It’s cold. No…it’s neutral, but without food - he’s cold. He wakes, squinting. His orbit must be broken and swollen. It’s hard to breathe through his nose, and he sees…boots? Shit. The general.
“Ma deepest apologies for...the incident yesterday. Ye didnae deserve thon.” Eden just blinks. Sure. Another good cop/bad cop routine? He closes his eyes, the general just…watching. Is there anything behind those eyes? Or just…glass. He must have hit him too hard. Well, ok. He did hit him really hard,”Juist tell us where she is. We'll get ye patchit up, an A'll see whit A can dae aboot lessenin yer sentence.” More silence. Yes, the hit from the general fucked him up…but Huxley can fuck him up worse than whatever the Embassy could throw at him. That he knows for sure.  The general watches him again. No reaction. Just a glassy stare,”A see. Let's get ye somethin tae eat an drink, an we'll return tae thon.” He looks over to the small window and nods, as a guard carefully steps in, setting down the tray of the normal prison food, as well as what the others call a “banana bag”. Basically a bag of sports drink. Ariks sits in front of him once the soldier leaves. He has to be starving. Has to be. His eye, still slightly swollen, moves around…looking at the general, the food…then back at the one way window.
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Solitary confinement was outlawed back in 1923, but reinstated in the 2000’s after two back to back terror attacks. confinement may encompass a range of adverse symptoms, but mainly the Solitary Confinement Mental Health upset, or the SCMHU. It can include, but not limited to; anxiety, depression, anger, cognitive disturbances, perceptual distortions, obsessive thoughts, paranoia, and psychosis.  For those with  psychiatric illnesses or trauma, it can significantly worsen their conditions, having them decompensate in isolation, requiring crisis care or psychiatric hospitalization. It’s been shown to show permanent or semi-permanent changes to brain physiology, often leading to suicide or self injury, and physically in hypertension, headaches, profuse sweating, dizziness, and palpitations.  It’s torture in it’s finest.
Ineffective and unethical as well. Did I have any mental health issues? …maybe anxiety. Nah not anxiety. Depression? I  did have that bout when Carol died. That was just a few days though. God, I miss her. I miss those dumbass pickup lines and
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Eden squirms as a soldier holds him down, not fighting back, but looking uncomfortable. It’s not hard to hold him down…he’s been in here for three days, and he’s thin. The physician on staff watches him struggle, and looks to the general, before looking at Eden wordlessly, adjusting his glasses. He’s a fairly tall wood elf with white hair and a white beard, cleanly trimmed. The general “clears his throat”, aware of the tense situation he found himself in,
A wantit tae make sure he's i guid health. We neit tae find her, an he's been catatonic for a while...an aw as no eatin or drinkin. “The doctor motions to Eden’s face and the General sighs, but nods, “A'm aware. A did thon yesterday. It wis a mistake.” The doctor wistfully nods, carefully approaching and looking over his face. He stops struggling, looking… confused.
Is that… dad?
Fazil stares at him for a moment, before a gloved hand carefully palpates his injured face, frowning, then moving on to the rest of his body. The regret from what he’s done to his son, how he raised him, eats at him as he does his exam, takes some blood, the normal physical things. He’s…so malnourished. He must have been like this since BCFH let him go. He should have taken care of his son. He should have. He doubts he can do anything else but help him medically, but by god he’ll try. Eden is silent as the guards stop holding him down, letting him go back to staring at one of the walls, the struggling draining all the energy he had for the day as he slips again into the darkness.
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He didn’t love me. My father, Fazil. Ada wasn’t even around me. My childhood was made up of traveling with Fazil, and forced into silent reading or studying as my father did his studies. No friends. No partying. Praised for being a “good child” in school. I was…invisible. 
People liked Invisible. Self sufficient. Just another branch in the family tree, forced to carry on his legacy. No grandparents, no siblings….nothing but books and travel.  Alone with myself, books and my thoughts. Isolating, but…it was fine. Homeschooled, taught myself since Fazil was so busy. Kept my head down and studied. Got high, alone, on the weekends a drug dealer on the floor I lived on back then in college. Got good grades, got a good residency.
Admittedly, it doesn’t matter now. None of it does. None of it ever did. No matter how hard I worked…they still didn’t care. I was still just a piece to serve some other purpose. Who even am I in the end? Does it even matter? Does anything? If I continue, I’ll spiral. I hope the others are ok. They may not care about me, but they deserve a good life. Is Tanner ok? I hope
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