ACADEMIC IMPRISONMENT

A Daria fic by wyvern337

There were only so many times one could count the cracks in the ceiling without starting to go hypnogogic, especially this late at night. Which was kind of the idea at this point, really. Finally feeling herself beginning to drowse, Daria removed her glasses, set them on top of her alarm clock, turned out the lamp and waited for sleep to overtake her.

And waited.

And waited.

Just not going to happen this time, was it? Though the moon was just an indistinct blue-silver smear to her without her glasses, Daria could tell how low to the horizon it was getting...and it was a waning moon that wouldn't be setting 'til well after sunrise. Tired of this discouraging sight, Daria pulled the curtains shut, tossed and turned for a little while longer, then finally turned so she was lying on her back, arms straight out, head hanging off the edge of the bed as she stared unfocusedly into the darkness.

What was bothering her, exactly? Maybe she could get past this insomnia if she could just work that out...she didn't fit in here, of course, but she hadn't fit in Highland, either -- and that much hadn't really been unexpected, anyway. Her family was no worse -- or different, for that matter -- than ever. There were things about her situation that'd changed since the Morgendorffers had moved to Lawndale, though: probably best to concentrate on those.

Well, the rules -- the official, written ones, that is -- were somewhat different at Lawndale High than they'd been in Highland. Daria reflected glumly on the memo principal Li had distributed to all the students at Lawndale High: the surveillance cameras, the "criminologically trained" dogs, the vapor detectors and the biweekly bomb scare drills, those things and others, but what felt the worst of all of it was the fact that no one, not among the students, not among the teachers, seemed to care that they were being treated like that. Being the only one it bothered (or at least so it often seemed) made Daria feel even more isolated and alienated than she had before.

The whole situation reminded Daria of something...at first she wasn't sure what. She ran the tip of her tongue along where the school nurse had rubbed the swab that afternoon. There'd been little enough physical sensation at the time, and what there'd been had long since passed, but Daria imagined she could still feel...something as she thought about what it meant. DNA samples collected from the student entire student body at the behest of Principal Angela Li, to try and track down a missing four-hundred-or-so dollars from a bake sale. This new high school was like... it reminded Daria of...

Her mind went back to how she'd spent the evening. Mostly watching television -- she'd finished her homework in class -- after she'd won an argument with her sister over what to watch. When it'd become obvious they wouldn't be watching Before They Were Supermodels, Quinn had stormed out and up to her room. After that evening's Sick, Sad World episode had ended, Daria had surfed channels 'til she'd run across one that was showing a marathon of episodes of The Prisoner. She hadn't seen that series since she was much younger, and hadn't really understood it at the time. Now, though, she'd found it fascinating, and had managed to take in about three-and-a-half episodes before it was time to retire to her room for the night. Once up there Daria had done some online research on the series until bedtime and...

Suddenly it hit her. Maybe tomorrow there'd be more substantial solutions to her problems, but for now there was only one thing to do for it: Daria got up out of bed, switched on the lamp, found her glasses, the notebook she was currently working on, and a pen, and began to write...

...Melody Powers fought her way slowly back to consciousness, only to be greeted on arrival by a truly ferocious headache. Melody had been drugged before in the line of duty, and she found the symptoms, if not the specific agent in this case, pretty unmistakable. She didn't recall being injected with anything, though, and hadn't eaten or drunk anything that could've been doctored. A gas of some kind, then, she thought groggily as she sat up, wincing at a sudden stab of pain behind her eyes as she moved. Willing her head to clear, Melody took in her surroundings and was reassured by the familiar interior of her apartment. A failed abduction attempt, perhaps? But what had foiled it? Feeling recovered-enough to stand, Melody got up from the couch she was lying on. Actually, she found her head was clearing and her headache subsiding rapidly -- obviously whatever she'd been dosed with wasn't very persistent. She'd have to report this...incident to HQ, of course, but first she wanted a clearer idea of just what had happened. How about starting by shedding a little more light on the situation, she thought with a wry smile as she walked to the window and pulled open the curtains. She immediately found herself regretting having done so: wherever she actually was, this was definitely not her apartment.

Outside the window was a cluster of buildings Melody had never seen before...to the far right of what she could see from the window was a structure with some low stone steps and columns. Across a lawn, to the left of that, was an open rectangular area, slightly elevated, with more stone steps leading up to it, bordered by hedges. There were two columns in the nearer corners, what looked like an oval reflecting pool in the center, with a two-story colonnaded structure at the far end. Beyond that was a group of blue-roofed dun-colored buildings, amid a grove of trees. The tallest of the buildings was a three-story-or-so bell tower, and Melody selected it as the best vantage point from which to get a better view of the...of wherever she was.

Portmeirion? thought Melody dazedly. What would I be doing in Wales?

Before that, though, there was something she wanted to find out. Melody checked a section of wall that was actually a secret panel in her real apartment, concealing a stash of some of her favorite weaponry. Nothing there but a section of drywall, of course, but sometimes it paid to be thorough.

Melody looked briefly out the window again, but she knew it was time to get to the bottom of this -- of what had happened to her and where she was. She ran out the door to her apartment (bungalow, she noted as she left it, whoever was running this place had set up the simulation of her apartment in a bungalow) and towards the tower that formed the highest spot in this...village.

On the way there, Melody noticed that there weren't any people around -- the whole place seemed deserted. Eerily silent, too. She took the tower stairs two at a time, reached the top, and surveyed this...whatever it was. A movement caught her eye, and she recognized a human figure, in what looked like an outdoor cafe.

Just as this happened, the bell began tolling. From where she was, the noise was intolerably loud, and it all but drove her back down the stairs and out of the place. A more-detailed survey wasn't necessary, though -- she'd seen what she needed to. The bell continued chiming as she headed towards the place she'd seen, eleven times in all.

Eleven already and no one's around? she thought absently.

As Melody reached the place she'd spotted from the tower, she noticed that it was, as it'd seemed from afar, a cafe: in fact, if the sign in front of the building was to be believed, the place was literally called "The Cafe". The person she'd seen from the belltower was a slightly pudgy middle-aged brunette woman, wearing a long khaki or beige skirt, a blue long-sleeved blouse with flared cuffs, and a large lapel button bearing a picture of an old-fashioned pennyfarthing bicycle with the number 25 superimposed in red on the front wheel. The woman was obviously a worker there, getting ready to open for the day. She looked up as Melody reached the porch full of umbrella-covered tables.

"We'll be open in a minute," she said cheerfully. "You know, the economic impact of moving the opening time to--"

"What's the name of this place?" interrupted Melody, a little testily.

"You're new here, aren't you?" said the woman in reply.

"Where?" Melody insisted.

"The Village," the woman said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll see if the coffee's ready," she continued, a little uneasily, turning to go as she said it.

"Wait," said Melody catching her by the shoulder. "Where's your phone?"

"We haven't got one," the woman replied.

"Where can I make a call?" asked Melody.

"There's a public phone around the corner," came the reply.

"Thank you," said Melody, and hurried off to find it.

Melody found the public phone the cafe-worker had mentioned just around the corner. When she lifted the receiver there was no dial tone, just a female voice that immediately said "number please."

"Hello," said Melody, "I'd like to place a call to--" she named one of the Agency's front-companies, somewhere it'd be safe to call on an unsecured line.

"Local calls only," the operator crisply replied. "Number please."

"I...don't know what you mean," said Melody, a little confused. She'd given the operator the front-company's complete phone number.

"No number, no call," came the reply and the line went dead.

After a couple of futile "hello"s Melody replaced the phone's handset, and was startled as a golfcart-like vehicle with a brightly striped awning over it pulled up behind her and came to a sudden stop. Melody whirled to face this new arrival on the scene.

"Taaxii," the young Asian woman at the wheel drawled.

Melody got in.

"How far to the nearest other town?" she asked.

"Sorryy, locaal destiinaations onlyy," replied the driver as they started off.

They drove seemingly aimlessly around this...village for awhile. As they did, the driver attempted to make small talk.

"Yoou're neew heere, aaren't yoou?" she asked.

"Where is 'here'?" inquired Melody sharply.

"Wheree wee aare," was the answer.

The 'conversation' continued like that for a little while before Melody gave up trying to communicate and rode along in silence. Before long, they pulled to a stop not far from where they'd started out.

"Laast stooop," said the driver. "Ii diid saay we were onlyy locaal."

Melody got out of the taxi. As she did, the taxi driver raised one hand to her face so that she was looking at Melody through a circle formed by her thumb and forefinger, with her remaining three fingers extending upwards. "Bee seeiing youu," the driver drawled, pushing her hand down and away from her face as she finished saying it. Melody walked away without comment, not sure what to make of the gesture. Noticing a building bearing a sign that read "General Stores", she was struck by an idea, and went into the building.

Inside, the place looked pretty much like what the sign outside had described it as: an old-fashioned general store. The shelves contained everything from produce to dry goods to small manufactured items. There was even a scale on the countertop.

"Good morning," said the man behind the counter, a rather meek-looking individual with hair that reminded Melody of a light-brown ice-cream cone, wearing a pink button-down shirt and gray slacks. On the shopkeeper's lapel was another of the pennyfarthing bicycle buttons, this one bearing the number 90. "How can I help you today?" He asked.

"I'd like a map of this area," said Melody.

"Color, or black-and-white?" asked Number 90.

"Just a map," replied Melody, a little tensely.

"Hmmm.." said Number 90 thoughtfully, turning to examine the shelves behind him, "map..map...oh, here they are." he pulled a folded map from its cubbyhole. "I think you'll find this shows everything of interest."

The man winced a little as Melody grabbed the map and quickly and roughly unfolded it. She started scanning for place-names, and the first thing her eye fell on were the words "The Mountains."

Melody cocked an eyebrow at this, then looked back at Number 90.

"I meant a larger map," she said.

"Oh my. We only have those in color," said Number 90 apologetically. "Much more expensive."

In reply, Melody simply gestured at the cubbyholes behind Number 90. He pulled out a larger map which Melody could see was printed in color. When she'd got it unfolded, though, she noticed the same indefinite place-names -- 'The Beach', 'The Lawn' -- and that, although the map was printed in a larger format, it covered the same territory as the first one she'd looked at: some unidentifiable location known only as 'Your Village.'

"No, I meant a map of a larger area," said Melody without looking up.

"Oh dear," replied Number 90. "I'm afraid we only have local maps -- no demand for any others."

Melody left both maps sitting on the counter.

"Look forward to doing business with you in the future," called Number 90 hopefully after her retreating back as she left the store.

As Melody stepped outside she was momentarily startled as a PA system crackled to life.

"Good morning all you Village People," announced a woman's voice which broke off into a snorting chuckle before continuing. "It's another beautiful day here..."

Melody listened briefly to the announcement, then let it fade into background noise when no substantial information was forthcoming, as she continued to walk around this place where she'd found herself. Deciding at length that, in terms of finding answers, she was as well off returning to where this...incident....had begun for her as she was wandering aimlessly and accosting the occasional polite but unhelpful (and apparently clueless) passerby.

As Melody approached the door to her bungalow it swung open automatically with a distinct motorized whirring sound. As she crossed the threshold the first thing she became aware of was the sound of a ringing phone. Melody picked the phone up (what else was there to do?) and slowly raised the receiver to her ear.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hello, is this Number Six?" asked a woman's voice Melody immediately recognized as belonging to whoever had made the PA announcement as she'd left the 'General Stores' building.

Melody's gaze fell on the phone, which bore a placard with the numeral 6 in place of a dial. "That's the number here," she replied tightly.

"Good morning," the woman at the other end continued. "I trust you've slept well?"

Melody tensed some at this question, as it brought back to her how she'd gotten there.

"I do hope you'll join me for orientation," the voice at the other end of the line continued. "Number Two. The green dome."

The line went dead. Looking out the window, Melody immediately noticed a building with a verdigrised copper dome that could only be the place, the 'Number Two' to which her caller had been referring.

Nothing to do but play along, thought Melody grimly. For now anyway...

......................................................................

When Melody arrived at the green-domed building, she was greeted at the door by a diminutive, balding butler who showed her into an inner chamber...evidently the office of whoever ran this place. Melody wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it had to've been grander than this. The office reminded her of that of her high school principal. Two straight-backed wooden chairs sat in front of a plain desk. An unremarkable abstract art print hung on the wall. A polygraph and a jade statue of the Buddha were among the items on the shelves along the back wall. And sitting there behind the desk...

Melody Powers glared across the desk at the commandant of this...re-education camp? to which she'd been abducted. Pantsuit, helmet-hair and, behind the rectangular-lensed glasses, epicanthic eyes. So, it was the Chinese running this place, was it? Melody wondered where this setup could possibly be -- too elaborate for them to've gotten away with setting up in the States, but it didn't seem like she'd been out long enough for her captors to've transported her to the other side of the world. In any case, best to take charge of the situation now.

"Where am I?" Melody demanded.

"In," the commandant's voice sank to a hushed, reverential tone, "The Viillage."

"What do you want from me?" asked Melody.

"Information."

Of course.

"Whose side are you on?" (as if the answer weren't obvious, thought Melody).

"That would be telling. Hmm. We want information."

"You won't get it," said Melody. Best to set the ground rules early-on.

"By hook or by crook, we will," insisted her captor.

"Who are you?" asked Melody, wanting to attach a name to this person.

"You may address me as Number Two," the commandant answered.

Melody had once worked with a couple of junior agents from the Highland field office who would've had entirely too much fun with that, but she had more important things on her mind. If this...creature was only the second in command--

"Who is Number One?"

"You," continued Number Two, unperturbed, "are our new Number Six."

"I am not a number," replied Melody in a low, angry voice, "I am a person."

"Of course," said Number Two patronizingly. "Now, Number Six, what you'll be doing for us here--"

"I won't be doing anything for you," interrupted Melody, "and my name is not Number Six. I will not be pushed, filed, marched, stamped, briefed, debriefed or numbered. My life is my own."

"No," countered Number Two levelly, "It's ours, to use as we see fit. Now, you've got a lot of highly valuable information inside that head of yours. Information -- and abilities -- that could -- will -- bring honor and glory unto--" Number Two's voice took on that reverential hush again "--The Village."

"Not if I can help it," snapped Melody.

"What makes you think you can?" countered Number Two. "I think it's time I gave you the full tour of our little Village." She stood up behind her desk and gestured at the door, which opened automatically. Wanting to know more about this place -- to have as much information as she could to plan her escape -- Melody followed Number Two out of her office and into the Village.

...................................................................

"...And you can see that our residents take great pride in their village," said Number Two, obviously nearing the end of her spiel. As they walked Melody tracked the sweep of a security camera out of the corner of her eye -- one of many she'd noticed, both overtly placed and supposedly hidden, since the "tour" had begun. What Number Two had shown Melody were scenes of contented, apparently unquestioning people taking part in a variety of activities, some of it, Melody thought, she might not have minded joining in (or maybe she still would've, who can say?) -- if she'd been given a choice in the matter. But she hadn't. It had been made quite plain to her that this was simply how things were for everyone in The Village.

Melody was just speculating on whether to wait until nightfall before she made her escape from this place when suddenly a voice cried "HALT! Orange ALERT!" over the PA system. Instantly everyone froze in place -- except for one somewhat dopey-looking young man carrying a football and wearing a yellow-and-blue football uniform, who first twisted and turned apprehensively, then cried "Aww, man! It's not fair! Not again!" and made a break for it.

As he ran, a bubble formed in the stream of a nearby fountain. It grew larger and larger, turning opaque as it did, until it bore a remarkable resemblance to a latex weather balloon. With a roar, this...whatever it was detached itself from the water stream and scudded off after the fleeing footballer.

He didn't make it very far at all before the...object....overtook him and, with a muffled scream, he was enveloped. Melody could briefly glimpse the outlines of his face and straining hands before the thing had apparently completely absorbed him and took off for parts unknown. As soon as whatever-it-was was out of sight, everyone resumed their previous activity as if a switch had been thrown.

"As good a time as any for you to meet Rover," said Number Two. "Just a little something to help maintain order and security here in...The Village.

Melody realized getting out of here might prove a little more involved than she'd been assuming.

"As I was saying," continued Number Two, "As you can see our residents take great pride in their Village, which is why all of our new arrivals undergo a small psychological exam to spot any clouds on the horizon. Right this way, please," she concluded before Melody could say anything in response.

......................................................................

When Melody and Number Two entered the room where the test was to be administered, the first thing Number Two did was to pick up a cylindrical metal peg, hand it to Melody and gesture at a nearby tabletop...with a square hole in the center of it. After a 'you've got to be kidding me' look to Number Two, Melody placed the peg in the hole -- which irised shut around the peg. Melody shot Number Two a 'what's that supposed to mean?' look, but saw that her attention was focused on something across the room.

Melody looked up, and saw that someone had entered the room. The new arrival was a tall woman, dressed all in beige except for her white lab coat (and that bicycle lapel pin again, this one with the number 21). There was a broad streak of gray in her brown hair, and a pair of glasses with small rectangular lenses and a neck-cord were perched low on her nose. In her hand was a clipboard.

"All right," she said, "we'll start with a brief written exam."

Melody briefly wondered how far she'd make it if she killed them both and ran for it, but she decided it was probably a smarter idea to continue biding her time for now. She accepted the test, and a pencil, and sat down at the table.

The questions were ridiculous. "Is the glass half empty or half full?" the first question asked of an accompanying line drawing. "Half empty," wrote Melody in the space after the question, adding "half bored to death" to the question's continuation, "how does that make you feel?"

Melody continued working her way down the form, her answers retaining a similar tone. To the eighth question, "other people often don't understand that I...." she completed "...will be back someday to get them." When she was done, Melody tossed the clipboard across the table at her examiner.

"Okay, what's next?" she asked.

The woman held up a card with a silouhette of a man and a woman conversing. "Look at this picture and tell me what you see," she said.

And I thought this 'psychological exam' was silly before, thought Melody.

"I see...a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains," she replied.

For a moment the examiner seemed confused. Then she said, "uhm, there aren't any ponies, dear. It's two people talking."

"When I was recruited by the Agency and they gave me this test they said they were clouds," said Melody, feigning confusion. "They told me they could be anything I wanted," she insisted.

"That's...a different....test, dear," said the examiner with exaggerated patience. "This is a picture of two people talking. You're supposed to tell me what they're talking about."

"Oh," said Melody in an unconvincing imitation of having just figured it out. "It's....a guy and a girl, and they're talking about..a herd of beautiful wild ponies running free across the plains."

The examiner scowled at Melody while slowly letting the card drop face-down to the tabletop,. Melody tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.

The incident with the card was apparently the end of the 'psychological exam'. When it was over Melody was shown out of the room and to where Number Two was waiting for her.

"Well, I'll be looking forward to reading the examiner's report", said Number Two.

"And I'll be looking forward to your reaction once you have," replied Melody sarcastically as the two of them walked out of the testing center and back into The Village.

"That remains to be seen," said Number Two. "You do realize, of course, that your psychological evaluation can have a serious effect on how your stay here goes."

"Oh?" asked Melody, coming to a sudden stop. She began to wonder whether the answers she'd given may have been a mistake on her part.

"Yes, of course," said Number Two, stopping as well so that she didn't get too far out ahead of Melody. "People who are willing to work to fit in, to go along to get along, to knuckle under and do and say what's expected of them have a much easier time of it than those who choose to insist on being outcasts, who just have to be square pegs although" -- Number Two gave that snorting chuckle of hers again -- "we do have ways of dealing with those around here."

Melody thought about the routine with the table and peg when she and Number Two had first entered the building where the "psychological exam" had been administered...and also of the glimpse she'd had of "rover" in action. She silently resolved that this was not a place she'd be staying for very long.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Number Two suddenly. "We can't have our villagers not knowing where they stand with each other."

"Of course," said Melody, neither really agreeing nor having any idea where this was headed.

Without any further word or discussion, Number Two stuck a large button to the lapel of Melody's jacket. It bore the likeness of an old-fashioned pennyfarthing bicycle, just like the buttons she'd seen everyone else around here wearing. The only thing that could be called unique about it was its number -- the numeral 6 was emblazoned in red in the center of the front wheel.

Enough of this, thought Melody, and abruptly turned from Number Two and walked quickly away from her, willing herself to not break into a run as she did.

"Be seeing you," she heard Number Two call after her. Melody didn't look back, but she had no doubt the commandant had performed that weird thumb-forefinger circle/three-extended-fingers "salute" she'd first received from the taxi driver.

Melody walked around The Village rapidly but aimlessly, hoping to manage to burn off at least some of her anger and frustration. She only felt it increase, though, as she continually encountered the vacuously cheerful greetings and complete unhelpfulness of everyone she passed by, even as she almost involuntarily kept count of the items of surveillance gear -- both overt and supposedly hidden that tracked her (and everyone else, for that matter) as she passed by them.

Finally coming to the realization that, even while staying just as angry, she was beginning to make herself tired, Melody found her way back to bungalow #6. The door whirred open automatically as she approached it. As she entered, she noticed the place seemed to have been redecorated during her absence -- all traces of its previous disguise as her apartment had been removed.

Throwing herself on the bed, Melody stared at the ceiling and forced her mind to calm as she considered her situation. She'd been kidnapped, taken to this...place where whoever was in charge (she hadn't missed the implication from "Number Two"'s title that she, too, answered to someone) saw her only as a resource to be exploited as they saw fit -- and what they saw as fit looked suspiciously like what Melody saw as stupid. And everyone else here appeared to see nothing wrong with being treated that way.

That's it, thought Melody, I'm getting out of here tonight.

........................................................................

Melody stepped through the automatic door of her bungalow into the early evening Village. Upon thinking about the matter, she'd realized that her best chance of making it through The Village's security cordon and escaping would be before full dark. She reasoned that the surveillance systems would be able to spot and track he equally well in light or darkness, so she'd only be disadvantaging herself by stumbling around in the dark.

The trick is to look like I'm not up to anything for as long as possible, thought Melody as she climbed the stone steps leading to The Village's gardens and a wooded area beyond. That's it, just out for an evening stroll, nothing to see here, everybody just go on about their...

Melody was so wrapped-up in trying to be nonchalant that she nearly bumped into the orange-jumpsuited gardener and his two baskets full of seedlings.

"Careful!" he protested sharply then, in a more normal voice, explained "they're new plants."

"Sorry," replied Melody a moment later, after finding her voice. "Goodbye," she added, voice barely above a whisper, as she backed away from him.

Silently admonishing herself for not paying closer attention, Melody continued on into the woods. A short time later, she found herself in a clearing with two rows of stone sculptures -- busts of famous historical figures -- perched atop columns. There was something strange -- creepy -- about the eyes of several of the busts. Surveillance cameras, Melody realized after a moment.

So, they know I've gotten this far.

As Melody entered the woods on the far side of the clearing, she froze as she heard the engine of an approaching vehicle. She caught a glimpse of a road, and one of The Village vehicles apparently patrolling it before she ducked back through the trees, into the clearing, turned --

And saw Rover, pulsating but otherwise immobile, sitting blocking the way back, at the other end of the double row of sculptures. Melody took off at a run, between two of the statues, heading off into the underbrush in the hopes that the...whatever Rover was would either be unable to follow her or would at least have some difficulty doing so.

When Melody emerged from the woods, she found herself in a mazelike tangle of stuccoed buildings with red-tiled roofs she hadn't seen before. There was no sign of anyone around, and all the doors seemed to be locked. After several increasingly agitated minutes of running up and down stairways and along walkways, she stumbled across a way out that led back into the Village. Melody disgustedly rejected that option and, after a bit more searching, found a set of exterior stairways that led to a path -- that led down to a deserted-looking beach. Melody hurried towards it, hoping to put a decent amount of distance between herself and the Village by following along the coast.

After reaching the beach and traveling only a short distance along it, Melody heard a siren, turned to see one of the vehicles -- it reminded her of a cross between an anemic-looking undersized jeep and a golf cart -- from the Village pull onto the beach, and broke into a run. Of course, the vehicle rapidly caught up to her, but Melody evaded it, leading the driver and passenger in a brief game of tag that ended when she slipped and lost her footing. As she got back up, the vehicle slowed slightly and the occupant of the passenger seat leapt from it and charged Melody at a full run. She met his charge with a kick that left him doubled-over and (at least for the moment) helpless on the sand. The driver responded to this development by trying to run Melody down, but she dodged and as the driver slowed while making a sharp turn, managed to catch up to the vehicle and clamber into the back. She started to put a chokehold on the driver, but this move was foiled as he let go of the wheel and suddenly stood up. They grappled briefly as the vehicle bounced along the beach, then Melody knocked the driver over the side, got behind the wheel herself, and sped off down the beach, away from the Village.

Now this is more like it, thought Melody. Thanks for the ride, guys!

Just then, ahead of her on the beach, Melody noticed Rover. Where the hell does that thing come from, anyway? she wondered as she changed course twice to try and steer around it, only to have it interpose itself again both times. Suddenly Rover surged forward, closing the distance between them too swiftly for Melody to react. There was a sort of attenuated impact -- soft and yielding at first but inexorably pushing Melody back and lifting her out of the vehicle. She rolled with the impact of her landing and came back to her feet as Rover hovered before her for a moment, then started towards her again, more slowly this time. Melody dealt Rover a kick identical to the one that had felled one of the Village guards a few moments before, only to have her foot sink deep into it with no apparent effect. She managed -- barely -- to withdraw her leg, stumbled back a step then regained her balance and threw her best punch at it, only to have the same thing happen. Then rover was upon Melody, smothering, cutting off her air. The last thing she managed to do before her arms were entrapped was to tear the "#6" button off of her lapel and throw it as far as she could. The last thing she heard as she lost consciousness was the sound of more sirens approaching along the beach.

.....................................................................

With some effort, Melody forced the blur before her into a kind of focus. How long had she been out? Where was she now? After a moment, she recognized the faces of #2 and #21, both of them glaring at her with stern, displeased expressions. Another moment, and she recognized her surroundings as some kind of infirmary or hospital. so far things seemed to make sense, as the memory of what had happened with her escape attempt -- and with Rover -- came back to her. Finally -- apparently having decided Melody had regained her bearings well enough to justify the effort -- #21 spoke.

"You must have very low self-esteem to have tried what you did," she intoned angrily.

Well, that certainly doesn't make any sense, thought Melody. Which must mean things around here are returning to normal.

"I'm afraid I have no choice but to senten-- er, enroll you in a special program to correct that problem," added #2. "Just as soon as #21 finishes running a few routine tests to make sure you're fully recovered from any aftereffects of your little...adventure."

A few minutes later, Melody was helped (though she really didn't need it, the aftereffects #2 had mentioned passed pretty quickly for the most part) from her bed into a wheelchair by a pair of burly orderlies and wheeled into another room where some sort of automated medical tests were run on her, the results interpreted by #21 and her condition declared sufficiently recovered for her to be strapped into the chair and wheeled down the hall to still another room. This one was rather large, and most of it was filled with a dozen or so similarly restrained subjects, all facing one wall which was dominated by a large...monitor? Rear-projection screen? Light fixture?

As soon as #2 and #21 had left the room, the overhead lights went out and the...device...at the far end of the room came to life, flashing various colored patterns too quickly for the eye to really follow.

Hypnotic, Melody realized as, in her weakened state, she felt herself start to go under. She noticed herself beginning to slide into trance as the audio portion of whatever this program was began to sonorously intone "esteem...ateen..."

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Of course, not everyone at Lawndale High failed to see the hideousness of the situation...there were maybe a few things that had changed for the better in Daria's life since she'd left Highland. She couldn't help smiling to herself a little, as she reflected on her meeting and...friendship?...with Jane. The smile faded as some of the implications of that sank in. For nearly as long as she'd been in school -- hell, for nearly as long as she could remember -- Daria had mostly been alone, had grown used to keeping other people at arm's length. Part of it was the fact that the ways most other people chose to spend their time just didn't interest her very much, but part of it, she knew, was also because she'd had some early experiences with reaching out to other people that had proved nothing short of disastrous. Daria hadn't much enjoyed being hurt -- in fact she'd disliked the experience enough that she'd adopted a strategy of deliberately minimizing the chances of that happening again. But now, with Jane, Daria found that she had, without even really thinking about it, started taking those awful risks again. Was it worth it?

Great, something else to bother myself worrying about, thought Daria as she resumed writing...

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Great, thought Melody as the audio track started, I wonder what they're going to program me with?

"Enjoying the nice man's soothing voice?" came a soft, slightly amused-sounding voice from behind Melody.

She found the distraction broke, or at least attenuated, whatever spell she was being put under and turned her head as far as she could towards the source of the distraction behind her.

"What're they going to try to program me to do?" asked Melody.

"Dunno, could be any of a number of things," came the reply. "It doesn't really matter, anyway. Whatever they're doing won't last. I've been sent here six times."

Six times? Melody started to consider some of the implications of that, starting with wondering why the people running the Village would keep sending somebody back for repeat doses of the same obviously ineffective treatment instead of resorting to something more...permanent, but almost immediately felt herself slipping back into trance.

Realizing she needed something external to focus on...and that that was probably at least part of why this mysterious fellow-prisoner had tried to strike-up a conversation, to keep herself from being put-under -- Melody said "I'm new here, first time for this. How long have you been here?"

"Weeks. Months. It gets hard to tell," came the reply. "As you might've already noticed, the routine here's pretty dull and repetitive -- at least usually."

The two of them continued engaging in small talk, mostly having to do with details of the layout of the Village, and of what the routine of life there involved, 'til the obviously prerecorded spiel ended, the normal lights came back up, the door opened and a crew of orderlies came in and began unstrapping the subjects from their chair-restraints. Looking around, Melody noticed that most of the other people there seemed slightly dazed and unfocused and tried her best to imitate them. She also took note of who'd been speaking to her during the session: a young woman with short black hair and unusual dark-blue eyes, wearing an outfit consisting of a red jacket over a black vee-neck shirt, dark-colored shorts and leggings, a heavy, charcoal-gray pair of boots and one of the ubiquitous lapel buttons, bearing the number 12.

After everyone had filed out of the building, Melody caught-up to #12 and, not entirely sure what to day, started off by simply saying "Thanks."

"Just doing my part to help," came the reply, carefully neutral.

Unsure of what to say next, how to prolong the contact with someone so...different from anyone she'd met here so far without drawing the attention of the omnipresent surveillance, Melody racked her brain for some sort of pretext and found herself inviting #12 back to her place for a drink.

....................................................................

"Genuine non-alcoholic vodka," Melody read off of the label of the bottle she'd pulled from the cabinet. "Only 16 work units, whatever those are. Or we could have," Melody pulled a second bottle out of the cabinet with her other hand, "genuine non-alcoholic scotch -- 20 work units per bottle. Any idea what non-alcoholic scotch or vodka contain?"

"I've never had the stomach to try and find out," answered #12.

Melody set the two bottles back into the cabinet, hesitated a moment then, aware the two of them were being both watched and listened-to, then said "so, having been here awhile, I take it you know this Village pretty well?"

"Yeah," replied #12. "I know it pretty thoroughly. There's some places I can show you that I'd bet you'll like...say, tomorrow morning?"

"I think I could fit that into my schedule," said Melody. "Tomorrow morning it is, then."

"It's pretty late," said #12, getting up from the couch she'd been sitting on. "I'd better be going for tonight."

"Be seeing you."

"Be seeing you."

.................................................................

"They can see us here but they can't hear us," said #12. "Face away from the statues and they won't be able to read your lips."

A light overcast dimmed the day slightly, and a chilly wind blew in from the sea. They were standing at one end of the double row of busts on columns Melody had first encountered during her ill-fated escape attempt. Unlike then, there was no sign of Rover, and they were between passes of the patrolling vehicles.

"So why are we here?" asked Melody. "Any idea in your case?"

"Hard telling," said #12. "It's not as if they tell you why you've been sent here. Some people are here because they have information the people who run this place want. Others are here because they have knowledge the people in charge don't want anyone else to have. I can't be sure, of course, but I strongly suspect I'm here because I know where this place is located."

Melody raised an eyebrow, silently filed this fact away for future reference.

They talked for quite awhile before heading back to the Village, about everyday life there, about some of the local personalities, about the systems of incentives...and punishments. By sort of an unspoken mutual understanding, no real names were exchanged. When the conversation wound-down, Melody and #12 made their separate ways back down to the Village, Melody with a somewhat-better understanding of this place where she was being held and a feeling...one she was deeply suspicious of but found herself unable to entirely ignore, that maybe she wasn't completely alone here...

.....................................................................

Time passed. Melody and #12's visits to the statuary garden -- and a few other minimal-surveillance refuges #12 knew of -- continued, on a fairly regular basis.

The two of them often took walks together through the Village, mocking Village life as they went using double-meanings and injokes from their times as close as possible to alone together, in order to get around the omnipresent surveillance. Eventually Melody realized she was in danger of becoming content -- and that bothered her.

One morning, as Melody was walking around the Village by herself, brooding about this, she heard something in the morning PA announcement that gave her pause.

"The art contest?" asked #12 as the two of them faced out to sea, away from the statue-mounted cameras. "Yeah, I remember that announcement. I was even sortof toying with the idea of entering a painting. I used to be a pretty good artist."

"I was thinking more along the lines of sculpture," Melody replied. "Perhaps a collaborative effort?"

"Oh?" #12 asked, her curiosity piqued. "What'd you have in mind?"

Melody told her.

...................................................................

"'Abstract primitivism'?" said #2, considering. "Hmph. I'm not sure I've ever heard of that. While the idea of manufacturing your own tools is...interesting, to say the least, I'm afraid I must remind you of our 'No Sharp Objects' rule--"

"Oh, the tools would be stored well-away from the Village-proper," Melody assured her. "Or under lock and key when not in use, your choice of course. And they'd be disassembled or destroyed once our project was complete."

#2 paused, thinking. Finally, she said "well, I can see where something this unusual could bring honor and glory unto...the Village. You have my provisional permission to go ahead -- under strict supervision, of course."

And so the project got underway. Melody had had enough training in wilderness survival to fashion the necessary tools quickly and with relative ease. A few carefully-selected trees from the woods around the Village provided the raw material for the piece, and progress proved...rapid enough. Although Melody had a firmer idea in mind, at least at first, as to what form the piece should take, she had to admit #12 was more talented and skilled in actually shaping it.

Even though work on the piece progressed swiftly, the sheer size of it, combined with the crudeness of the tools the two of them had to use meant that work on it occupied most of their time, and even then it was barely ready in time for the art contest's deadline. It took both of them to move the finished sculpture down to the Village exhibit hall and set it up.

At last, the day came when the winners of the contest were to be announced. Melody stood off to one side and tried to keep a straight face as she listened to #12 "explaining" the piece to the contest's panel of judges.

"We're not quite sure what it means," said one of the judges to #12.

"It means what it is," she replied.

"What puzzles me," another member of the panel chimed-in, "is that you've even given the group a title: 'Escape'."

"This...piece..." #12 began, obviously (at least to Melody) improvising, "what does it represent to you?"

"A church door?"

"Right first time."

One of the judges turned to Melody. "What I'm curious about," he asked, is why the crosspiece, #6?"

"Why not?" asked Melody in reply, getting into the spirit of the thing -- and trying to do so with a straight face.

A little while later, the entrants to the art contest (as well as a group of onlookers and wellwishers) were gathered to hear the announcements of the winners. A doe-eyed redhead in a long light-purple dress and sandals, whose lapel button bore the number 39 stepped up to the podium, #2 standing close behind her.

"She's the director of the Village Arts Center," supplied #12 sotto voce. "One of the good ones, relatively speaking."

After a brief speech about how wonderful all the entries were and how much difficulty the judges had had selecting the winners, #39 announced that the winner of First Prize was, in fact, #90, the ice cream cone-haired shopkeeper, for a tapestry portrait of #2. Melody noticed a faint look of disappointment on #12's face as the first place winner was announced. Her art must really be important to her, Melody mused. A couple of entries later, she and #12's "abstract primitivism" sculpture was announced as having won a special award for "most unusual" or something to that effect. Prizes for the contest winners were in the form of "work units", the currency of the Village. All of the winners gave acceptance speeches, and in hers, Melody declared that, as a show of good sportsmanship, she was offering to use her and #12's prize "money" to buy #90's winning entry.

"Oh my," said #90 in a very flattered tone on hearing the news. Of course, he couldn't help but accept.

After a few days of post-judging exhibition, it was time to break down and remove the various art pieces. On pretext of "returning it to its natural environment", Melody and #12 took their piece into the woods where they'd made it -- Melody taking along the rolled-up tapestry she'd bought from #90.

That night, Melody and #12 dragged the two pieces of artwork down to the beach, along with some rope and a tarp #12 had scrounged from somewhere, as per a request of Melody's. Once there, within a matter of minutes, the "abstract sculpture" had been converted into a small boat -- complete with a mast, the "crosspiece" Melody had been questioned about. It was the work of only a few more moments to attach #90's tapestry to this "crosspiece" an unfurl it as the sail Melody had intended it to be. The two of them pushed the boat out into the surf, climbed in and set sail, keeping a sharp eye out for any patrol craft and especially for Rover as they headed out into the moonlit sea and

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Daria looked up suddenly at an apparent change in brightness noticed out of the corner of her eye. Sure enough, while she'd been busy writing, the sun had started coming up.

"Looks like I get to catch up on my sleep in class again," said Daria, closing her notebook with a sigh. "Much of this chapter has yet to be written," she added, "in more senses than one."

A short time later, Daria had gotten cleaned-up and dressed and was eating her usual poptart breakfast as her mother bustled around the lower floor of the house getting ready to leave for work.

"I'll be late getting home, dear," said Helen. "The leftover lasagna from last night's in the 'fridge."

"Have a good day at school," she added on her way out the door. "Hopefully you'll find that self-esteem workshop you graduated early from useful in fitting-in at your new school. Maybe if you try a little harder to fit in and do what's expected of you..." Helen's voice faded on her way out the front door.

Daria looked up from her "breakfast", raised one hand to eye-level, thumb and forefinger formed into a ring, other three fingers extended.

"Be seeing you," she said to Helen's retreating back.

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la-la-LA-la-la

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Disclaimers: Daria and all ancillary characters are the property of MTV/Viacom. I just borrow them occasionally, for strictly non-profit purposes. Same story in this particular case with characters and situations from the television show The Prisoner, only in this case intellectual property rights belong to Carlton International Media, limited.

Acknowledgments: Many thanks to my beta readers on this fic: Lawndale Stalker, Roger Moore and Thea Zara.