Your god, science.

The room is white.
The rooms are always white.
Achromatic and dull, yet vibrant. Because of the blinding white lights to make you squint and create headaches and nausea. You only sat in the rooms for one reason: "to talk," as they would say. But we knew it wasn't "to talk." We knew the sole purpose was for our brains to be malevolently used against us. Any human emotive we had, used against us. "FOR SCIENCE!" They would declare, as if this justified anything. As if science was some cause above all else. Science, so supreme, so phenomenal, so bland, so deceitful. A liar. But there was nothing we could do about it. How does one do something about anything. Especially when one is bound up, shackled. Forced to speak against one's will. And speak the truth for that matter. Because they knew if you were lying. If you lied, your situation was made tremendously worse. "If you are lying, you know what will happen...don't you?" They would say, smugly.
And yes, we did know what would happen. We had heard what would happen.
Even if it was pure speculation. For the scaremongers enjoyed playing "telephone" with their speculations. Of course this kept us in a constant state of dread, panic. Even if it was handed down from the top. Nothing was done to quell the rumors.

"Can I ask you a question Sam?"
What persistently bothers me about the interrogations, is their hidden jeers. Probably only used to further infuriate us into a rage of our most candid insights.
"Of course." I say, as impolitely permitted.
"What do you think of depression? [Pause] Do you think you, or your peers suffer from it?"
I start to answer, but hold back for a beat, and reword what I am about to say. Reword it, hopefully, to hurt.
"Depression is false. There is no such emotion that exists called 'depression.' It is a lie. A deception taught, and retaught, and repeated. No one is depressed. Yet, every one feels sadness.
[Pause]
Sadness must be this 'depression' you speak of. But because sadness persists indefinitely, you cannot deem it 'depression.' You can't attempt to plant such falsifications in our heads through endless hours of propagandizing, poorly constructed videos, and radio broadcasts, and literature. We're just like you.
Only in organized living. Only in cages. Only rats used for your god - science.
Only sad. Only sad, unlike you. Sad. But not 'depressed.' No."
"Thank you Sam. I knew you had it in you."
"I only proffered what you asked me."
"Yes. You always do as you're told."

I wish I could say he was wrong. Regardless, I do always do as I'm told.