2022, October 7FridayFaye has to admit, she’s struggling. Study has already put her under a lot of pressure, and her sponsorship of Russell may have been more than she bargained for. Maybe Mia had the right idea, starting immediately after graduation. But that just made an afternoon film with Bex even more special.

  “Thanks for today Bex, I really did need it,” Faye says to her girlfriend.

  “How many times do I have to say it, Effie?”

  “I know, I know. I’ve just overdone it a bit, I think.”

  “Yeah, well, hopefully the second years haven’t overdone the casserole,” Bex jokes back. Giggling, the two women make their way inside Dorley Hall, and head towards the dining room where Jodie, Tabby, and Leigh have already cimed a table. It’s not actually casserole tonight; the second years have done their best attempt at butchering sagne.

  After exchanging small talk, conversation naturally shifts to this year’s intake, most of whom have arrived in the past week or so. “Do you have any bets this year on the first girl to actualise?” asks Jodie.

  Faye answers a hair before Leigh. “It’s pretty evenly split between Johnny – Diana’s boy – and Monica’s boy Robert.”

  “I actually think it’s gonna be Harold,” says Leigh. “Smaller kid, not very violent, definitely an observer. He’s gonna fight it hard, but when he realises which way the winds are blowing…”

  “He’s Bel’s, right?” Bex asks. When she receives affirmation she says, “Ten quid on Harold then.”

  “Don’t gamble with your heart,” says Tabby. “What are the odds on your kid? That Russell guy?” She’s turned to Faye now.

  Faye swallows some of her sagne. “I…don’t think that’s likely. When I took him back to the cells after the basement tour he kind of just dissociated. Then…ugh. He just looked so panicked when he tried to run.”

  “Run?” Tabby looks armed. “Was there a security breach?”

  “No, so, it’s actually kind of my fault. We got him out on Wednesday and he seemed normal enough after a week in the cells. But something still felt off all day, he was tense. At first I thought it was him finally realising that he’s going to be here for quite some time, but then at lunch he just – it was something else entirely.”

  Leigh nods. “It’s not your fault, Faye. Honestly, most of this can be traced back to when Steph got here. So, you know how she found out about us because she was looking for Melissa after a chance encounter, right?”

  Tabby nods, but is a bit confused. “Yes, sorry, did Steph have an encounter with Russell? And he came looking for her? Please tell me we don’t have another twenty-nineteen on our hands.”

  “No, nothing like that, Tabs,” Faye reassures her. “It’s actually the note Steph wrote, it seems Russell got it into his head that Pippa – who he saw at the funeral – had somehow coerced her into writing it. Of course, we all know this is half true, in a way. And since her family kept the original, he ended up transcribing it, made a few errors that seem innocuous, and then started a complete spiral into looking for her.

  “Then it turns out at the same time he’s fallen into a right wing manosphere server – and then combine that with his investigation leading him to Saints after somehow guessing small spikes in missing persons and suicides at the beginning of term is genuine data.” She shakes her head. “I had Christine check. Ever since we changed intake policy when Steph showed up it mostly lines up with regional and national averages.”

  Tabby looks relieved. “Okay, I’m still going to bring this up with Bea and Maria though. No more locals, not for the next decade at least.” She pokes at her food and gestures for them to continue. “So, did he say all this to the others?”

  “More or less,” confirms Leigh. “He basically told the other boys – and us – that he was pretty confident we took Steph until Beth–”

  “Wait, Bethany was down there with you?” Jodie’s ughing now. “How big of an opsec failure was that?”

  “Not at all actually.” Faye shrugs. “She just said Steph never would have qualified, which is at least true. I did have to cover by revealing just how much we looked into his life. I was hoping to avoid pulling that lever until closer to the orchi. Maybe even after it.”

  A nearby second year flinches. Right, it’s still fresh for them.

  “So, the escape. Diana and I came to collect him for his final night in the cells, thinking we have him all figured out. But he seemed robotic when saying his goodbyes. You know, like when someone’s just going through the motions on auto pilot? He even thought we were going to just kill him or something. He told us to make it quick. He must not have known we were going to take him back.”

  “You did warn him, right?”

  “Yeah, on Tuesday. Back in the common room, it’s clear that he’s dissociated on tape but I couldn’t actually see his face. We got through the doors, but Johnny called Diana back in to ask for another book. The moment the door locks, Russell grabs my taser, tries to use it on me, and then can’t get through the doors in the corridor. It took a minute for Diana to finally get back and tase him, by which point Trev had already come downstairs to bring him back to his cell.”

  “Sounds a lot like my escape attempt,” a new voice says. Leah, a third year, and her sponsor Donna have walked over.

  “Hi, Leah,” Bex greets. Faye doesn’t think she’s heard Leah’s story before. Neither has Faye, really – only some bits picked up through osmosis.

  “Evening, Becca. Like I was saying, when I was taken back to the cells that first time, I think I was more damaged than Donna realised. I uh, did something simir.” Leah looks sheepish for a moment, then Donna speaks up.

  “She kicked me in the gut as hard as she could before running to the fire exit. Silly girl didn’t even try for my taser.”

  “Yeah, the idea of being locked away in those conditions for, well, what I did…” She lightly chuckles to herself. “It seemed quite excessive, you know?”

  Leigh for the most part looks sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Leah. You were our first, we didn’t really know how to deal with you dies yet. Besides, Russell isn’t this year’s goat. While there’s a small chance we missed something, we’re pretty sure he’s just gay, not an egg.”

  “And how long is that going to st, do you think?” Tabby is grinning.

  “If you and Leigh are any indication, actualisation, probably,” Bex shoots back.

  Tabby rolls her eyes. “So, Faye, do you think Russell and Johnny pnned it?”

  Faye shakes her head. “No, Johnny’s not the type. He’s a maniputor, and a schemer, and a total bastard, but he’s also completely self-serving. Diana and I both think the request was genuine and it was just poor timing. Maybe he wanted to test security? I find that unlikely though.”

  “Even still–”

  “I’m with Faye. When I brought Sam in to meet them yesterday, he seemed more confused that we brought her instead of Russell. Plus, with Harold’s camera obsession it would make more sense for him to set up that pn; the little homophobe barely said a word to either of them after lunch though.”

  “Leigh, sure. I get it. But it’s still something you’re going to need to bring up in the next meeting. I’ll talk to Diana about it, but that does expin the muttering I heard from his cell.”

  “Muttering?” Faye asks, concerned.

  “Yeah, I heard it today while on duty. He kept muttering something about his dad; he really didn’t sound like he’s handling his confinement well. I went through his file, and tried to get in contact with Melissa, but all there is on his dad is that he died of Covid a couple of years ago.”

  “Melissa? Steph’s sister?” It seems word travels slower than Faye thought. Does Steph even know? She’s even more tuned out of the rumour mill than Jodie is.

  Leigh is the one to answer. “Like with Edy and Grace, Russ is her brother by blood. Back in the basement, Steph would tell stories about them both all the time. And for as much a kinship she had with Melissa, she would always refer to Russ as her best friend. I’m still surprised Steph didn’t raise any objections with Maria about this.”

  Ah, okay. So she does. Perhaps that’s why Steph hasn’t been seen downstairs since August. Still, her sister might not yet. “Please tell me Melissa already knows? I don’t want to be the one on the receiving end of her wonderful speeches. That girl has such an eloquent way of making you understand just how badly you’ve messed up.”

  “It’s fine,” Tabby reassures her. “Your reports were added to her info packs, she knows we’ve been following him since February, and that he was selected for intake. If she was going to raise a fuss about him, she would have done so already.”

  Dinner has begun to wrap up now, and the second years are collecting their ptes. She smiles apologetically at the girl who overheard her earlier.

  “Muttering in the cells though, do you think he might have been locked in his room a lot as a kid?”

  “It’s possible. I can get Christine to see if he ever mentioned it anywhere?”

  “No, that’s fine. I can ask her myself. Thanks for telling me though, I can get him out of that cell right after breakfast.”

  “That’s probably a good idea, Faye. You all have a good evening.”

  There’s a chorus of goodbyes as Tabby leaves, shortly after a hug from Leigh.

  As Bex and Faye climb the stairs to the third floor together, Bex asks the one question Faye has been dreading. “Do you think you can handle this?” If anyone else had asked that, Faye would have stood defiant and said yes.

  But Bex isn’t anyone. “I don’t know, Bex. I hope so, but I worry about messing up. And I know I shouldn’t be afraid of Melissa, but she wasn’t angry at me. It was only Beatrice she traumatised for a month.”

  “I know, Effie, I know. If you ever need my help, you know you don’t even have to ask.”

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2022, October 8Saturday

  Four hundred and sixty, four hundred and sixty-one, four hundred and sixty-two. It wasn’t wrong to try. Anyone would’ve run, given the chance. Four hundred and sixty-three, four hundred and sixty-four, four hundred and sixty-five. And then they lock him in here? Leave him to rot like Dad did? He’s at least heard in Germany it’s not a crime to try and escape prison. He doesn’t know if that’s true. He probably never will.

  Four hundred and sixty-six, four hundred and sixty-seven. He’s tired of pacing in this cramped cell, so he sits down. His clothes smell awful, despite his best attempts to keep them from getting worse, and the mattress has left him feeling restless no matter how long he’s been able to sleep.

  Even Faye has abandoned him. She hasn’t been down here since he was attacked, other sponsors delivering his meals and offering little emotion. At least Faye hated him, he could at least understand that, and the feeling is – was, it seems – mutual.

  As he lies back down on the cot and closes his eyes, it only takes a few minutes – or an hour, time is meaningless down here – for the curtain to begin to rise. He doesn’t pretend to be asleep, but he doesn’t make any other motion, either. It’s probably just lunch. He’ll eat when he’s hungry again. The door unlocks, but instead of hearing the metal tray being deposited on the concrete floor, this time he hears a voice.

  “Time to get up, Russell. You need a proper shower.”

  He does need a shower. And clean clothes. And to leave. But there’s no need to taunt him. He doesn’t respond, just continues to lie there on top of his bnket.

  “Russell Vogel, you will get up in the next ten seconds or I will use my taser and haul you out of here myself.” She sounds upset, and familiar. He cracks an eye.

  “Faye?”

  His use of her name surprises her. It surprises him too, honestly. This might be the first time he’s said it.

  “Yes, Russ. It’s me. Come on, let’s get you out of that cell and back to the common areas. And this time you will stay there.” She sounds exasperated, good. If he’s going to cooperate, he might as well make things difficult. Clearly there are no rules to this pce.

  “Fine,” he says simply.

  Then it registers, he’s going back to the common areas? And he’s going to stay there? “Wait, when you say I’m staying, that means no more cell, right?”

  “Yes, that’s right. If you choose to complete the programme, we will take you back to the common areas right now. Otherwise, you can choose to wash out, and you will be collected next week. I strongly suggest you complete the programme.” He’s tempted to choose to wash out, out of spite.

  Not tempted enough, though. “Fine, I’ll py along. Get me out of here.”

  “Wise choice. Now, some ground rules. The first one should be obvious: no stealing tasers. They’re biometrically locked to us, in case you’ve forgotten again. Secondly: no running away. You have your areas, and you will stay in them. Third: no fighting. I get that Harold is a homophobe, that’s part of why he’s here. The sponsors will deal with it if something comes up. Say you understand and agree.”

  He doesn’t really have a choice. He sits up properly, and the two women – he thinks he remembers the other one is called Monica or something – put their fingers on the taser triggers. “I understand, and agree.”

  They take their fingers off the triggers, but keep the tasers aimed. “Good. Now, if you behave, you can forget this pce. I promise not to return you to this cell without cause.”

  He notices those st two words. He doesn’t want to guess how flimsy “cause” could be.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  Shortly after Sam returns to his room, hair still dripping, his phone arm begins ringing. It must be preset, as there was no clock app he could find while pying around with it st night. It’s a Taylor Swift song, he thinks. He’s never really cared much about her discography, though. Not his taste.

  That’s one of his main gripes about the media library, actually. There’s very little of it that he would have ever selected for himself. Despite the size, he’s found almost nothing of substance inside, from the films to the shows to the books. He’s earmarked a few that might be interesting enough, but most of those are likely more of the same. He might rather watch mindless reality television instead.

  A knock at his door brings him out of his musings, but Leigh barges in before he has a chance to respond. Between the constant surveilnce and the ck of truly personal space, he wonders if this pce is designed to make him snap.

  But the Hall has deprived me of even that option.

  Sam is still a bit taken with her though, so he doesn’t openly compin. He merely sighs at her ck of respect for his boundaries, and wears his mood on his face.

  “Don’t give me that look. It’s time for breakfast.” She’s still wearing that mask, the one she’s started wearing ever since he advised her of his intent to commit. It’s not as cold, but in a way it’s even more distant. He can appreciate that.

  He attempts to grab his phone, but is reprimanded. “Phones are highly discouraged in the social areas. Be social. Come on.” He follows her, briefly imagining a world where he treads in the footsteps of that other boy, Russ. Of course, it was undignified and brutish for a man to hit a woman, so there they remained: thoughts, not actions.

  He didn’t appreciate most advice from his father – Sam privately thought he was a pompous twat – but those three simple words had become a mantra he lived by religiously. That was about the only redeeming quality his father had, if he was being thorough. He would never hit someone, or otherwise y his hands on them. No, leave that to the prisons he would invest in over in the States.

  So, the walk to the dining room is uneventful. The horrors, unfortunately, persist.

  Instead of cereal bars, there’s a few boxes of weetabix and some bowls on the tables, alongside some milk. He can tell that whatever it is, the milk isn’t full cream. It’s unlikely to even be dairy, if he’s able to extrapote from the rest of the vegan food.

  Sadly, he knows he has to go hungry this morning. Weetabix has been inedible to him for years. “I’m sorry, Leigh. I can’t eat this.”

  She quirks an eyebrow, and it takes Sam a moment to register why. This is his first act of open defiance. “You don’t have any allergies that we’re aware of, and it’s just Weetabix.” She puts two bricks into a bowl and pours some milk over them. “Now eat.”

  He won’t win this fight, and he doesn’t have the energy right now to try. So he takes the smallest spoonful he can, puts it in his mouth, and begins gagging on the awful texture. Behind him, Leigh’s eyes go wide as he cannot swallow, and eventually coughs it back into his bowl. He gres at her, and it seems to have registered that he’s not being metaphorical, he is physically incapable of eating weetabix. Leigh shares a gnce with the two other sponsors in the room, and tells him to wait right there.

  By the time she returns, Johnny has arrived and is eating his food – if it can really be called that – silently, stealing the odd gnce back at Sam, for one reason or another. He tries to py it cool, but is about to say something when Leigh returns.

  “Cereal bars. This is just for now, and contingent on good behaviour.” He nods and reaches out to take them, but her grip remains firm. “You will have to learn to eat weetabix eventually. Say you understand and agree.”

  Words take a moment to form. “Okay, I understand and agree.” They’re a different kind of cereal bar to what he was served in the cells, and they taste like nothing. But at least he can swallow them.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  The soft buzz of the razor would have otherwise been a comfort, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. He just glides it across his face, willing a return to his standard look. At least the sideburns are becoming acceptable, and he deigns to keep them.

  It’s a small mercy that Faye and Monica let him use the bathrooms alone, but it’s not the most comforting thought in the world either. After all, he’s still trapped down here with no way out. Not until he’s deemed ready by whatever sick criteria they’ve invented.

  Who’s to say there are criteria anyway? What’s stopping them from just throwing him back in there because they’re hungover and he’s talking too loud? The fact that he’s supposed to figure out the rules as he goes along feels dirty.

  Now there’s a thought. Russ has been dry ever since his Dad died, but by God he wants a drink.

  No, he doesn’t miss the feeling even if there weren’t so many bad memories reted to it. He’ll have to go through this living nightmare sober. He finishes his shave, and then grabs his wash kit and a towel, along with the change of clothes Faye allowed him to collect earlier.

  He steps into the shower and turns it on, shampoo and body wash already in hand. The water pressure is still great, and the heat controls are still responsive. Maybe if he showers for as long as possible, they’ll forget about him and he can slip through their notice? It’s not a serious pn, but he sits down under the pressure regardless.

  After some period of time, he can hear the doors to the annexe open. Briefly he wonders if the sponsors have returned to drag him out, but a snivelling voice thankfully dispels that idea.

  “Is someone in here?” asks Harold.

  “Yeah, it’s Russ,” he says back over the water.

  “Okay then. Don’t look at me while I’m showering, homo.” He wants to bite back, send out a retort, possibly start a fight, but Russ doesn’t have the energy. Maybe on a better day, then.

  Russ remains sitting against the wall, warm water coming down on his face for the entirety of Harold’s shower. Eventually, he hears the doors open and close once again, and he decides to get back up. He’s feeling quite parched, so he gets out, towels himself off, gets dressed, and heads back to his room.

  Oh great, Faye is waiting for him outside of it.

  “What now?” he manages to croak out.

  “Now? I’m going to expin how your days will work. You will get up at seven on the dot each morning. Your phone has an arm but you can’t disable it. When it goes off, you will shower and have breakfast, the order is up to your preference. Then, your day is free until lunchtime, where you are expected to eat with the other boys. You’re then free until supper, where the same applies.

  “Some days at breakfast, you will be told of mandatory csses hosted by Maria, our senior sponsor for this intake. These will happen immediately after everyone is fed and has showered. We won’t tolerate excessively long showers on those days.” So it was fine? He was genuinely given a moment of peace, if you ignore his unfortunate run-in with Harold.

  “When the other boys are all fully introduced, you will be expected to be social for at least a few hours each day. There are a few more rules that aren’t quite relevant right now, but I must also tell you there are punishments for disobedience, and rexations for compliance.”

  “Like that cell?”

  “Yes, like the cell. I will warn you, you have one strike already, for trying to escape. Get to three…” She lets his mind fill in the bnk. What could be worse than another week in that awful cell? “Today though, you have no obligations for lunch. Your food will be delivered to you via the dumbwaiter there. But I will collect you for dinner.”

  “And what time is dinner?”

  “It depends,” she says with a smile. She leaves before he has a chance to ask “what” it depends on.

  He looks back around this gilded cell, and all the amenities he now has access to. A bed. Clothes. A computer. A phone. A chair.

  An absolute bloody treasure trove.

  He browses the phone a bit, and finds a few books loaded onto it. Much of it is surprisingly queer, but the vast majority of that is either transgender or lesbian in nature. Still, he picks up a romance about two guys who meet on a skiing trip and reads the first few chapters before the prose gets too bnd even for something that promises to be gay.

  He looks on the computer instead, and finds a simir library – plus some games – but since the computer is facing his bed, he can watch movies or a show or something as he falls asleep. And he doesn’t have to worry about his phone smacking him upside the head.

  He also loads up an app called “message sponsor” and what appears to be a modified Consensus client opens.

  RussellWhy are you doing this to me?Why are you doing this to us?

  It takes a few minutes, but Faye’s icon eventually changes from idle to online.

  FayeI told you. This is a reform programme. You’ve been beaten down your whole life by people you looked up to.Mark, Stefan, your father.I’m not saying those first two did it maliciously, but you’ve been hurt by decisions they’ve all made, and that made you vulnerable to certain groups.

  RussellYou mean the clubhouse?Those were all just sympathetic people trying to lend an earAll they did was tell me to follow my instincts, and that led me to youThey were rightSomething fishy was happening, and you say my best friend wasn’t part of it but

  He deletes that st message before he sends it.

  Something happened to Stefan that you won’t tell me aboutI will find out the full truth if it’s the st thing I do

  He closes the window. He doesn’t need to hear her rationalisations, her excuses. She took him from his home, from his job he liked, all because of a few guys online who made edgy jokes that pushed him to find his best friend? He doesn’t like her.

  The window reopens automatically; it seems she has something else to say.

  FayeI know you’re angry. In time, you will look back on this and see that this was the best path forward. And for what it’s worth? I didn’t intend to trigger any traumatic episodes. I meant it when I said you won’t be returned to that cell without good reason.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  On the one hand, Johnny is a nice enough bloke. He's charming, charismatic, and able to take a joke. He talks enough for the both of them, and Sam is grateful for the ck of need to speak.

  On the other hand, sometimes he says something that makes Sam remember that everyone down here is, in the end, a bit of an arsehole.

  “Look, you should understand that sometimes to get the biggest profit you need to fudge the truth a little bit." He does understand that, but it doesn't mean he doesn't despise anyone who thinks that way.

  "Of course I get it, Johnny. I'm meant to be studying business for when I inherit. But there's a big difference between marketing and just outright scamming people.” Good businessmen never lie, only manipute. It's another one of his father's sayings, and Sam figures it's still better to be a good businessman than to endorse what Johnny did. Not that he actually wanted to go into business; his artistic side was one of the few things he'd been forced to bury which hadn't stayed down.

  "Learn that in America did you, mate? What separates a deal from a scam?” Johnny's good nature seems to be fading; he’s oddly serious about this.

  "No, I learned it in ‘toff school,’ as you so eloquently called it. Where we get set up for the skills we need to live a productive life in high society.” He cannot believe he's resorted to parroting that awful rhetoric. And to what, fight with the only person down here he could possibly envision a friendship with?

  It's too repulsive to let stand, despite what Johnny did to end up here. He has to correct the record. Johnny opens his mouth first. “Wow, you really aren't like the other rich bastards I've come across. You don't buy into that bollocks at all.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I do not. I do fundamentally disagree with what you did to end up here though. At least I never physically harmed anyone."

  “Hey, buddy. Remember: I only harmed their wallets. I did nothing irreversible." Sam doesn't quite believe that, but he doesn't want to argue the point further. He stands up from the couch instead.

  "I'll see you at dinner, mate. I'll go browsing for something to watch before then.” Johnny waves a dismissive hand and turns back to the telly as Sam leaves the room, nearly bumping into Harold in the bedroom hallway.

  Harold shoots him a hostile gnce, but deigns not to say anything, and Sam is fine with that. Far be it from him to look a gift horse in the mouth. He enters his room and basks in the silence for a moment.

  Eventually, his thoughts begin taking over, and he needs to do something again. He flops down on the bed on his side, and finds himself looking at his computer. There's a bit of hesitation, but after a minute he gets up, turns it on, and gets to browsing the library for something he might enjoy.

  It's Saturday, according to his clock. He misses his Sunday evening pns, about the only times he can really let loose and forget about the world. And he's probably not going to be allowed to go to Wembley on the thirtieth, either. He's despondent as he thinks about the foreseeable future. Months, maybe years in this basement as they reform him and a half-dozen other boys.

  It's enough to make him start thinking about all the opportunities he failed to take, all the things he should've said, and the one thing he never should have said. Distractions, that's the only way out of this spiral. He browses through the catalogue for something to bring him back to a sustainable emotion, and skips past a dozen vampire romances before coming across an American title that might pass muster. Even Quarterbacks Get The Blues, a show following the girlfriend of some high school quarterback.

  It's probably not particurly focused on the sport, and odds are it's not particurly good. But he hopes, for a brief moment, that he can use it as an escape. He hopes, but he doesn't dare wish.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  The music’s mediocre, but it's better than crushing silence. It's also a great way to keep track of time, if he assumes an album is near enough an hour. He's gone through two and a half of them by the time lunch arrives, another veggie burger and chips.

  Russ doesn't mind, it's not like it's inedible or anything and the important thing is it's far more filling than the soup in the cells was. As he finishes eating, the album he has been listening to winds down, and he checks the clock. Twelve twenty-eight. So he's been listening to music for just shy of two and a half hours, and that's something. Even if it’s just a pylist he might find on Capital FM.

  The music is beginning to get on his nerves, but there's very little else for him to do. When he went to the loo earlier, Johnny had invited him to meet the new guy, Sam. Russ had declined. As great as it sounded meeting another prisoner, he isn’t feeling particurly social today. He’ll meet Sam at dinner, though. Apparently he’s a bit of a toff.

  He investigates the wardrobe more thoroughly, finding some bare pstic coat hangers, another full length mirror on the inside, and a set of drawers. Many of them are empty though; only the bottom three are stocked.

  Shirts and hoodies are in the topmost drawer, boxers are in the second drawer, and joggers are at the very bottom. Curiosity satisfied, he closes the wardrobe and sits on the wheelie chair.

  He spins in his chair for a few minutes, allowing himself to get dizzy. It’s a simple feeling, but it allows him to remember days out at the park. Better times. Before the move.

  He remembers Mark would spin him on the roundabout for what felt like hours on end, both of them ughing and without a care in the world. Mum didn’t have cancer. Dad wasn’t drunk. There was nothing in the world except for the Vogels, and there was nothing to be afraid of.

  But that led to the other memories. Mark getting depressed. Finding out about Mum’s cancer after that holiday to the water park. Mum dying. Mark…

  God, he misses his brother, he really does. Mark always talked about obligation to Mum, to Stef, to Russ. He wonders, if Mark were still alive, would that obligation compel him to rescue Russ from this pce? Would he have been obsessed looking for Russ like Russ was for Stefan, like Stefan was for Mark?

  In his head he wants to say no, Mark was the one who gave him the reality check that Mum was gone gone. But in his heart he knows that Mark would drop anything for his little brother. For his little brothers; Stef was practically a Vogel by fraternal adoption.

  He puts on a movie, just something random. Apparently it’s a kind of w drama, or comedy. But he’s not focused on the film, it’s mostly background noise as he reminisces about the people in his life he misses the most.

  *** ### *** ### ***

  2022, October 9SundaySunday meetings are the worst, in Leigh’s opinion. When she first found out about them, that nearly put her off sponsoring altogether. Sundays are for lying in and enjoying the weather. But she was the one who identified Sam, and how could she refuse a request from Tabby? So now she has to live with getting up for a six o'clock meeting on Sundays every week for the next year or so.

  As usual, she's early. She’s always been punctual, even before Dorley. She doesn't mind though, it gives her a chance to go over the agenda. Fresh intakes are generally the primary focus until the New Year has come along and disclosure has passed. But even st year, when she first sat in during her third year, a couple of second year issues had made it to the docket.

  Not this week, it seems. She smiles at Faye, who has just walked in, and gnces around the room. Nearly everyone is here, with the only exception being Indira.

  Never mind, there she is, walking with a buff folder probably to go with whatever presentation she has today. The soft chatter in the room settles down, and Indira begins the meeting.

  “Good morning all, it's a bit of a simpler one today."

  “As if,” Nadine shouts from across the room. Leigh can't help but smile. “We still need to discuss Wednesday’s incident." Leigh’s eyes flick to Diana, but thankfully she seems to be taking it in stride.

  “That shouldn't take too long," Indira continues. “We only really need a refresher on the Intake of twenty-two, and our first breakdown of how they're socialising with each other.

  “Now, as many of you know, because many of you are the problem,” she gestures to the second and third-year sponsors, who all chuckle, “we’ve been forced to have a smaller intake this year, but we still appreciate your enthusiastic signups. We might want to consider holding back a bit to spread out our sponsors properly again. As such, there are only five boys down there, as well as our goat. Now, we should start with Wednesday’s incident. Faye, give us your report.”

  Faye stands up as Indira sits. “Thank you, Indira. On Wednesday, I took Russell for a tour of the general facilities. However, by the time Diana and I went to take him back to his cell, we believe he had begun dissociating. When Diana was pulled away by Johnny, he attempted to disarm and tase me, and was stopped by the locked door to the stairway.”

  Diana speaks up next. “Jonathan called out to me to ask about a new book. In viotion of standard procedures, I left Faye alone in the corridor. We’re lucky he didn’t attempt to attack Faye more directly, or he could’ve been seriously hurt.”

  “Thank you, Diana. Do we think Johnny intended to provoke something like this?” Indira questions. Diana simply shakes her head.

  “No. Jonathan doesn’t believe in things like that. He’s almost entirely self-interested, and he definitely didn’t coordinate anything with Russell. I’ve gone over their conversations; this appears to be a genuine spur of the moment thing based on opportunity.”

  Indira nods. “Right, let this be a lesson. Protocol exists for a reason. Next we should–”

  “Hang on, Dira.” Faye is still standing. “There’s one more thing I’d like to bring up.”

  “Okay then Faye, go on.”

  “Tabby brought to my attention that on Thursday and Friday he was muttering to himself in his cell. It was mostly about his father, the te Matthias Vogel. Of course, we are all aware that he is the brother – for now – of our very own Melissa Haverford. I’ve been trying to reach out to Melissa to get more information on Matthias, but no luck so far.”

  “I’ll see if I can get Abby to connect you two. But if Liss doesn’t want to participate in any way, that’s her decision and it’s final,” says Indira.

  Faye nods. “I’d also like permission – at least for Russell – to reserve threats of the cells for serious, multi-strike level offenses based on this video.”

  Indira nods. This had already been informally approved. “Absolutely, I know we’re a trauma factory but there’s no need to be sadistic. Now, Bel. How are things going with Harold?”

  “He’s a little shit,” Bel says. “Immediately after figuring out Russ was gay, he attempted to use a slur. He seems to only be tolerating Johnny and Sam, too. Giving him a strike yesterday seems to have at least stopped him from throwing around accusations or speaking at all, really.”

  Indira frowns. “There’s always one, it seems. Onto Gordon, he’s still shing out towards me. I’ve only been able to get him to simmer down a bit by threatening to withhold meals. As we all know, this isn’t viable long term, but Monica, would you be fine swapping Gordon’s and Robert’s introductions to genpop?”

  Monica nods. “It’s probably for the best. Robert’s already figured out that the impnt is goserelin, and I have confirmed it to him. He’s likely to tell the others probably during introductions ter, and it might be a good idea for Gordon to learn on his own. The usual spiel of ‘controlling aggressiveness’ seems to have been bought but he might figure out what the ‘vitamin shots’ really are pretty quickly. I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a November disclosure like in twenty-nineteen, but I still think early December is probable.”

  “Something to be prepared for. And now, to the woman of the hour. Leigh, how is Sam doing?”

  Leigh stands up. This is her moment. “Sam is doing about as well as we could expect of her. Every time she looks at me she just has the worst gender envy on her face, it’s pin as day to everyone in the room.” There are murmurs of assent at this. Sam looks at all the girls like that.

  “I’ve set her arm to mirrorball, but I don’t think she’s aware of the significance. At least, she didn’t seem to recognise the song yesterday.” There’s a smattering of good natured ughter, especially among the sponsors with trans NPHs. “And onto some good news, she seems to have bonded with Johnny quite well. They had a spot of banter about their different upbringings. I see a lot of hope for him to be one of the first to actualise based on previous intakes.”

  Indira is smiling at this. “Excellent. We shall reconvene Thursday for the second and third years. Monica, hang back with me for a moment so we can discuss the introductions.”

  As Leigh leaves the security room, she follows Faye, Diana, and Bel downstairs for the first years. She’s excited to finally pay it forward, to help her girl out properly. And hopefully, like Rochelle and Leah and Steph before them, Sam can help show the rest of her intake that becoming a woman isn’t the worst thing in the world.