which is a little odd, although there's a vast window behind his desk that essentially frames the entire room. I suppose it looks out onto the Robotropolis courtyard, but it's nighttime and it's raining so I can't tell for sure.

I'm lying on the leather couch next to the bookcase, staring up at the grayish ceiling. I fold my hands over my stomach and glance at Snively's desk. His chair is turned away from me towards the window. The silence in here is a little unnerving.

"So why am I here?" My own voice almost startles me.

His chair doesn't move. "I invited you here because I think you may have information that we could use."

"Isn't that what the torture chamber is for?"

"This doesn't have to hurt. We're just chatting."

I glance briefly around the room. No SWATbots, no security cameras. "What makes you think I won't try to run?"

He gives a cool chuckle, turning his chair to face me. "Where would you run to?"

I say nothing. Snively stands, encircling the room as he continues. "You can't run to Knothole; it's been completely vacated. And you can't seek help from your friends, because they're either imprisoned or roboticized. Or dead."

He grabs a chair and pulls it next to the couch, taking a seat beside me. "However, I suppose you could seek help from another Freedom Fighter group..."

Now it's my turn to laugh. "Yeah, except I don't know where any of the other groups are. I was born and raised in Knothole. I've never left."

"Ah, true. But you might know somebody who does know, hmm?"

"I don't see how that helps me. Like you said, everybody's in prison. And besides..." I close my eyes, choking down the urge to cry again. "Well, it's not like I have anything left anyway."

Snively leans back in his chair, putting a hand to his chin. "Let me ask you something, Taylor..."

Taylor. He called me Taylor. That's out of character for him.

"...do you enjoy living in your cell?"

I don't even have to think about it. "I hate that fucking cell," I snap, "and the people I share it with."

"Precisely." He smiles wickedly. "So?"

"So what?"

"So... I dunno. Anybody in there you might recommend for the torture chamber?"

I bolt upright. "God no! I could never do that!"

He cackles. "But why not? This is just between the two of us. They'd never know, trust me."

"But it's sick and wrong!"

"I know! Isn't it wonderful?"

"NO!"

"Oh come on, you're no fun. You can't think of anybody, anybody at all, who might know something useful to us? Think about it, Taylor. They're so cruel to you."

He's doing it again -- using my name. He's trying hard to convince me that this is a friendly conversation or something. "So what's in this for me? The satisfaction that these people are being tortured to death? Come on, I'm not that desperate."

He shrugs. "A private cell, maybe?"

"I'll be honest with you, Snively. I don't really know any of my cellmates."

Snively raises an eyebrow. "None?"

"Well, okay, except for Rex. He's an asshole."

"Ha! Perfect!" He whips out a small notepad and a pen.

"But I'm not sure what he knows, if anything. It's not like he's the smartest guy in the world, either."

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Anybody else?"

Colin. Colin's parents brought him to Knothole from the Southern regiment. That was years ago, but he might still know something.

No. Stop that, Taylor. You can't do that.

I hold my breath, fighting back tears. He doesn't deserve this. He might have been unfaithful to me, but that's no excuse for me to betray him. We were together and happy for five years. That means something.

"Perhaps," Snively says, "you might know of somebody in another cell...?"

I close my eyes and exhale slowly. I hesitate before answering.

"Yes."

"Excellent. And who might that be?"

I can't do this. I can't do this. I can't do this.

"Lisa. I think she might know something about the Southern regiment."