ENTER: BARBARA, sleeping on an ornate four-poster bed. Sunlight plays over her face. Slowly, she opens her eyes and glances at the sleek digital clock on her bedside table, then sighs.

BARBARA: Ugh.

With some difficulty, BARBARA slips out of bed and pads into her bathroom. She is wearing a set of hastily modified pyjamas. Atop the toilet, she places one hand on the globe of her stomach.

<You up?>
>I do not sleep.

BARBARA washes her hands, brushes her teeth, and ties her hair up loosely. Her closet is filled with muted colours: sweaters, turtlenecks, skirts. Very few of them fit her anymore. She selects a blouse and a knee-length skirt, then changes quickly and efficiently. She doesn’t want to be late. There are punishments if you’re late. There is a mole between her shoulder-blades. A man is waiting outside for her. As she sets off for the dining-room, he matches her pace.

MAN: You know how good you have it here, right?
BARBARA glances at him but does not respond. The MAN makes a soft noise under his breath.
MAN: The Institute experiments on all of its subjects. The Centre trains its soldiers for war. Only here do talented individuals such as yourself have the freedom to learn and grow into capable, upstanding citizens… participants in our Great Project.

They round a corner and arrive in a large, high-ceilinged hall. Previously, the hall would have been filled to the brim with children, teenagers and adults, all seated in their designated spots, chattering and eating. It is now almost empty but for a handful of students and staff. The MAN at her back, BARBARA makes her way to the counter to the side and receives a steaming English breakfast from the scowling cook. She takes the plate to her seat, sits down, and glances up as the MAN places a glass of orange juice on the coaster beside her.

MAN: You have been scheduled for a meeting with representatives from the Centre and the Institute.

BARBARA saws at her sausage. As she takes a sip from her orange juice, the MAN lowers his gaze to her belly and adopts a more respectful tone.

MAN: This is in your interest as well, Great One. The Institute and the Centre will not treat you with the reverence to which you are entitled.

>May I?
BARBARA pauses for a moment, her fork halfway to her mouth.
<You never asked before. I mean, sure.>

BARBARA’s mouth opens, but it is BOB who speaks. HIS voice is gravelly. If one listens closely, it is possible to hear the distant sound of screams and arrhythmic chanting.
BOB: IS IT?

The hall is silent, and remains so for a while. BARBARA finishes her breakfast, wipes her mouth, and stands up. She smiles at the MAN, who stares at her for a beat before rising to his feet.

BARBARA: Shall we?

The MAN is silent as he leads her into the sunlight. BARBARA’s laced-up boots tramp over the grass as they head for an outlying building, near the outer limits of the compound. The faint rustle of the forcefield is slightly audible. Squinting, she is able to make out the vague outline of a moss-covered gate, almost indistinguishable from the surrounding wall of trees.

>He is communicating with another.
<He’s a telepath?>
>Yes.

A few men in uniform are standing outside the building, smoking. The MAN’s face twists in annoyance as his gaze passes over them, but he nods at the blue-coated orderlies.

MAN: No smoking.

The men in uniform stare at him impassively. One of them gives him the finger. The rest are too busy leering at BARBARA.

MAN: Come along.

They enter the building. It is relatively small. There is a tastefully-decorated boardroom on the third floor. Within, the HEADMASTER, flanked by his staff, is speaking animatedly to a group of white-coated doctors as well as a gathering of uniformed officers.

HEADMASTER: … absolutely no reason whatsoever to interfere with the internal workings of your Centre. This is how it has always been, ever since my Foundation was established. Why on Earth would we do such a thing?

GENERAL: We have the most resources and the most soldiers. Is it so far-fetched to conclude that –

DIRECTOR: Gentlemen, we are here to coordinate a response to the three simultaneous breakouts that we recently suffered. Can we at least agree not to make this public knowledge?

The room is quiet. The GENERAL glances at BARBARA.

GENERAL: Didn’t your daughter escape as well, Headmaster?

The HEADMASTER jumps to his feet, purpling.

HEADMASTER: You son of a bitch. Your breakout happened before ours, didn’t it? And you didn’t even think to consult us on what happened. Shoot first and ask questions later!

DIRECTOR: Gentlemen, gentlemen!

HEADMASTER: I am willing to submit to a telepathic examination to confirm that the Foundation had no role in the Centre’s recent failures. Can either of you say the same?

There is a long silence.

DIRECTOR: Now, there’s no need to escalate things to such an extent… 

GENERAL: I always knew you fops were in each other’s pockets. 

The GENERAL stands up. The officers behind him rise as well, almost in sync.

GENERAL: We will not make this public knowledge, but that is the limit to which we will cooperate with you. This is your first and final warning: stay out of our way.

The GENERAL and his officers leave. One or two of them glance curiously at BARBARA as they go. The HEADMASTER sits down, still breathing heavily, and turns to look at the DIRECTOR.

<What did they even need me here for?>
>A show of force.
<What just happened didn't feel like a show of force.>
>The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.
<I haven't read that poem in months.>
>Your memories are mine.
<Um, okay. And are your memories mine?>
>Would you like them to be?
<Probably not, actually.>