(This is Joss's world. I came to play.)

Brook was a strong presence, wherever River went, whatever needles and tests happened. She warned River when someone approached. And River slept with an angel to guard her. “Will you leave me?” River was terrified of being alone again. Brook smiled. “As long as you need me, I will be here.” With passing hours and possibly days, River’s dreams intensified. She would talk instead of sleep. “Why are they doing this to me?” As River audibly explored the possible uses her brain could provide the white coats, she sensed Brook’s silence as having a point. She soon stopped, having come a little closer to a hypothesis, and turned to Brook, who sat cross-legged on the edge of a nearby bed. “Any suggestions?” Brook’s eyes widened. It was clear Brook hadn’t listened to River. Her blonde head jerked a fraction and her eyes bored into River and filled the hole with horror. River had never experienced that kind of horror—yes, the white and needles terrified her and hurt her, but they were normal to her. No more physical pain than that, after 3 years of it. “They’re coming. Oh, I’m so sorry, River.” Brook whimpered in fear. “I can’t keep you safe.” Then Brook lay on the floor and crawled under the bed. River had sensed a great evil, and it startled her. She jumped when the door opened. She expected Teacher No. 24 and when it was only that teacher who entered, River looked at Brook with raised brows. “I’m sorry,” her friend whispered. 951. She was uneasy. She was taken a longer way to a different room than usual. Since she was a genius, the teachers tried to keep her from a normal schedule—River knew some students had escaped to the outer hallways but hadn’t realized they were in a space station until they came face-to-face with the Black. Panicked screams and shock at the crumbling resistance. Mommy and Daddy will never find them. River snapped out of the reverie. She didn’t have any contact with students other than Brook. It’s impossible to know these things. Teacher No. 24 opened a door and River stepped into a beautiful hologram room—flora and fauna, River could name them all. Yes, definitely conjured through computers—terra-formation did not yet sustain palmettos and cacti together. She wished the room were real. “River Tam, 16 years old. Tam Estate on Osiris. Mother Regan, father Gabriel, brother Simon. Impressive pedigree, Ms. Tam.” It was a compliment of the worst kind. She was appraised in one paragraph, and the facts said nothing about her. The mention of Mother and Daddy reminded River of what she had, and Simon’s name—she didn’t know two syllables could quicken one’s heart, pump blood to her thirsting body. A tingle in her toes. River’s mind dwelled on something odd. She saw these two men in surgeon masks, breaths were deep as they concentrated on her. Then her mind reeled, and tried to reject the memory. She had no recollection of this—she had never seen the men. Panic as she lay on the table, she knew but her eyes were closed. It’s not me, River told herself. Not me. It was as if she had another life, a new idea, another memory. And without her will, she spoke in a sing-song voice she heard at times. She longed to clamp it in, hold her hands to her lips and never let the words come. “Two by two, hands of blue.” One man smiled benignly, giving River reason to suspect other intentions. His too-thick eyebrows darkened eyes that never seemed to blink. “I believe things are going to plan,” he said in a voice too high, with a slight lyrical accent. His colleague, who had read River’s report, did not show emotion. “She’s ready for the next step.” He said this to Teacher No. 24, who nodded. “I agree. The girl is completely yours. She has accepted the memory that is triggered by her personal information.” The men stood and River, not sure if she was surprised or not, noted the blue medical gloves on their hands. How had she known? She was escorted by the lyrical man into the hallway. On her way out of the room, River looked at Teacher No. 24. A dizziness came over her. “Roses are red, Hands are blue, She is needed, They don’t need you.” She calmly looked into the puzzled brown eyes of the teacher. Teacher No. 24 regained her composure after a moment of this. “You always speak nonsense.” “Teacher, can I speak with you in private?” the emotionless man asked from the doorway of the hologram room. The woman nodded and walked in. The door was closed, and, as the lyrical man guided River down the hall-- one arm on her elbow-- he had satisfaction in his gait as screams echoed in her ears.

She had never reserved much mental capacity for feelings. She felt—she absorbed knowledge more. Facts were solid and didn’t fail. Feelings came and went. Fear was new but also the Feeling River had known for a while. Fear of failure, fear of other students, fear of never seeing Simon and Daddy and Mother. Fear that her brother did not understand her letters and threw them away, or was too busy with his studies to read them. River feared life. Death was a vast void, like being hurled into the Black-- weightless and at peace. Life had barely started and could go on for decades. The life expectancy for a male on a Core planet was 79.1 years. A female could live to 84.34. River, as far as she could figure with inaccurate numbers, was only 16. The horror of the life to come coursed itself in every beat of her heart. River experienced deep reveries and intense focus. She attempted to remember what was better about her existence at the Academy’s space station. Brook. River’s stealthy friend had not been able to come for some time, and the end of that closeness deadened the glimmer in River’s soul. The blue hands put her in a cold, padded room the blue-gray of the rest of the interior she’d seen of this station. Never impolite, the man with the accent, or No. 2 as River identified him, examined her on a metal table and poked and smiled pleasingly at what he wrote on his papers. The other Blue Hand was No. 1, as he was the stronger presence, and because he always conducted interviews. There were no other patients there, or none that River was allowed to see. She sensed residue of fear and sadness in every molecule and assumed she was hardly the first to be in this scientific experiment. Her first week told her all this as her brain craved information and thirsted for something to do. So River danced. One time, as River did some steps to the music conjured in her head, she happened to look at her hands. Her fingernails were long. She never let her fingernails grow! Despite the fact that biting one’s nails is a bad habit that promotes the spread of germs, River often bit her nails. Habits pounce on the people most knowledgeable, and River bit her nails as soon as the white trim peeked past the edges of her fingers. When she saw the growth of white on her nails, she immediately thought of the only plausible reason. “More time has passed.” “That’s what happened, you know.” Brook pointed at River’s arms. “Don’t you feel stronger than yesterday? You know you lost muscle and stamina when you weren’t allowed to dance.” Instead of asking Brook how she got there—a question River kept in her thoughts—River did a plié and then an arabesque. She stood straight and bent at the waist. She was lean and her muscles smooth and supple as her face came a few inches from the floor. River also noted her dark hair brushing the floor was longer than she last remembered. River straightened. “You are right. They have done something to me.” “Think of what you did,” Brook urged her. Blackness—River shook her head—“I can’t.” She glanced at Brook. Then she was shocked to see Brook’s face replaced by a skull. “Brook!” River stepped back. The girl’s blonde hair returned in a blink and her sad face restored. “Did you see me?” She asked soberly. River nodded. “You will see me again.” “I do not want to see you that way.” “True friends see the flaws and look past them.” With the terrible feeling of loneliness, River did not think she could endure what was to come. “I’m scared. I’ve never been so scared.” Brook reached out a hand and touched River’s cheek. River felt love but no warmth, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “I’m scared, too, River.”

“Mei-Mei, I’m coming.” She heard Simon, but knew he was not there. River was quickly realizing that she had heightened emotions. Emotions stripped raw and bleeding and everyone around her told her things she should not know. She knew when food was brought, could hear steps from hallways on other floors. Her feet touched cold metal and the metal bit back. Evil and Fear; Hatred and Despair. “People longing for happiness but caught in webs of intrigue and lies.” She spoke often to the dark. The lights turned off when they wanted her to sleep. But River had nightmares now. She couldn’t recall many as a child, but here they hunted her and struck when her mind was lax and poised as a deer unsuspecting. Brook visited at times. Through the foggy parts of her thoughts, River knew that Brook was not a real girl. Not a hologram, not a phantom per se—River had felt her touch. When asked, Brook merely ignored her and spoke of other subjects. River had used all the psychology she ever had studied—which was not much, since physical science and Quantum Physics had grabbed her spongy mind the last few days of normal study at the Academy. Now she studied nothing but Brook’s actions, and contemplated her own theories of where she was. When River talked to the dark, she knew what she said, but never could understand why she said anything. Her voice spoke, her brain processed, her body lived, but she was becoming less and less the River Tam who corrected Daddy’s grammar, roamed the property with Simon, and smiled at Mother’s ridiculous thoughts of how “proper girls” should act at society gatherings. River slipped away one day and was lost to all who knew her. “You aren’t part of my psyche.” “Sure about that?” Brook countered. “What’s my birth-date?” “You don’t even remember that,” Brook said. River thought about it. When had she been born? When did she come here? Survival was on her mind now, the past gone. How old am I? “You’re 16, River.” Brook was concerned, the tease in her voice gone. River huffed. “You know my thoughts but you’re unsure of my overall sanity. So am I.” “No, I’m not you. I’m part of you, and this place.” And Brook was a skeleton in a flash, in a hazy aura. “No, don’t,” River pleaded. “The more you know, the better. But I won’t stay much longer with you.” When Brook saw River’s despair, she quickly said, “You have life, River. You’ll be. Simon’s coming.” River’s heart quickened. “Yes. It’s there. Hope.” Brook smiled. In that smile River finally saw the Brook that must have been. More than long, blonde hair—almond eyes; pale skin, horribly so, just like River’s; a round, freckled face that would be cheerful and lovely in another circumstance; a small nose; straight teeth. With a smile, Brook became Brook. “You were me,” River whispered. Brook’s eyes welled up and tears fell. No sobs, just pain leaked out. “I’m here. I stay here.” Flashes, faces of others. They smiled at River. “They were here. . . so many. So smart.” “We have many strengths, yet in such a weak body,” Brook said, “Always alone.” “You’re always alone. Why do you stay?” River never had believed in ghosts and the paranormal. Abstract and unproved. Here she communicated with one, and she had not thought to explain her away. River’s few cognizant moments in these months had been shared with Brook. “Will I forget you?” “Do you want to remember pain?” She didn’t, for to forget Brook would mean this horrible place never existed. Someone had to know about this place. “You can’t forget, River. You can’t let us die. Even when you don’t think your subconscious can hold onto reality—remember. For us.” “I can’t see the others.” “They let go when they died,” Brook answered, softer now. “Death finished them. The ones after me were scared, terrified. Screams. . . “I tried to help them. They couldn’t hear me. You’re special, you’ve lasted longer. You see me.” “I didn’t know I could talk to the dead.” “But you can sense more than others. You wrap your senses around anything and know. I came to you that day because I felt hope and despair. You reached.” “Simon always told me I have a third eye. It creeped him out. That and my knack for sneaking behind him and finishing his sentences.” She allowed herself a smile at the thought of her brother’s exasperation. Then her heart was chilled. We don’t dirty our hands; we have gloves. I have only done my duty, and what an accomplishment. My star pupil. More than a tour today, gentlemen. You see the real thing. The best. Brook whimpered. “I must leave. I may return.” The door opened and an average-looking man entered, flanked by white coats. She was his object and pawn, she knew. “Time for more fun, River. Behave today for your audience.” He spoke sure of himself but he was a shaking tree. River tried to resist the white-coats but gave in to sedatives. She did not remember what happened next. But it was there all the same.