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| - Harry Donovan woke up, and looked around. He was sitting upright in a strange metallic chair. The last thing he remembered was kissing his kids goodbye and making love with his wife before going to sleep. He was now in a strange, small room with metallic walls, strapped to a steel chair, with a enormous telescreen in front of him. Another man, wearing an impeccable expensive suit, entered the room. "Hello, Mr. Donovan." said a man that Donovan couldn't quite see the face, since the chair impeded him from turning his head.
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| abstract
| - Harry Donovan woke up, and looked around. He was sitting upright in a strange metallic chair. The last thing he remembered was kissing his kids goodbye and making love with his wife before going to sleep. He was now in a strange, small room with metallic walls, strapped to a steel chair, with a enormous telescreen in front of him. Another man, wearing an impeccable expensive suit, entered the room. "Hello, Mr. Donovan." said a man that Donovan couldn't quite see the face, since the chair impeded him from turning his head. "Who are you? Wh-where am I?" Donovan asked. The man took a small electronic device from his pocket and pressed a green button, aiming at the telescreen. Donovan's face was shown on the screen, but slightly different than he remembered. He had a moustache where his clean shave usually was, and smoked a cigarette. Donovan never smoked. The man started talking as if he was reading a shopping list. "Jeremy Whiters. 31. Professional criminal and hitman. Arrested after a failed bank robbery. Killed at least six people, last month. Nothing more than a dead burden to society. A waste of sperm, oxygen and time. Like a lot of other people out there. Only... he looks a lot like you, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Donovan?" Donovan was confused. "Is...is he my twin brother or something?" he asked. "No, Mr. Donovan. This is not some B-movie. That is you. Five minutes ago." That didn't make any sense. "What are you talking about?" Donovan asked, confused. "You were convicted to death penalty, so the government thought that it wouldn't be such a loss to test a new neurological procedure we invented. A...sure-fire ressocialization method, I think they called it. You had the little links on your neurons cut, and your entire neurological structure rearranged. Gone is Jeremy Whiters, soon-to-be-deceased convicted criminal. Here is Harry Donovan, loving husband, stern father and conservative christian." he stated, nearly emotionless. Donovan did his best to sound intimidating while strapped to a chair: "What are you talking about? I am this Jeremy Whiters? I would never kill a man!" The other man finally allowed some emotion trespass his poker face. He smirked. "Exactly. I gotta give props to the guys at template adaptation. You really sound completely different from when you came in. And if everything went alright, which seems to be the case, you are probably thinking a lot differently now." Donovan was able to see the hand with the device rising up again, and another button being pressed, the telescreen showed a picture of a house, the map of a country and a picture of an asiatic-looking man. The man restarted talking: "As part of the prototype testing, you'll be under 24-7 observation, in another country, with another name. We'll have a personal custody officer with you at most times. You'll also have a medium-responsibility job and a dog. No wives and kids. Girlfriends are also off-limits. We need to be sure that you won't go psycho on us." Donovan couldn't understand. None of this made any sense. He wanted a cigarette..."What a strange thought.", he thought. The man seemed oblivious to him, and continued his professional tone. "This will be a nice chance for repaying society for your stupidity, Mr. Donovan. I would take it, if it was me. Of course, if you decide you prefer it the hard way, there's always a needle here, with your name written on it."
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