“These people aren’t cops cops cops. They’re much much worse worse.”
The voice that awakens you is accompanied by the scent of Oreo cookie and cream. Apparently you’re inside a motel room or so your eyes tell you when they adjust to the bright yellow sunlight shining in through the window onto the trundle bed you’re lying on.
“I can fix fix fix that,” the same voice speaks and reveals its speaker when he adjusts the blinds. “All they do is push push you around and make you perform tests!”
His repetitions make you wonder if they’ve done something to alter this guy’s Broca’s area.
“Like in one test, they kept playing this this recording over and over and over that said PRESS PRESS THE YELLOW YELLOW BUTTON! PRESS PRESS THE YELLOW YELLOW BUTTON!”
You’re not sure if the repetitive emphasis is his or not. A minute or two later, a goldenish half sheet of paper is slipped under the door.
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