There was nothing in seventeen scientific databases of anything resembling Gizmo. She’d ploughed through ScienceDirect, PubMed, JSTOR and DeepDyve a...d drawn blanks everywhere. By rights, Gizmo didn’t exist.“I need a coffee I think, Gizmo. I’ll be back in a bit.”The door closed and locked behind her. She slowly walked down the corridor, chastising herself for talking to it. After all, it’s only a six-legged octopus, isn’t it?She poured a splash of milk into her Americano and turned to look for a. They were the guys you'd see on the street or in anoffice every day. They could have been delivery guys or security guards,lawyers or filing clerks, bus drivers or students. About half of them worecheap, Zorro-like masks over the top half of their faces. A few of themhad their dicks out and a few lucky slaves already had their faces stuffedwith black cock. A couple of white sluts were kneeling on one wall near the stairswith their hands behind their backs, their eyes scanning the room. Yes, we are worried about you beginning to feel pain. Psychosomatic pain at the onset of the enhanced interrogation techniques show a possible weakness, not in our ability to stop the pain and later make repairs, but rather your mental breakdown at your situation. Do you have any ideas on how to improve this situation?" A brief pause. "End of message." Nothing as of yet, but I think George might be the only way out of this. I can tell he is not happy with what they are doing to me, I'm sure of. Something isn’t right, I thought. Too many nights have been interrupted with these nightmares, each of them different but somehow connected. When I wake from them, something odd takes place in my reality. This time it’s the suitcase, last time it was the bottle of mouthwash that mysteriously appeared on the bathroom counter. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Perhaps all of the stress over the last year has finally taken its toll and I’ve snapped. Maybe I forget small details like leaving the mouthwash.
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