"We have people on payroll for this kind of thing. You'll stay in my office. The school can send you your homework-." Desmond lunged for the passenger-side door while his Dad was still talking. The red light wouldn't last much longer. He managed to hit the unlock button an instant before his Dad grabbed his left hand and wrenched it back and up. Desmond bit back a yelp and tried to fumble for the back door but the child locks were on again and they were moving before he could try anything else.
"You're only making this worse for yourself, you know." He sounded so calm. Desmond cradled his left hand to his chest and gaped at the back of his Dad's head.
"Dad, you're scaring me. Please, stop the car." He tried to negotiate one last time, but was given no answer. Desmond flexed his hand slowly, trying to work the pins and needles out of it, but by the time he was ready for another escape attempt they'd already arrived at the parking garage.
-----
"This is Dr. Warren Vidic with Subject Seventeen: Desmond Miles. Beginning session five. So, Mr. Miles, how exactly do you want this session to go?"
"Fuck you, Vidic."
"Ah, the hard way today, I see. Very well. I’ve heard that you're refusing to eat again. How long do you suspect that will last this time?"
"If you don't have your goons force-feed me again, as long as I want."
"Mr. Miles, really. Petty childishness isn't a very good look for you."
"Prison warden sure is your style, though."
"I suppose I would look like that to you. I am the only one who can get you released. If you were willing to talk about your hallucinations, I'd be able to narrow down exactly what kind of prescription you require, and you'd be out of here that much faster."
"Great, a drug cocktail made just for me. Just what I always wanted. Thanks but no thanks, doc. I'm not crazy, and I don't need your 'prescription'."
"No, Desmond, you're not crazy. You just have some minor psychological problems that, with the correct therapy, you can learn to overcome."
"No. Fuck you, Vidic. You can't hold me prisoner here forever. Sooner or later, someone's gonna find out about this."
"It wouldn't matter if they did."
"What do you mean?"
"Surely you've figured it out by now. This is Abstergo Industries, Mr. Miles. We have fingers in the pockets of every organization that matters, and many that don't. You can't think that local law enforcement is beyond our grasp."
"Y-you're kidding!"
"Why would I 'kid'? No, I’m afraid you aren't going anywhere until I say so."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
"You mean, why did I let you waste my time? Well, I'm paid per session, Mr. Miles. And your father is making sure I'm paid very well to take care of his darling son."
"How about I tell him you said that?"
"Now really, who do you think he's going to believe? The respected, published, world-renowned psychologist, or his shamefully insane son? I'm afraid that, if you don't start cooperating with me Desmond, you'll find yourself stuck here for a very long time."
Childhood Fantasies, Part 8
"We have people on payroll for this kind of thing. You'll stay in my office. The school can send you your homework-." Desmond lunged for the passenger-side door while his Dad was still talking. The red light wouldn't last much longer. He managed to hit the unlock button an instant before his Dad grabbed his left hand and wrenched it back and up. Desmond bit back a yelp and tried to fumble for the back door but the child locks were on again and they were moving before he could try anything else.
"You're only making this worse for yourself, you know." He sounded so calm. Desmond cradled his left hand to his chest and gaped at the back of his Dad's head.
"Dad, you're scaring me. Please, stop the car." He tried to negotiate one last time, but was given no answer. Desmond flexed his hand slowly, trying to work the pins and needles out of it, but by the time he was ready for another escape attempt they'd already arrived at the parking garage.
-----
"This is Dr. Warren Vidic with Subject Seventeen: Desmond Miles. Beginning session five. So, Mr. Miles, how exactly do you want this session to go?"
"Fuck you, Vidic."
"Ah, the hard way today, I see. Very well. I’ve heard that you're refusing to eat again. How long do you suspect that will last this time?"
"If you don't have your goons force-feed me again, as long as I want."
"Mr. Miles, really. Petty childishness isn't a very good look for you."
"Prison warden sure is your style, though."
"I suppose I would look like that to you. I am the only one who can get you released. If you were willing to talk about your hallucinations, I'd be able to narrow down exactly what kind of prescription you require, and you'd be out of here that much faster."
"Great, a drug cocktail made just for me. Just what I always wanted. Thanks but no thanks, doc. I'm not crazy, and I don't need your 'prescription'."
"No, Desmond, you're not crazy. You just have some minor psychological problems that, with the correct therapy, you can learn to overcome."
"No. Fuck you, Vidic. You can't hold me prisoner here forever. Sooner or later, someone's gonna find out about this."
"It wouldn't matter if they did."
"What do you mean?"
"Surely you've figured it out by now. This is Abstergo Industries, Mr. Miles. We have fingers in the pockets of every organization that matters, and many that don't. You can't think that local law enforcement is beyond our grasp."
"Y-you're kidding!"
"Why would I 'kid'? No, I’m afraid you aren't going anywhere until I say so."
"Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"
"You mean, why did I let you waste my time? Well, I'm paid per session, Mr. Miles. And your father is making sure I'm paid very well to take care of his darling son."
"How about I tell him you said that?"
"Now really, who do you think he's going to believe? The respected, published, world-renowned psychologist, or his shamefully insane son? I'm afraid that, if you don't start cooperating with me Desmond, you'll find yourself stuck here for a very long time."