Freegans part 55

Madiza
Ivy. IvyivyivyivyivyivyivyivyivyivyI.V.I.V.I.V.I.V.I.V.I.V.I.V.IVYIVYIVYIVYIVYIVY-

My name.

Hearing it again, for the first time in years, drove the shadows and voices from my mind. I stared at the girl: Paris. I remembered her. She had been a spy, sent to get information from me, pretending to be my friend. Now she was staring at me, and her expression was a combination of horror, pity, and remorse. I couldn't bear it, and turned from her. I looked at my new friends, and saw that they were all staring at me.
"That's your name?" Cara asked. "Ivy?"
I nodded, and whispered, "Yes." Memories flooded my mind, of my childhood, my mother calling me, and catching me in her arms. A memory of looking at myself in the mirror. My hair had once been reddish-brown, before the shocks and tortures had turned it white, and very nice. It was like my mother's, and like my uncle. He was a great speaker, and always willing to spend time with his little niece.

More images and words came crowding in, horrible, nightmarish ones: being captured, and the tortures. Screaming, screaming, and the nights spent in the cell, silently weeping, wanting it all to end. And then-the Project, being hooked up to the machine, all the knowledge being poured in, too much, too much, all voices at once, facts, thoughts, stories, all too loud, can't hear, no no no no NO NO STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!!!!