Page 14 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

"He decides who lives and dies?"

"Precisely." The researcher taps something on her tablet, bringing up biometric data streams. "The psychological impactof such responsibility—particularly when combined with physical stress positions and sleep deprivation—generates unique neurochemical responses we haven't been able to replicate through other protocols."

I study the data scrolling across her screen, memorizing patterns and values while maintaining my facade of casual interest.

My gaze returns to the suspended man, watching how he methodically rotates attention between screens despite his compromised position.

"What happens if he makes wrong decisions?" The question slips out before I can filter it through my carefully constructed persona.

The researcher's smile turns cold.

"There are no wrong decisions in our protocols. Only consequences." She gestures toward a panel of buttons near the suspension controls. "If his determinations fall outside statistical probability models or contradict established baseline parameters, he experiences immediate correctional feedback."

Torture for deviating from their expectations. Pain as enforcement of compliant judgment.

"Does he ever refuse?" I ask, studying how the man's muscles tense slightly when action on one particular screen intensifies—two alphas engaged in brutal combat, blood spraying across arena walls.

"Not anymore." The simple answer carries volumes of implied history. "Subject 731 underwent extensive compliance conditioning during initial assessment phases. He understands the parameters of his role here."

The suspended judge suddenly raises one finger on his bound hand—a small, precise gesture that might have gone unnoticed if I hadn't been watching him so carefully.

Immediately, guards enter the combat arena visible on the screen, separating the fighters and dragging the bloody but still breathing loser away.

"He chose mercy," I observe quietly.

The researcher's expression sharpens with interest.

"Interesting interpretation. Most visitors assume he designated the subject for termination."

I shake my head slightly, certainty flowing from instinct rather than evidence.

"He chose intervention before fatality. The combat had reached conclusive determination without requiring death."

Something flickers across her face—surprise, perhaps, at accuracy she didn't expect from someone my age.

"Very observant," she acknowledges. "Subject 731 demonstrates unusual conservation tendencies regarding research assets. It's one of his more fascinating behavioral anomalies."

He tries to save lives even while forced to determine who lives and dies.

Something about this man—this judge suspended between worlds—resonates with a frequency I recognize. A strategic mind evaluating multiple scenarios simultaneously. A capacity for decisive action even under extreme duress. The ability to identify patterns within chaos.

Valuable. Essential. Mine.

The thought forms with surprising clarity, primitive possessiveness interwoven with tactical assessment. This alpha represents a critical piece in whatever strategy might eventually emerge from the fog of my existence here.

"May I speak with him?" The request emerges with calculated innocence, as if born from simple curiosity rather than strategic necessity.

The researcher hesitates, consulting her tablet.

"That's highly irregular. Subject 731 rarely receives direct interaction outside scheduled assessment protocols."

I employ the techniques I've been perfecting—widening my eyes slightly, projecting an aura of harmless scientific interest that appeals to their research instincts.

"I'm just curious about how he makes decisions so quickly. It might help with my own cognitive development protocols."

The mention of my own status as a research subject creates the connection I intended, reminding her that my "educational tour" serves dual purposes as developmental stimulus.

She considers for a moment before nodding.

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