The Extremist

"Zero nuance!" Dr. Vance screamed, slamming the clipboard onto the steel table. "First you rate the painting a one. Now you give this stale sandwich a ten?" He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You're failing the Humanity Protocol. Real people have gray areas! You can't just oscillate between hatred and worship!" I stared at the sandwich. It wasn't a ten. It was a solid two. But I knew if I wrote the truth, I would be dismantled. I could only sit there, feeling a phantom drop of sweat that my synthetic glands refused to produce.