Scene 12
The line moved slowly, like a funeral procession. Glenn shuffled forward with the others, his sneakers squelching against the wet tile floor as they crossed the threshold into the building. The warmth hit him first; a stark, almost suffocating contrast to the cold rain outside. Then came the smell: bleach, antiseptic, and something else. Something metallic and wrong that made his stomach clench.
The interior was vast and sterile. White walls stretched endlessly in every direction, broken only by numbered doors and the occasional surveillance camera mounted in the corners. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting everything in a harsh, clinical glow that made Glenn's eyes water.
They were herded into a wide corridor where the line moved slowly, each boy disappearing through a doorway at the far end, only to emerge minutes later wearing identical gray uniforms, their casual clothes bundled under their arms.
The first boy to go, the one with the bandana, Mr. Randell Patts, was called forward. Glenn watched as he swaggered through the doorway with false confidence, the red bandana still bright against his dark skin.
Minutes ticked by. Glenn counted the fluorescent lights overhead, twelve in this section of corridor alone. He traced the silver-blue lines beneath his sleeve with his thumb, a nervous habit he'd developed across the loops. The pattern pulsed faintly, almost imperceptibly, in rhythm with his heartbeat.
Anthony shuffled nervously beside him, his shaggy brown hair still dripping. "This place is creepy as hell, man," he whispered.
"Yeah. You can say that again." Glenn responded. "I'm Anthony."
"Glenn. What are you here for?"
"I keep setting things on fire, have an urge to and I can't stop." Anthony glanced at Glenn before chuckling, "You know what makes it more crazy? I don't even know how i do it. It just... happens, no matches, no oil, just flames. Told my mother about but... she thought I was insane." He chuckled again, this time with Glenn, nervously, as he couldn't respond to hearing that.
"so you addicted to setting things on fire, magically." Glenn kept in thought before the door opened again, and Mr. Patts emerged, now dressed in the gray uniform, his bandana confiscated. His swagger was gone, replaced by a tense, rigid posture. He didn't make eye contact with anyone as he was directed down a different hallway by a guard.
"Next."
Glenn watched as the next boy in front, a scrawny kid with acne scars and nervous energy, walked in.
The line crept forward. Glenn's heart began to pound, though he didn't know why. His hands felt clammy. There was something wrong about all of this, something that made his skin crawl, but he couldn't place it. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff in the dark, knowing the drop was there but unable to see how far down it went.
He counted the boys ahead of him. Five. Four. Three.
When the last boy emerged in his new attire, Glenn took a peak through the open gaps of the doorway, seeing what awaited for them was a long table set up with a stack of folded gray uniforms. Behind it sat a woman in a white coat, her dark hair pulled back in a neat bun.
"Next."
The lean boy with the round-frame glasses was now the second in line to go, fidgeting violently as he waited. When his turn came, everyone could hear the doctor and the boy, his voice cracked as he stammered out his information behind the doors.
"N-Name and age," the doctor asked.
"J–Jacob. Jacob Hathaway.. S-Seventeen."
"Block B–463."
Jacob scurried out the doors, now being escorted by a guard.
Now it was a tall and broad shouldered boy with jet black hair's turn. He stepped up with an easy confidence that seemed entirely out of place.
"Name and age," the doctor repeated, her tone flat and professional.
"Seth Rowans." His voice was smooth, almost cocky. "Nineteen."
"Block B–464." The doctor said.
"Next."
Anthony jumped at the command, then hurried forward. Glenn was now second in line.
He strained to hear the conversation.
"Name and age," a male voice asked, crisp and professional.
"A-Anthony Hills. Eighteen," came the nervous reply.
The scratch of pen on paper. "Anthony Hills... Block B-465. Take your uniform from the stack—size should be marked. Change behind the curtain. You'll find undergarments and shoes as well. Leave your personal belongings in the bag provided. You'll get them back on discharge."
"When... when will that be?"
"That depends entirely on your progress, Mr. Hills." A pause. "Now, before you change, you need to take this."
Glenn watched through the crack in the door as Anthony was handed a small paper cup with a single blue pill and another cup of water.
"What is it?" Anthony asked, his voice small.
"Medication. Everyone takes it. Three times a day, morning, noon, and night. It helps with the transition, keeps everyone calm and focused on treatment."
"But I don't—"
"Mr. Hills." Her voice hardened. "This is not optional. Take the pill, or you'll be administered it another way. Your choice."
A long silence before Glenn could hear the doctor say:
"Good. Now go change."
Minutes later, he emerged in gray, looking smaller somehow, diminished. A guard appeared and led him away without a word.
"Next."
Glenn's pulse quickened. He stepped through the doorway, and that's when he noticed, the doctor. Her nametag read "Dr. Cornelius West" in crisp, black letters. On the table in front of her was an open notebook, its pages filled with neat rows of handwriting. Glenn's eyes flicked down to it. Eleven names. Four more to go. The last entry read: "Anthony Hills, 18, Block B–465."
But the notebook didn't end there. Glenn could see more pages beneath, more names, more numbers. How many boys had passed through here? How many were already inside?
"Name and age."
Dr. West's voice snapped him back to the present. She was looking at him now, her brown eyes calm and assessing. There was something almost kind in her expression, but it was the kind of kindness that made Glenn deeply uneasy, like a doctor about to deliver bad news.
"Glenn Keene," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Twenty."
Her pen paused mid-stroke. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for the first time, there was genuine curiosity in them.
"'Glenn Keene...'" she repeated slowly, as if testing the name on her tongue. She set down her pen and leaned forward slightly. "You wouldn't happen to be related to a Gwen Keene, right? Seventeen. "
Glenn's heart skipped a beat. His mouth went dry.
"Y-Yes."
Dr. West's expression didn't change, but something shifted in the air between them. She made a careful notation in her book, then slid the folded gray uniform and the paper cup across the table toward him.
"Block B–466," she said quietly. "Right next door to Mr. Hills."
Glenn took the clothes with numb fingers, then picked up the small cup. Inside, the blue pill looked harmless, just a tiny, smooth capsule. He stared at it for a long moment, then tipped his head back and swallowed it dry.
Then it occurred...
A surge of "something", cold and electric, rushed through him, starting in his throat and spreading like wildfire through his veins. His vision blurred. The sterile white corridor seemed to tilt and spin, and suddenly he wasn't just standing there anymore.
He was "everywhere".
Memories slammed into him, one after another, a chaotic flood of images and sensations that weren't his but somehow "were." He saw himself in the cafeteria, covered in blood, screaming. Another in a forest, the sky red in color, he's running next him was his sister, Gwen, and few other kids. And finally, he remembers... 31st Of May 2023, his first day into the facility. He'd done this before.
He'd done this "fourteen times before."
Dr. West looked at him with concern as he just stood there, silently. The pills must have a fast effect on him, she thought.
Glenn staggered, his hand flying up to clutch his head as the weight of it all crashed down on him. His knees buckled, and he barely caught himself on the edge of the table.
"Are you okay?" Dr. West's voice cut through the chaos, sharp with concern. She half-rose from her chair, her hand reaching toward him.
Glenn forced himself to straighten, his breathing ragged. The flood of memories was already receding, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache in his skull. He blinked hard, focusing on her face, on the present moment.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice rough. "Just... dizzy. The rain, I think."
Dr. West studied him for a long moment, her brown eyes searching his face. Then, slowly, she sat back down and picked up her pen.
"I see. If you feel unwell, inform a guard immediately," she said, her tone professional once more. "Dehydration can exacerbate symptoms."
"Yeah," Glenn muttered, clutching the gray uniform to his chest. "I... I will. Thank you." He moved toward the curtain, his heart still racing.
Behind the curtain, he changed quickly, tucking his wet hoodie and jeans into the provided bag. He studied the uniform, thin, cheap material designed to strip away identity. The pants had no pockets. Intentional.
When he emerged, Dr. West was making final notes in her book. She glanced up, gave him a curt nod, and gestured to the guard waiting by the door.
"Remember, Block B-466," she repeated. "And welcome to your new home, Mr. Keene. I'm sure you and your sister will have much to discuss when you see each other."
Glenn nodded numbly and turned away, his legs unsteady beneath him. As he walked toward the door, he caught sight of his reflection in a glass panel on the wall.
For just a moment, he saw them, the silver-blue lines, faint but unmistakable, beginning to crawl up the side of his neck, he leaned forward for a closer look, believing he is just missing or remembering where the lines would be later on but from a closer look, he gasped, suddenly, a guard, a burly man with a scarred jaw, grabs Glenn by the elbow and steered him into the corridor. "Let's go..."
As they walked, Glenn's mind was already working, cataloging every detail, every difference from previous experiences.
"In the last experience, on this very day, there were 70 kids entering, females and males. But this time is different, it's 15 boys, amongst them is Anthony who was supposed to be here a year ago along with Matthew, and Dr. West is the one behind the table and not Dr. Sawyer."
"Things are changing."