So you're sitting there.
Nothing else is sweating except for your armpits, and your mind is running like it always does about some mess of events that has to happen to get you to that next moment of satisfaction, even though without it you are still surviving.
You're doing what they want, but not what you wish you were doing. Maybe it would free you up to think rightly and straightforward in a way that would help you break through to that harmony with the world that you want so badly, but there is no way to tell.
Your hands are tied behind your back, and you are forced to type with your face. It does not hurt that badly, but you are surprised that it does not make you sweat more. Your joints will be fucked up forever though. Nothing you can do. Peck. Inside your head, you are frantically putting together fragments of all those important thoughts into a semblance of success. Chances are good that you will not see those people again.
Wiggling around just makes your wrists hurt. Time is passing and you are not applying yourself to the work you have been assigned. Fucking Peck.
Your mind is piecing together the grandest castle of escape. Building it brick by brick, your own constructions will allow you to use your voice, and use your real abilities. They don't want you to use them though, if you are able to get beyond this numbness and suppression then you are a threat. Even though your castle is designed to bring people together since it is really just a vessel, but explaining that to these fucking fools really wouldn't work now would it?
It is easy to be convinced that you don't even have the impetus or patience to build that structure before you topple. The others will play on your confidence and stretch its golden foil infinitely thin. That's their game, but think, really they have to hold themselves up on something or they'll fall over and they won't be able to get their work done either. Shit. Peck.
Alright, look busy. They are going to want to talk. Choose your mood carefully. If you act ignorant, they are going to despise you. But if you act too smart they will laugh behind their oak, lockable doors about how you are going to be sitting there pecking away at a keyboard with your fucking face until your brain gets dislodged and starts to leak out your nose. Then they will stuff your body into the Sun server cabinet in the back of the server room where it will turn into dust that will get blown into the ventilation system of the building.
The next guy will not even know that while he presses the skin of his nose, chin, or whatever to the keyboard that your nervous tissue is being ground into his pores.