Pièce de résistance

The guard looked up from the table in frustration. The pounding against the door was only getting louder with time. He’d expected her to eventually tire herself out. One of the other guards tried to sneak a glance at his hand, but he placed the cards face down.

“I’ll be right back. Give me a minute to shut her up.”

He pushed back his chair and left the table. The stick felt warm in his hand. He shifted its weight, marveling at the effect. Managing to compress all of that technology into such a simple exterior? This was why he respected engineers.

He typically respected engineers. This engineer was a criminal- a traitor, more specifically. He didn’t know why she wasn’t being kept in more secure confinement. There was only so much gambling drunks could do to resist if she tried to escape.

The guard opened the door, the stick in his hand coming alive with a loud hum and a bright glow.

“Don’t get any ideas. You know what happened last time.”

The prisoner grinned, her uneven teeth standing out. Most people had that sort of deformity corrected early, but she had resisted medical intervention from a young age.

“How do I know that’s not just another lie cooked up by the state?”

“I hate conspiracy theorists. Why don’t you stop interrupting our fun?”

“The government you work for is sickening. The exploitation of the poor, the hungry, the un-engineered, it’s despicable. If our ancestors could see you now, they would balk. You would probably have them ‘fixed’, wouldn’t you.”

The guard sighed, leaning against the wall.

“Maybe we would. All genetic modifications are optional, and so are most later procedures.”

“The patients can’t choose whether to be genetically engineered.”

“Their parents can. If you have a way to ask embryos which crippling conditions they want to keep, I’m all ears.”

The prisoner glared, but said nothing. Figured. She’d ruined millions of lives, and ending thousands, but she didn’t have a response when confronted with basic logic.

“Any government that feeds its citizens to themselves needs to be resisted.”

The guard frowned.

“The deceased only get placed into the food stock after a mourning period. There’s nothing sinister there.”

She only shook her head, laughing.

“Get back to your game. I’m just crazy, right? I couldn’t resist.”

He rolled his eyes, leaving. He closed and latched the door behind him.

“Conspiracy theorists,” he grumbled, reconsidering his next play.

Prompt: Resist

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