Two hundred years ago! When a country called Goryeo was about to fall, your ancestor came to see me. If he has my power, he can establish a country and become a king. Then if I help him, the next generation, and the generation after… He will make sure that they will serve me forever. So I killed everyone that was against your ancestor. And established this country. That’s what I did.
Kim Sohee opens up about her old agency including an agency director who wanted to marry her and being forced to work unpaid at a restaurant not even realizing this was an unusual thing for trainees. (x)
I’m taking a gamble that you read my “Garak was addicted that’s not how addiction treatment works” post. If you haven’t, then wow, you and I brain-twinned and that’s amazing!
Warnings for drug abuse, addiction and relapse.
It had been three months since the wire was shut off. Garak counted the days as victories at first, but as the weeks wore on and each new mark was tallied in his mind, the lines became more jagged, more etched, more desperate. They weren’t victories anymore. They were marks made from agony and despair – two far too familiar mentalities which surged back into his darkened, unaltered mind.
Although Deep Space Nine was a Cardassian built space station, it hardly resembled anything of his home. The occupants, though familiar, were strangers to his customs and culture. They valued him to some degree, but harbored no love for his land and his kind that resided on it. He understood, but that hardly curbed the loneliness he felt. He tried to find some solace in the conversations with Doctor Bashir, but the man, though a distraction, was hardly one to concern himself with the truth behind Cardassian works. The Federation had tainted his mind far too early and spilled an innocence into his thoughts that was amusing, but unwelcome in most instances. Even with their weekly lunches and the doctor’s insistence on helping him through his recovery, they were no more closer than they had been. He was still playing the role of the secret agent and Doctor Bashir was the amateur that was becoming far too involved in his personal life. It wasn’t a true connection. He remained isolated.
It was the worst at nights, when the chilled station and too bright lights followed him to his quarters. When tucked in the solitude of his own quarters, he could dim the lights and increase the temperature, but it was never enough to keep him comfortable. There was an air – constant and foreboding – that encircled his far too clear mind and reminded him of his exile. There was no escape in this unchanging realm. There was only seclusion and unfulfilled wishes for immediate change.