Time passed in a blur for Blue. She was only aware of light and dark, but she had no idea how many times the sun had risen and set. She still refused to eat, her only way of striking back, but that of course was resolved with the needle in her arm, she too weak to even rip it from her flesh.

She always felt sick, now. Her stomach constantly churned and twisted, making her absolutely miserable. She no longer fought against the medical techs when they appeared and Hoskins' presence only garnered a reflexive snarl, an instinctive baring of teeth. She otherwise ignored him, turning her face away whenever possible, because to even see him was a new level of misery.

Today, however, Blue heard the cell door open and close, but no white-coated men materialized out of the drug-induced haze; her nose only brought her the by-now familiar stench of Vic-fucking-Hoskins. She recoiled out of habit, chains clinking slightly, and turned her face away, staring unseeing at the plain off-white wall. He was talking, but she only heard the noise, not the words.

She didn't give a shit, whatever the fuck he said.