Project Paper Doll: The Trials Read Online Free Page A

impassive expression.
Steady, stay steady.
I wasn’t sure if I was talking to my cot and the books or myself.
    “Your desire to seek vengeance against Ford is understandable,” he continued. “And I certainly can’t argue with the results.”
    I relaxed. That was a logical assumption on his part. Of course I would blame the person who pulled the trigger on the bullet that had killed Zane. In Dr. Jacobs’s arrogant mind, that was
the only reasonable response. No way would I hold him responsible.
He
hadn’t hurt anyone.
    Except me. Over and over again, in almost every way possible. He had vastly underestimated the depths of my anger and desire for retaliation.
    A grim smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. His loss. Or, it would soon be.
    Yes, Ford had shot Zane, but it had been unintentional, a by-product of her attempt at self-defense against Laughlin’s guards. Zane’s death was her fault only because she, like me,
was a pawn in this game Jacobs and Laughlin were playing with us.
    “But
we
,” Dr. Jacobs said with a wink at me, as if we were somehow collaborating, “need you to be
you
. Everything that makes you special, not some flesh-and-blood
robot.” He made a disgusted noise at the idea and then smiled at me as if I understood what he was talking about.
    Which I didn’t. Not at first. Robot? What?
    Then, suddenly, his meaning clicked. Oh. If I were too much like Ford, too obviously different, inhuman and nonemotional, his methodology wouldn’t shine through, demonstrating the obvious
advantages of his technique (i.e., she walks, talks, even smiles just like a real human, but she’s not!) over that of his competitor, Dr. Laughlin.
    And that, in turn, explained Rachel’s persistent presence. Rachel had the ability to crawl beneath my skin and set up camp, like a rash that would not go away. She irritated me, to the
extreme. He’d been counting on her for that, to force me to react and dissolve the walls I’d put up around my feelings.
    He wanted to make sure that if he pricked me, I’d still bleed. Especially in front of the audience we would have waiting for us at the trials.
    And I’d fallen right in line with his plan.
    A fresh cascade of self-hatred washed over me, and I let my cot and books fall to the floor.
    I stood on shaking legs to turn my back on Dr. Jacobs’s gloating face. He’d won, yet again.
    “You’ll be pleased to hear that Private Zadowski is being released from the hospital today,” he said smugly.
    My breath caught in my throat at the name; a vision of that soldier’s face, young and unlined, growing purple from the effort to stay alive, was so bright in my mind.
    “Minimal permanent damage to the heart, despite clinical death, thanks to your resuscitation efforts. He’s going to be fine.” He paused. “You really are quite capable of
amazing things, 107.” He sounded impressed, pleased, but there was a layer of smugness beneath it all, as if to say, “Of course you are. Because I made you.”
    Then he walked up the stairs and away from my cell, whistling, his shoes clacking happily on the tile floor.
    My fingernails dug into the vulnerable skin of my upper arms, the pain sharpening my focus and reminding me of my true purpose.
    Oh, Dr. Jacobs, you have
no
idea what I’m capable of.
    I lowered myself into push-up position on the floor and sent that second stack of books into the air, where they held steadily for the first time.
    Two more days.

“107,” D R . J ACOBS SNAPPED .
    His voice over the sudden pop of the intercom jolted me awake. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding in triple time.
    I blinked rapidly, trying to reorient myself, the rush of adrenaline making me shaky. I was in a cell at GTX, just like usual. Well, the usual for the last three weeks, anyway. My eyes were
gritty, and my neck had a painful kink.
    I tugged at the collar of my tunic, which was damp with nightmare-induced sweat. In the dream, I was being chased by an unseen enemy, while