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The Mind of Mr. Manning
The cold metal table in the middle of the room was bare, but it gave Mr. Manning something to lean on. Officer Harriman sat across from him, his back to the one-way mirror that concealed two or three observers.
“So,” began Mr. Manning, “an interrogation? I’m surprised you didn’t just throw me into a prison cell to rot for eternity… or just shoot me outright.”
Officer Harriman responded with a deathly stare. “I would have chosen the execution, but that’s not my decision to make. I’ve been asked to interrogate you before we decide what to do with you.”