Again With Feeling

By Ben Chase

Ben Chase is this month’s winner of $657.50 for a story on what it means to be human.

Bio: Ben Chase’s work has been published in Elegant Literature and Toasted Cheese. He won the January 2026 Elegant Literature Award. When he’s not writing, he rows and referees soccer, with coaches yelling at him in both disciplines. Follow his writing on Substack.

Without further ado, “Again With Feeling” by Ben Chase.

Davis saw his classmates cry every day. He didn’t understand why this time was different. Yes, Tabitha was howling and sobbing about him pushing her. But she deserved it. It was his turn to play with the magnets. She took them right out of his hands. It was only fair.

Or at least that was what he had thought at the time. It was the look on Ms. Williams’ face that stuck with him all those years later. There was no disappointment, no scolding. Her head was cocked to the side. She was curious.

Principal Grover was more concerned about repercussions. He talked to Davis’s parents like he wasn’t even there.

“He’s on the proper dose?” Principal Grover asked.

“Of course,” Mom replied.

“And you watch it go down?”

“It’s in his breakfast every morning. He eats without complaining.”

“Right. Well. I must apologize if I find it difficult to take your word for it. A push? This school hasn’t seen physical violence like that in quite some time.”

“Mr. Grover, the little girl is okay, right?” Dad asked. He touched his glasses, which Davis knew meant he was upset.

“Yes, the girl has been checked, and she’s fine.”

“Alright, and forgive me if I’m overstepping here, but are we certain that we aren’t overreacting? Maybe we just got a bad batch of pills. We can stop by the pharmacist and see about a refill before morning.”

“Mr. Schafer, I’m afraid this is much more serious than that. The other parents will be extremely concerned. Official procedures require reporting the incident to the State.” Davis squirmed. He didn’t know what any of that last sentence meant, but by his mom’s reaction, it was something to be nervous about. She started forward, eyes wide. Dad started to speak, but Mom beat him to it. The words tumbled out of her mouth.

“Please, Principal Grover. Davis doesn’t deserve that. Maybe I forgot to put the pill in his breakfast this morning. He’s a good boy. A nice boy. Just tell us what we need to do. We’ll do it. You don’t have to report this.”

Principal Grover’s expression softened.

“Tonya…I don’t want this any more than you do. There’s probably a way we can work something out. But there will have to be concessions. For one, Davis will need to switch schools.”

“Is that really necessary?” Dad asked. Grover held up his hands.

“I’m afraid so. Putting Davis back into that classroom would be far too disruptive. A change in scenery is non-negotiable.”

Davis wanted to cry—he didn’t want to change schools, he liked this one, thank you very much. His friends were right here. But before he could even find the right pitch for a wail, Mom was shaking Principal Grover’s hand and Dad was whisking him out of the building towards the car.

And then he was crying. He didn’t understand. Tabitha deserved it. Why was he getting punished?

He started his campaign of retributive terror the moment that both of his parents were inside the car. His anger was a tidal wave, a hurricane, a firework. Dad did his best to calm him down while Mom’s hands turned white on the steering wheel.

“It’s alright, Davey, it’s okay,” Dad said. Davis kept screaming. Mom jerked the wheel, and Dad and Davis bounced in their seats.

“Careful, Tonya,” Dad said. The car sped up.

“We need to get home before someone sees. Please calm him down.”

“I will, if you drive slower.” Mom didn’t respond. Her eyes were darting across the windshield, and her lips were pressed in a thin line. Davis did stop crying, but it wasn’t because of his father’s attention. He was trying to figure out what was happening. Why were they talking to each other like that? He couldn’t remember ever hearing something like it before.

They stopped at the pharmacy. Dad stayed in the car while Mom went inside.

“Feeling better?” Dad unclipped his seatbelt and turned around, facing Davis from the front seat.

“A little.”

“Can I ask you a question, son?”

“Okay.”

“Why did you push Tabitha?”

“She took my magnets.”

“And…how did that make you feel?”

“Mad.” A strange expression on his father’s face, one that he couldn’t understand.

“Can I tell you a secret, Davey? One that’s just for you and me? If I do, you can’t tell anyone, not even your mother.”

“I won’t tell.”

“That’s my boy. Here’s the secret. You didn’t do anything wrong, son. No matter what anyone tells you, no matter what your mom says. You stood up for yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. I’m proud of you.” Dad reached over and patted his head. “We’ll get you some ice cream when you get home, okay?”

“Mint?”

“Mint, yeah, of course,” Dad said, and then he was smiling and making faces, and Davis was laughing. When Mom returned to the car, it was like a new day.

“You two are quite giggly!” Mom said, and Davis saw her shoulders release.

“Dad said I could have ice cream when we get home.”

“Ah, I should have known Dad would resort to a good old-fashioned bribe,” Mom said, and then she and Dad were laughing, and Davis laughed too, although he still didn’t really understand.

#

After dinner and ice cream and lots of picture books, Davis fell asleep. In his dreams, he saw Tabitha taking his magnets over and over. Sometimes he pushed her, and sometimes he cried.

He woke up suddenly. There was no staying in his room—he’d have to try to sleep between Mom and Dad. He crawled to their bedroom door with his favorite blanket, the one with the dalmatians, and prepared to wake his parents. But then he heard voices.

They were still up, which was curious. Davis laid the blanket down and leaned against the wall of the bedroom.

“I’ve already been giving him more than the recommended dose, Jim.”

“It was just a bad batch of pills. I’m sure that the ones you got today will work fine.”

“Can you consider a world where I’m right about this?”

“You’re not.”

“I don’t understand how you’re so sure. It’s only been getting worse over the past six months. He has a tolerance.”

“Okay, let’s pretend you’re right. He has a tolerance. So what? Nobody else tolerates Suppressant. The State will never suspect it. ”

“Why are you so sure that you know more about this than I do?”

“Because I do.”

“Aren’t you worried? They could take him away.”

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.”

“I’m not sure what you could do to stop it, Jim. And he could hurt someone. What happens the next time? Does he stop at one push? Or does he kick the girl while she’s on the ground?”

“Tonya. This is our son. He’s our boy. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong. He wouldn’t do that.”

“I don’t know how you’re so sure.”

“I just am.”

“At least talk to him about it in the morning. For me.”

“If that’s what you need to feel okay about this, then sure. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you.”

Davis’s elbow bumped against the wall, and suddenly his parents were quiet. He joined them in bed. They seemed to be out cold; they must have fallen to sleep very quickly. He cuddled his mother and passed out.

#

The conversation the next morning was confusing. Dad told him he’d be going to a new school. Mom asked him if he was sure he’d eaten all of his breakfast, not once, not twice, but three times. Of course he’d eaten all of it, she’d made him pancakes, and pancakes were his favorite. But even though she saw him eat everything and made him promise he hadn’t left a scrap, she still checked his plate. Finally, his parents sat across from him. Mom cleared her throat, and Dad touched his glasses.

“Davey, do you remember our conversation in the car yesterday?”

“Yes. But you told me not to—”

“Good, good. Well your mom and I just want to make sure that you know that pushing is unacceptable in any circumstance. It’s a form of violence. We don’t commit violence.”

“We don’t want to scare you, honey. But it’s important that you know there are serious consequences to those kinds of actions,” Mom said.

“She stole my magnets.”

“I know, love. But if you push someone, we might never see you again. Do you understand that? The State could come and take you away.”

Davis began to cry. Dad’s eyebrows raised. “Really, Tonya?”

“He needs to know.”

Davis didn’t know. He didn’t understand what the State was. But he heard the fear in his mother’s voice. That made him scared, and he was sorry, sorry for all of it, it wasn’t worth such trouble for magnets anyway.

“I’m sorry,” Davis cried. “I won’t push anyone ever again.”

“That’s okay, Davis, because it’s not going to happen again, and everything is going to be fine,” Mom said. Davis calmed. The pancakes had hit his stomach, and with it he felt smooth inside, like the gentle ebb of an ocean wave.

“I’m ready to go to school now,” Davis said. He swayed on his feet.

“Jesus, Tonya. How much did you give him?”

“Enough,” Mom said, and then she lifted him up and carried him to the car.

#

The chessboard in front of ten-year-old Davis was unequivocal. He was winning. Up a full rook, and his opponent was starting to run low on time. Davis knew he was no chess prodigy; this was only the silver division of the local tournament. But still, there was an aching pride in his chest as he stared at the board and foresaw his victory. This would get him to the semi-finals. His parents would be so happy. Briefly, he remembered the many conversations he’d had with them before they’d agreed to allow him to enter the tournament. There was a risk. If he had an outburst, he could be putting himself in serious danger.

But now they would see that he was right. He could control himself. And he could win. All of his practice with Dad had been worth it.

All he had to do was make sure he closed the game without any careless mistakes.

Bishop to H6 was exactly that mistake. He hadn’t seen his opponent’s knight. She grinned at him as she moved, forking his king and queen. A sickening fury rose in his stomach.

He’d blown it. In that moment, all of the begging with his parents and all of his promises of control went out the window. He slammed both of his fists on the table and opened his mouth to shout. It was only a moment before he compounded the disaster that he remembered himself. Still, the curse squeaked out of him.

“Fuck.” The girl across from him stared, mouth agape. The noise in the gymnasium transformed from a quiet buzz to an oppressive silence. Davis looked around and saw the faces of his peers, all staring. Heat rose to his face. He dashed out of the gym, drawing even more eyes as he went. His parents came running after him.

#

The officer picked him up that evening. His mom stood by the front door of their home, watching as he ducked inside the car, her hands in clenched fists. He sat down in the backseat with his face neutral.

“You doing alright back there, kiddo?” The officer asked.

“I’m fine,” Davis said.

“Just let me know if you need anything. I know this is probably pretty distressing. I wouldn’t want you to get upset.” The officer glanced into the rearview mirror, checking for Davis’s reaction.

He kept his mouth shut and his gaze out the window. Mom and her friend Bennett were explicitly clear.

Don’t talk to anyone beyond pleasantries. Don’t answer their questions. When you get to the facility, wait for Bennett to arrive. He was there for me before. He’ll be there for you too. And Davis? Do NOT let them rile you up.

Davis ignored the officer’s small talk until they got to the holding cell. There, he was made to wait. There was absolutely nothing to do. The cell didn’t even have a table or a chair. The room was hot. He counted steps until he got bored, and then lay down and tried to go to sleep.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Bennett entered the room. He was wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase. He held himself tall, but his posture couldn’t hide his age. He looked at Davis on the ground, frowned, and knelt down.

“How are you doing, Davis?”

“It’s boring in here.”

“I bet. You okay so far?” Bennett asked. Davis nodded.

“Good. We’ll both be out of here shortly.” He grunted as he slowly rose back up and left the room. Moments later, the officer returned. Behind him was a black-haired woman in street clothes. The woman had a clipboard and a pencil lodged in her hair, even though she already had one in her hand. Bennett entered as well. The officer set down a simple folding table before leaving the room and returning with four chairs. Bennett sat on one side and motioned for Davis to sit next to him. The officer placed a tape recorder on the table and flicked it on.

“Davis Schafer, State Holding 39B. It’s a Saturday at 8pm. We have reason to suspect he’s been skipping his doses of Suppressant. Let the record note that Bennett Cohen is also in the room, acting as Davis’s guardian with the approval of Davis’s parents, James and Tonya Schafer. Davis, do you understand why we take Suppressant?”

Davis looked at Bennett. Bennett nodded.

“Suppressant keeps us safe. We can be our true selves, without fear of anger or violence,” Davis said.

“Good,” the officer said. The woman in street clothes made a note on her clipboard. “How often do you take Suppressant, Davis?”

“My mom puts it in my breakfast.”

“And you eat breakfast every day?”

“Yes.”

“Please tell me in your own words what happened at the chess tournament this afternoon. As a reminder, lying to a State officer or a Warden is a crime,” the officer droned. Bennett squeezed his knee under the table. Davis pictured his mom and Bennett kneeling in front of him just a few hours before.

Stick to our story no matter what, Davey. No matter what. They can’t disprove your version. If you stick to it, you’ll be home and back in your bed tonight. Remember. Do NOT let them rile you up.

“I was playing a quarter-final match. I thought I was winning, but I missed a good move. I didn’t see it. I was surprised, and I banged my hands on the table because I was so surprised,” Davis said.

“Several eye-witnesses said that you had an emotional outburst,” the officer said.

“Suppressant doesn’t block all emotions. Surprise is a perfectly valid response to the situation he was in,” Bennett said.

“That may be true. But your opponent said she heard you mutter an obscenity. And you ran out of the building.”

“It was embarrassing,” Davis said. He looked down at his hands. “I could see everyone looking at me. I’ve always had strong reactions to being surprised, and I didn’t like everyone looking. But I didn’t swear.”

“Hmm.” The officer peeked over at the woman’s clipboard.

“He’s answered your questions,” Bennett said.

“Yes, very conveniently. We’re going to take some blood, and run a few tests. As long as everything looks good, Davis will be free to go.”

“Compliance regulation 36.2 states that you need consent for a blood test barring physical harm,” Bennett said.

“And subsection C states that significant mental distress can be an appropriate substitute for physical harm depending on the advice of an expert. My partner is a Warden. She helped interview the girl he played against. Her expert opinion is that Davis caused significant distress.”

“That’s…that’s absurd. That clause is meant for extreme cases of ongoing verbal bullying. How could Davis have bullied the girl during a single chess game?” Bennett’s face was completely neutral. The black-haired woman cleared her throat.

“I’m afraid that my title of Warden grants me sole authority in this matter, Mr. Cohen. If you’d like to appeal, you’ll have to raise it to the local council. In the meantime,” she said, holding out her hand towards Davis. Davis looked at Bennett, who crossed his arms. He didn’t understand any of the legal jargon that had just been thrown across the table, but he could see that Bennett was nervous. The woman pulled out a needle from a small red plastic case.

“Give me your hand, and hold out a finger, Davis,” she said.

“Do I have to?” Bennett gave him a reluctant nod. Fear bubbled up in him. Anger roiled underneath. He took a shaky breath and held out his finger.

The woman pricked him, took a swab to the drop of blood, and put the swab into a vial. She added a solution, shook the tube vigorously, and held up the vial, which turned an off-beat mauve.

“Test shows slightly elevated levels of Suppressant in the bloodstream,” the woman said. Bennett exhaled.

“Will that be all? This child has had quite the day. He should be at home with his parents.”

“As the officer said earlier, we have a few more tests to run. You can wait outside, Mr. Cohen,” the woman said. She smirked, a frail rictus that came nowhere near her eyes.

“I must object. The test was conclusive. He’s not skipping doses. You have no reason to hold him here,” Bennett said. The officer stood and put a hand on Bennett’s shoulder.

“Your objection is noted, Mr. Cohen,” the officer said. “It will only be a little while longer.”

Davis looked longingly at Bennett as he left the room with the officer. Now he was alone with the black-haired woman and her too many pencils. She clicked off the tape recorder.

“I should introduce myself. My name is Veronica,” Veronica said.

“Okay.”

“I’m very sorry about the day you’re having, Davis. I’ve turned off the tape recorder, so the two of us can talk without any worrying. I want you to know something. It may make you feel better,” Veronica said. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m unSuppressed.”

“Really?”

“It’s a noble sacrifice we Wardens make. So we can protect everyone in the State.” Veronica examined Davis for a reaction.

“Can I go home now?”

“What do you say we make a deal? We’re going to play a game of chess. If you win, you get to go home. If I win, you have to stay here for more testing. Sound good?”

Davis nodded warily. The woman pulled out a small board and they began to play. She tapped her pencil against the table after every move. He tried his hardest to ignore her and to focus on the game.

After about fifteen moves, he found an opening. He slipped his queen into position, and suddenly he was running rampant on Veronica’s back rank. It was easy, actually. Too easy. He sensed a trap.

Do NOT let them rile you up.

Seven moves later, Davis trapped the king.

“That’s mate in three. You’ll let me go now?”

“I would, if you played fairly. But I don’t think you did. I think you cheated. Thus, the game is forfeit. I’ll have to keep you here for a few more tests.”

Davis twitched. “I didn’t cheat.”

“Yes, you did. You moved your queen illegally. Disappointing, really. We were having a good game. Oh well. I guess I’ll come back in a few hours for some more tests,” Veronica said. Davis stood, one hand pressed flat against the table, the other clenched in a fist underneath. Veronica leaned forward.

“I didn’t cheat,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

“And I say you did. Are you telling me I’m lying?”

Davis squeezed the fist hidden beneath the table. He shook his head. “No, I’m not saying that. I guess we’ll do more tests.” He sat back down. Veronica leaned back in her chair.

She stared at him for several more seconds before leaving the room. Davis kept his left hand clenched for the next half hour, feeling his nails digging into his palm. Finally, Bennett returned and he was sprung. Veronica and the officer watched them all the way out of the holding facility.

“You did good, Davey. You’ve got your mom’s smarts. You did really, really good,” Bennett said as they started the car.

“Thanks,” Davis said. It was only when they were several blocks away that he risked opening his fist. His fingers shook from how hard he had clenched them. A single stream of blood dripped over his thumb.

#

Fifteen-year-old Davis did everything he could to avoid attention. No after-school activities, no real friends. Mom hadn’t let him participate in any extracurriculars since the chess tournament five years ago. He still played—just against himself, or his dad, if his dad was in the mood to lose horribly or it was a Friday.

When he could, he avoided his parents. They were annoying. His dad was always insisting that Davis was special whenever his mom wasn’t around. He was wrong, of course. Davis was broken, not special. And then there was his mom, who seemed to avoid him like his tolerance to Suppressant was catching. She was so worried about the State seeing Davis’s anger that she kept him locked up in the house anytime he wasn’t in school.

One Thursday, after a particularly boring history lecture about the end of violence amongst men, he was interrupted on his way out of class. The new girl blocked his path. His belief in his invisibility was so complete that he checked behind him to see if she was looking for someone else.

“Hi.”

“Um…hi?” Davis brushed his hair away from his eyes. She had freckles, red hair, and an easy smile. His heartbeat kicked.

“You’re Davis, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Harriet. I asked around, and you’re like…completely a mystery. How come nobody in school knows anything about you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe there’s nothing to learn.”

“Or maybe you’re hiding secrets?” Harriet winked, and touched his shoulder. “I love a good secret. Whatever yours is, I’m going to figure it out.”

“Okay?”

“Good! But don’t make it too easy on me, that ruins the fun. See you around, mystery boy.” She left him standing there.

He spent the rest of the day thinking about her. That night, he held her in his mind as he fell asleep. One thing was certain - there was no way he was brave enough to talk to her again. What could he do, ask her out? Even if she agreed, his mom would forbid it.

He spent the first half of the next school day checking for red out of the corner of his eye. When history class finally rolled around, he took his normal spot in the back row. Harriet came in late and sat in the front.

Which he had expected. Why did he feel disappointed?

While his teacher lectured about the countless violent atrocities of unSuppressed humanity, Davis imagined walking up to Harriet in a hundred different ways. Just before the bell, his daydreams were interrupted. Jared, the only boy in the row in front of him, was trying to hand him a note.

“For me?” he whispered.

“No, for the guy behind you,” Jared said, rolling his eyes. He dropped the note on the table. Davis grabbed it and put it into his lap. He put his head down on the desk and opened the note.

Party tonight. 358 Unity Way. Come at 10, mystery boy.

-Harriet

Davis shoved the note into his pocket and lifted his head up from the desk. He looked to Harriet, who had her head forward. The bell rang.

She turned and smiled at him as she walked out the door, no teeth, a small smile that lured him forward. But by the time he got to the hallway, she was gone in the lunch rush.

He spent the rest of his day in a mild panic. There was no way that his parents would let him go to the party. There was also no way he was going to miss it.

That night he was so distracted by the idea of sneaking out that he nearly let his dad beat him in their weekly chess game. He needn’t have worried – by 9:30, his mom was asleep on the couch, her half-full wine bottle placed precariously on the edge of the coffee table. His dad was tinkering with the car in the garage, and emerged only to wish him a goodnight. Davis grabbed the wine bottle on his way up to his room.

He climbed out the window at 9:50, and made it to the party at 10:15. The house was noticeable from a block away - the music bumped. When he got there, he realized that he’d been so caught up in his escape that he’d forgotten to change, and was still wearing the jeans and t-shirt he wore to school that day. He took a swig from his bottle, wiped his mouth, and entered the fray.

It was immediately overwhelming. Dancing, music, drinking, screaming. At least half of his school seemed to be in attendance, but most were older than him. He saw Jared from history walk by with some friends, but he had moved on before Davis could get his attention. After a quick walkthrough of the house without seeing Harriet, Davis decided to put himself in a quiet nook near the kitchen and watch.

It wasn’t too bad, watching everyone else. They all looked so happy. He wondered what it would feel like, to be so free, so unafraid. If only Suppressant actually worked on him. No matter what his dad said, he knew the truth. He was a freak. He drank every time someone walked by without noticing him. Soon his bottle of wine was empty.

After 25 minutes in the nook, Davis was ready to call the night a bust. The wine was starting to really hit, and there still wasn’t a single person at the party who showed any interest in talking to him. At least he’d had the courage to come in the first place. He was preparing to leave when he saw Harriet in the adjacent room. She was hanging onto the arm of Mason, a junior that everyone liked. Were they together? She was wearing a tube top and had glitter on her cheeks. He froze, caught between fleeing and approaching to find out more.

“Hey! Davis! You made it,” Harriet said, extricating herself from Mason’s arm and bouncing over to where Davis leaned against the wall. Mason followed.

“Hi. Yeah, I made it. Um, I’m Davis,” he said, and held out a hand to Mason. Mason looked at the hand, ignored it, and turned to Harriet.

“Harriet, you talk to this guy?”

“Oh, c’mon, Mason. Davis is nice,” Harriet said.

“I’m right here,” Davis said. “Are you two like…”

“Mind your own business. I’m not going to be seen talking to this loser, Harriet.”

“You’re being a jerk,” Harriet said.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Davis said. The red of Harriet’s hair clouded his vision.

“Oh yeah? Don’t want me to talk down to you in front of your little crush? She’s with me, freak. What are you gonna do about it?” Mason smirked. Davis’s hand acted before his brain even processed what he was doing.

His knuckles connected with the flat of Mason’s cheek, sending him sprawling. The whole kitchen gasped. Mason hit the ground with a thud. Harriet’s eyes were wide, searching, electric. Davis winced and took a step backwards. How many other people were in the kitchen? How many saw? His wrist was on fire.

“You’re unSuppressed,” Harriet said.

“I need to go,” Davis said.

“He hit me! He punched me!” Mason wailed. A few kids from across the kitchen ran over to where Mason lay on the ground.

“I have to get out of here.”

“Wait,” Harriet said. She tried to grab his arm and failed. He ran to the door and out into the night.

#

Davis burst through the front door of his house, where his mom was still sleeping on the couch. She startled awake.

“Davis?”

“Mom. I messed up,” he said. She shook off the fog of sleep immediately, clocking the wine bottle still in Davis’s left hand and the sweat dripping down his cheek.

“How bad?”

“I punched him in the face.”

“Witnesses?”

“At least three. No, four. But there were more kids around. It was a party.”

“I’ll go get your dad. Stay here.”

Twenty minutes later they were all in the car. His mom had thrown three bags in, all packed, all ready to go. They opened the garage, turned on the engine, and heard the sirens. Davis could see the lights approaching in the rearview mirror.

“No no no no no,” his mom whispered. Tears ran down her face.

“Fuck!” Davis shouted.

His dad shut off the engine, and turned to face his son.

“Davis, no matter what they do to you, I want you to remember something. Your feelings are not wrong. You’re not broken. You’re special. You have something nobody else has.”

“I’m sorry. I’m never going to see you again. It’s all my fault,” Davis said.

“What else can they take from me?” Mom moaned. She dug her nails into the dashboard, making a hideous scratching noise. Davis’s hands shook.

“Listen to me,” his dad said. The sound of a megaphone pierced the car window.

“DAVIS SHAFER, COME OUT OF THE HOUSE PEACEFULLY.”

“I’m broken, Dad. I’m so sorry. I’ll miss you so much.”

“You’re not broken. Listen to me. Listen. Listen!”

“DAVIS, COME OUT OF THE HOUSE. SURRENDER PEACEFULLY.”

“Your anger gives you power. You’ll do what they can’t, what they won’t. Never forget that. Never. I’m going to see you again. I promise.”

“I love you guys,” Davis said.

“We love you too,” his dad said.

“GO! Just go, Davis,” his mom heaved through tears. He unlocked the door and walked towards the lights.

#

Davis spent the next few weeks in a stupor. They gave him an absurd dose of Suppressant, enough to knock out a horse, and he knew it because he felt calm in a way that he hadn’t since he was a young kid.

Eat this, drink that, go to the bathroom, solve this jigsaw puzzle meant for young kids. Let them hook up the IV. Go to sleep. Wake up. Remove the IV. Repeat.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to start to come out of it. Either they lowered his dose, or his tolerance had started to compensate, but either way, one day he noticed the other zombified inmates shuffling around the ward’s common area and reality hit him like a truck. If he didn’t work up some sort of courage and a plan, he was going to die there. He started to watch for patterns.

It was hard. His focus came and went, and the whitewash of the rooms and lights left him dazed. Anytime that anyone came into the room, he had to pretend to be more Suppressed than he actually was. Eventually he figured out a few key facts, all thanks to a small window in his room facing the interior hallway.

First, there were more people here than he thought. At least a hundred, but maybe more. He’d seen the trash that got taken out every week, and the bin they’d used to wheel it was massive.

Second, the shifts were consistent. He saw the same people every day at the same time.

Third, everyone in the facility who wasn’t a caretaker was drugged to high-heaven. The average inmate was so Suppressed they could barely hold a conversation. The caretakers talked like they weren’t even there. Davis knew that he could use that to his advantage, but it also made him horribly, terribly furious. These were real people. How could the State treat them this way?

On a morning like all the others, the endless monotony broke. A face he’d never forget appeared in his window. The Warden. Veronica. Her face had a few more wrinkles but otherwise remained the same. Her dress was also identical, down to the pencil in her hair. The only difference was her side, where she wore a long cylindrical bat. At first, Davis couldn’t place it, but then he remembered photos of police violence that his teachers put up during lecture and it clicked into place. It was a baton. She had a police baton.

Davis kept the zonked out look of the overly Suppressed on his face as Veronica pulled a chair up to his bedside. It wasn’t a hard act to maintain—they had only just removed his IV.

“Hello, Davis,” she said.

“Heeeeellllloooooooo.”

“It’s been a long time. I’ve been monitoring your file, you know. Waiting for you to end up here. I thought maybe we could talk.”

“Hmmmmmmmmm.”

“It’s been five years since we last met. And I bet you remember when I gave you a blood test?”

Davis didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on the window.