Christine Waver1. MECHANISTIC It was night. There was one of a number of those very ordinary nights where I woke up between armoured walls, many months already captured in an unreachable cell, in the dark, illuminated only by the glare of the screens, and the silence interrupted by the squeak of the speakers, when I froze at the thought of an unknown fate under a low marble ceiling, from whom, even in a dream, I was followed by insensitive mechanical eyes, and when - still dumbfounded by the laws of the closed world - I asked the car, what all this means, and immediately fainted in the subsequent heavy sleep....