Day 95:

"Y/N," your mother says, looking at you. "My lovely daughter. I'm so glad you survived."

She finds a seat, elegantly tucking her skirt under her as she sits down. "We are so glad to have you back. Of course, though, due to the... rarity of your experience, our board has a few questions for you."

She gestures for you to sit down. "You may want to sit down for this, Y/N."

You sit down, dropping onto the couch. For some reason, the way the board watches you feels unfamiliar, alien. Even seeing your mother sends chills up your spine.

A couple board members exchange glances, and your mother starts.

"Y/N," she says, more strongly, getting up and rushing over to the camera. "I can't do the formalities anymore. How are you? Are you okay? It didn't..."

Your heart seizes. You wish this was real. You wish she would have run up to you before. Your fingers pick at your braid.

But you know your mother too well. You force yourself back into reality, sliding into the professional demeanor you were trained to adopt in the Academy.

"No," you interrupt, shaking your head. "He didn't hurt me. In fact..."

You peel up your shirt, and your mother quickly steps back so the rest of the board can see the white bandage wrapped around your torso. It's better if they hear it from you, better if you tell them than wait for them to ask.

Now or never.

You stand up, letting the shirt drop. "I went below the surface for a routine cleaning," you say, gripping the tail of your braid. "There was a complication with my submersion flashlight, and I suffered a heavy laceration to my side."

Your eyes flicker over to the TV, heart in your throat. The men at the end of the table are nodding, and one points to an event on the printed timetable.

From the cameras. Of course they'd be checking if my story checks out.

You tear your eyes away from the screen. "Uh, I was able to reemerge safely," you say, turning back to the camera. "However, the lacerations were severe, and although I was able to retrieve the first aid kit, I knew that I would not be able to- I would not be able to stay conscious long enough to stabilize the wound."

The board member with the timetable stands up. "Miss L/N," he says, glancing first at your mother, who nods. "I understand that you did not feel like you could remain conscious, but... the monster? That was your first instinct? Not calling the board, or..."

Your fingers tug down the braid, landing on the elastic again. You hear your breath in your ears. He's right.

"With all due respect, I knew there was no way you could get to me in time," you say, stalling. Your fingers latch around the elastic, and it pulls off in your hand. "And I, I knew I couldn't stay conscious to follow instructions."

He shakes his head. "But-"

"The... the monster," you continue, voice barely a whisper over the word. Your throat feels dry as ocean sand. "The monster had mentioned something in passing about stitching himself up. I felt that he could he do it."

"But why would he do that? To trust him would be-" the man continues, but you keep going, voice shaking in your throat.

"Because he had to get out," you tell them, fingers weaving through your hair now, the braid coming undone strand by falling strand. "Before I let him out, I... I locked the main hatch. The Commander told me that it would resist his claws, so... I locked it, then opened his cage." You lift your chin. "He could either heal me and wait for you to let me out, or he could starve."

Your mother is watching you, a finger on her chin as she watches, a pensive expression on her face. You can't tell what she's thinking, so you press forward, coughing and continuing.

"Commander Afua, the Commander, he told me that the monster was selfish," you say, "and manipulative, and I knew that it wouldn't pass up its own survival. So I let him... I let it save me."

The board is nodding now, the timetable all but forgotten on the smooth wood of the table.

"Well, I must say, this is very impressive, Miss L/N," the man says, nodding to you with a smile and turning to sit back down. "A risky maneuver, to be sure, but an impressive one, and a wise calculation under such extreme duress. Well met."

The board goes around the table, nodding and giving their agreement.

"Now," the man says, "one last question, although it is a formality at this point, I'm sure."

The board chuckles, hiding smiles.

"Do you feel fit to continue your shift?"

You raise your chin. "Yes, sir."

"Well then," he says, nodding firmly. "It is settled. Mrs. L/N, I'm sure you would enjoy a private moment with your daughter. Miss L/N, you continue to do USOAT a service through your duty and honor to the cause. We will see you during your next scheduled time."

He motions for the board members to follow him out the door, and, slowly, one by one, they trickle out, until it's just your mother, poised like a statue, eyes on something below the screen.

"Tell me, Y/N," she says, lifting her eyes up to you. "Did you make any contact with the monster?"

You turn, instinctively sitting down on the couch. "We were enclosed together," you say, voice stiff, hands folding into your palms the way your mother has done so many times before. "Contact was inevitable."

Your mother tilts her head. "Do you feel indebted to it?"

"No. He did what he did to survive."

Your mother points a manicured finger at the camera. "You said he."

Your gaze drifts down to your arm. "It resembles a man."

"So did the last one," your mother says.

You seize up, grimacing. "Mother," you say, fighting to keep control of your voice.

She ignores you. "Do you feel a connection to the monster?"

You inhale sharply.

A connection. You think about the imprint his lips left on yours, the way it felt to kiss him, the conversation the two of you had when you knew that you'd survive, when he called you his girlfriend for the first time...

"No," you say, lifting your eyes back to your mother. "I feel nothing. I can carry on with my duties, too, if that's what you're planning to ask next."

Your mother hides a smile, nodding. "Very good, Y/N," she says, adjusting her hair. "Very good."

She stands, walking purposefully towards the camera. "You're a clever girl, Y/N, more than even I've given you credit for, it seems."

The words wreath around you like a hissing smoke.

"Yes," she says. "You will be a powerful tribute to USOAT, once you are ready."

She turns to look in the camera, her face smooth and regal as a serpent's. "Congratulations to you, Y/N. I am proud of you."

With that, the camera clicks off, leaving you staring at your reflection in the blank TV.

It is only then that you realize that your hair has fallen down in front of your scar.

For some reason I picture your mother's faceclaim as Maya Rudolph. Do with that what you will, but I think she'd play a good Carpathia L/N!