I wake up in a white room and I’m under glass. No - it’s a sheet of plastic and there’s a woman standing over me. She’s stern and she looks tired, but I don’t know who she is. I don’t know…
“Mr. Barnes, you’ve completed the first cycle of your punishment,” she says. “This is your opportunity to upgrade to probation. Do you have a statement or any evidence you’d like to present on your behalf?”
“Statement?” But why...why am I here? I can’t quite remember. Or I think I do, but only vaguely. “Where am I? How long have I…?”
“No statement,” says the woman, entering something into a notebook or some device in her hand. “We’ll check back after phase two.” She moves away from me and I realize I can’t move, not even my head. “Set it for ten,” she tells someone I can’t see.
Ten what? And why can’t I remember what I did?
________________
I wake up in a yellow room with no windows. An old man is hovering over me.
“Welcome back, Mr. Barnes. Hope you had a lovely rest. Things changed since your last examination. Just answer the following question honestly: do you regret what you did?”
But what did I do?
It’s even further away now. It’s like I can almost see it - see an image of myself or what I think is myself - but it’s too small and dark and it’s only getting harder and harder to make out.
“Yes.”
The man looks at something I can’t see and shakes his head. “Lie,” he says flatly. “Oh well. A bit more time.”
A bit more time for what? How long has it been?
What’s happening to me?
_______________
I wake up in a gray room and there’s no one there but me. A voice rings directly in my head:
HAVE YOU LEARNED YOUR LESSON?
How could I?
What lesson?
“Yes.”
BIO-ANALYSIS INDICATES FALSEHOOD. FULL SENTENCE APPLIED.
I am full of regrets, but not the right ones.
_______________
I wake up in a white room and a man in a red gown is pulling me up to my feet.
“Release day, Mr. Barnes,” he says, pressing a small disk into my hand. “You’ve got enough credit on your account for a local ride and at least one meal - more if you’re frugal.”
He appraises me, like a man admiring a burning building. “You know, ninety years is a long time for drug possession, Mr. Barnes. Most people just say they’re sorry after the first three years.”
When I don’t say anything back, he shrugs and guides me to the exit. “Well, good luck. Oh, be careful - some people experience mild amnesia as a side effect of stasis, but that’s very rare.”
He pushes me through the door.
Outside, the world is strange and terrifying and I realize I’m all alone in it.
But at least I remember why I’m sorry.