As one day bleeds into the next, I decide that Strand has decided that boredom is their torture of choice this time. I get three meals a day from the food dispenser, but other than that I'm confined to my bedroom. It's still far better than being locked in a cell with Lexi, but something about the improved conditions makes me suspicious. Strand does everything for a reason.

I distract myself with long showers and by trying to force another vision to come through. But two days in and I haven't been able to open that door in my mind.

It's the morning of the third day, after I've showered and changed into a fresh uniform, that a buzzing noise interrupts the silence. I almost jump out of my skin as something flies through the air in my direction. I duck, covering my head. When nothing crashes into me, I look up. A camera hovers nearby but out of reach.

What the fuck is this? I try to snatch it out of the air a couple times without success. Could it be sent from my friends with some kind of message?

The camera follows me as I make myself breakfast and braid my hair. Again, I push against the door in my mind, hoping for a vision that will give me a clue as to what is happening, but it remains firmly closed.

I'm not surprised when the door opens, and two Deans put me in handcuffs and lead me out of the pod.

"Where are we going?"

One of the Deans glances at the camera that is still following us, and answers in a businesslike tone. "Strand is following the process and procedures protecting Genetic Replicants. You are entitled to a hearing to deliver justice for your alleged crimes."

I know that his answer is for the camera that's following us, not for me. Strand is putting on a show, and they're making sure that I don't know my lines. Too bad improvisation is one of my strong suits.

"Thank you for your answer, sir," I reply, slipping into my Sweet 'Lil Joanie persona like a second skin. If the world is watching, I'll give them my best performance.

I remember the mental exercises that Jo taught me before I came to Strand the first time, and try to find a center of calm.

The Deans lead me into a room that I recognize from one of my visions. Strand's boardroom has an enormous table with people at every seat. They eye me curiously as I'm escorted to a chair at the front of the room that is lit with bright lights.

Every expression on my face will be clearly visible both on and off screen. Behind the table with Strand's board members, a monitor displays the footage from the camera that is recording my every move. Though the sound is muted, I can see from the scroll across the bottom of the screen that my hearing is being live streamed on Strand's website.

Dr. Rodriguez steps forward, and I gasp. Are they going to kill me now, on camera, while everyone watches? I wait for a needle or a laser pen set to kill, but instead he sets wireless sensors on my skin that I remember well. They want to be able to monitor my body's reactions so they'll know if I'm lying.

A clear voice cuts through the silence as a woman sitting at the far end of the table speaks. "As is your right as one of Strand's creations, you, Joan Fasces, are entitled to a hearing for the crime for which you are accused—the murder of Dr. Josef Avery. How do you plead?"

All my law knowledge comes from vids I watched in high school, but even I know the answer to this one. "Not guilty."

"To begin with, since you have been arrested, has anyone threatened or harmed you during your time at Strand?"

"Not during this stay," I reply carefully.

"Truth," says a man watching a screen that must be monitoring my body's reactions to these questions.

There's a pause, and the woman continues. "Answer only the questions you're asked, Replicant. Describe your accommodations during your time here."

"During this stay, ma'am? Or during my last stay, in which I was put in a cell and tortured?"

"She is out of order!" cries the silver haired man sitting closest to me. "You are in the presence of your betters. Speak accordingly or you will receive the full three lashes for breaking propriety laws governing replicants."

"Yes, sir," I reply as sweetly as I can manage. He has no idea, but he's given me an idea.

"Describe your stay as you awaited today's trial," the woman resumes.

"Three meals a day, a bed, bathroom and clean clothes."

"Truth."

"And I'm so grateful." Someone snorts, and I know I'm laying it on too thick. Luckily for me, the man monitoring my responses doesn't announce that this statement is a lie.

"Let it be noted that the Replicant acknowledges that Strand has followed protocol in her treatment as prisoner," the woman says. "Let's move on to the incident in question."

The monitor at the back of the room plays the footage of me killing Dr. Avery. In the vid, you only see my face for a moment, when I enter the room. I'm facing away from the camera when I kill Dr. Avery. Still, the vid leaves no doubt as to who killed the doctor.

"Please clarify if you were the woman in the vid holding the laser pen," Silver Hair says.

"Yes, sir. It happened after he killed the woman who raised me my entire life. I watched her bleed to death in my arms."

"Truth."

"She's ignoring your instruction to only answer the question asked deliberately," Silver Hair says, growing red in the face. "She needs to be put in her place."

The woman in charge gives him a small shake of her head, and I can tell that she's frustrated by Silver Hair's interruptions. "You admit that you killed Dr. Avery?"

All my training at Seattle Secondary returns to me, and I widen my eyes and take short, gasping breaths. "It all happened so fast. After Addie was murdered I saw a gun pointed at me and I knew I'd be killed next. I didn't even recognize Dr. Avery. I reacted, and aimed my laser pen. It was supposed to be set to stun!"

I summon the worst moments of my life—finding Sparkle dead in the shower, cutting down Nic after he'd been murdered, holding Addie in my arms while she died—and my tears flow.

The woman in charge turns to the man monitoring the truth of my statements.

"Her emotion is interfering with reading her bodily responses to the question," he says, squinting at his screen.

"Ms. Fasces, did you kill Dr. Avery, yes or no?"

"Yes," I gasp out, trying to breathe evenly again.

"Truth."

"She admits to murdering him," Silver Hair continues. "We don't need to waste anyone's time."

"Murder? It was an accident, I swear!" I lie, with wide, watery eyes.

Silver Hair can't take another one of my outbursts. Just like I hoped, he leaps to his feet and pulls out an object from his jacket pocket that I instantly recognize from my first beating. A laser whip—exactly what I was hoping for.

I hide my satisfaction and fake fear as he steps forward. Provoking this asshole was easy, and now the world can see what he, and so many others like him, are capable of.

His first lash hits me across the back of my shoulders as I turn away from him. I forgot how much this hurts, and I don't have to fake the scream that leaves my throat. But by this point in my life, I've faced much worse.

I fall to my knees in front of Silver Hair, the picture of a humbled, repentant Throwback girl. "Please sir, no more!"

He strikes me again, this time across my chest. My skin splits open from the force of the lash, and I cry out in real agony. I hope the camera is catching this in high definition.

I want to hold my pose so the audience can really see the torment playing out on my face, but my body won't obey my wish. I collapse to the ground as the third lash hits me on the back, adding another scar to my well-decorated back.

"Enough," the woman's voice rings out from the back of the room.

Damn. I was hoping Silver Hair would really lose it and give the audience a real show.

But he stops, panting, and then spits on me. "Let your supporters see what happens to Replicants who forget their place."

Wilde couldn't have written him a better line. I stay on the floor, moaning. That part doesn't take acting—I'm in physical agony.

"She hasn't received her sentence yet," Silver Hair says.

"The evidence is overwhelming, but of course we must vote before determining guilt and a sentence," the woman says.

I struggle to hold on to consciousness as the voting takes place at the table. I don't bother listening. The outcome of this joke of a 'hearing' was never in question. The only reason they had it at all was to try to minimize the damage to the company's image.

By the time they've finished, I've managed to haul myself back into my well-lit chair. My wounds are pouring out so much blood that it drips on the floor beside me.

I look at the monitor, and see that the camera that was filming the board members as they voted has returned to me. The sight of my battered body is striking. Wilde must be thrilled.

"We find you, Joan Fasces, guilty of the murder of Dr. Avery," the woman announces.

"Perhaps I am guilty," I say, even as I struggle to breathe. "But it seems to me that the torture and murder of thousands of Throwbacks by Evolved this year alone is its own crime. But no one is answering for that travesty."

Silver Hair starts to rise again, but the woman in charge raises her voice. "Enough."

I don't know if she's talking to me or Silver Hair, but the blood loss is getting to me, and it's all I can do to hang on to consciousness.

The last words I hear before I give in to the darkness are the ones I've been waiting for. "For the crime of murdering an Evolved, your sentence is death by lethal injection."