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

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