"History... is, indeed, little more than the register of crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind."

Edward Gibbon

The next day Trials did not move as Matterson unlocked the cage door and entered the room.

"Excellent," said Matterson, satisfaction in his voice. "You have realised I would not have left the door open if there was the possibility you could escape. I hope you will come to see the cage as I did - not as something built to keep me in, but to keep the rest of the world out."

"You must have been a messed-up kid," said Trials, leaning against the wall with his feet hanging off the side of the bed.

Matterson pulled out the small seat from under the desk and sat on it, only a few feet from Trials.

"The opposite, I'm afraid. I was an extremely precocious child, able to see several steps ahead of my teachers or fellow students. My childhood was boring, Trials. I could manipulate those around me to get anything I desired, so I desired nothing. But I was never delinquent, never badly behaved. I always had complete control of myself."

"What did your parents make of that?" asked Trials.

"My father," ... it was clear that by this he meant there was no mother around... "was the one who taught me these methods, taught me how to always get my way. It was why we travelled around various countries, you see. To constantly challenge me to learn, to adapt. So many countries, so many people, yet all the same. The same little ideas, the same small hopes and dreams, the same desire to be part of something bigger than themselves. So easy to influence. I did it without thinking."

"Who was your father?" asked Trials. He suddenly sensed that this was what Matterson had been leading him to, the question Matterson wanted him to ask.

"You know who he was. I even left it in my name."

"...Matthew's son..."

"Precisely."

Trials sat without response.

"What are you without the Ministry, Trials?" asked Matterson, breaking the silence.

Trials knew that if he said nothing Matterson would continue the conversation on as if he had, but he felt too drained to do anything but listen.

"You gave everything to it. You let it become your reason for living. You were searching for a purpose, and he gave you one. He was so pleased when he found you, he even confided in me. Something he rarely did."

"Why..?" It was barely a whisper.

"You were the perfect mould. Determined, strong, yet unthinking. You were so ready to believe in a cause that you would allow them to do anything to you. You let him put it in your blood, Trials, your very flesh. You didn't even stop to question it. In another life, you would be the one strapping a bomb to your chest."

"But we..."

"...were doing good?" said Matterson, picking up where Trials trailed off. "You really believe that, don't you? And yet to those who opposed you you were the very epitome of injustice. I found that group, that... Organisation... far after its birth, you know. Such a sad name, a deliberate contrast to the title of the Ministry. Why, I didn't even have to convince them that you needed to be stopped, they already believed that passionately. A bunch of wishy-washy liberals, to be sure, but wishy-washy liberals with a cause. I merely had to insinuate myself into their ranks and they were there for the taking."

"Why..."

"...am I telling you this?"

Trials' face flushed red with rage, with frustration at once again being pre-empted.

"That's right, Jake, get angry. You are rather pathetic when you're lost, and I quite like you when you're fired up. As much as I like anyone, of course..."

"You're a psychopath," said Trials.

"Quite right. A very high-functioning one. Though really there's no such thing, it's just a pop-culture term to describe a general personality type, but it will do for our purposes. I am remorseless, guiltless, and very, very dangerous. Yet you have done much the same as I, and tell yourself you are different because you grieve afterwards."

Trials wasn't sure what happened next. The knife, sharpened from its many hours of carving at the window bars, came swinging up in his hand directly towards Matterson's throat yet somehow Matterson was already moving, ducking down and around to slam an elbow into his side. The knife swung wildly, carving empty air and slamming into the inward-jutting wall around the window ledge.

Trials spun on his feet to face Matterson, who was now standing directly behind where the momentum of his attack had carried him. He led with the knife again, but this time was ready for the deflection. His left arm swung up out of nowhere and caught Matterson a blow to the cheek, sending him spinning around and crashing against the edge of the open door of the cage, head bouncing off the metal.

Trials went for the kill... and stumbled. His side was sudden fire.

Looking down, he saw a bloom of red seeping down his leg and up his side. He looked up at Matterson in shock, and saw then the blade now drawn from its place of concealment in his sleeve.

"You are good," said Matterson as Trials' vision swum. Matterson was swaying from the blow to his head. "I didn't expect you to move fast enough to get me. Even with all your tells..."

Trials collapsed to the floor.