It’s pretty clear that we’re all on drugs at this point.

     I’ve been slightly spaced out since our dosing this morning and it’s been a really strange day. I am almost starting to feel like I’m inside of a mental institution being cared for. I don’t have that sharp focus I’m used to having and I feel restricted in almost every way. I hope I don’t start to lose it here.

     I entered into another dream state today in the “white room” as we’re calling it now. Sort or similar to the experience I had yesterday except that this time I was drifting through space. Honestly, it was… weird. It was clearly a dream, but I felt like I was actually there, in outer space.

     Once we were done dosing, they had us sit in a circle out in the common room and have a group introduction thingy. I’ll try to recall it as best I can for the record.

     I sat in between Jeff and Randy and of course Randy made it a point to sit next to Emily. Directly across from me was Rudy sitting in between Amanda and Frank and I’m realizing now that there’s a whole bunch of people here with us that I’m just starting to notice. Anyway, this is the account of our session.

     Dr. Nelson remained standing and circled around us and said, “Each of you please state your name and a little about yourself to the rest of the group.”

     Weird that we’re doing this on day 2 I thought to myself.

     “Let’s start with you Jack.” He said as he tapped my shoulder.

     Figures.

     “My name is Jack McCoy and I’m a gambling addict.”

     I couldn’t believe I said that, but I’m so used to going to gambler’s anonymous meetings that it just slipped out like a prerecorded message. The only off thing about it was they all didn’t say “Hello Jack” in unison back at me. Except for Amanda, the short haired feminist lady. Either she’s been to meetings herself or she’s just nice enough to respond I thought at the time.

     “I’ve lived in Revere, Massachusetts my whole life and I’ve done a lot of sales jobs and a few construction jobs. I’m here because I need the money to pay off a bunch of shit.”

     No point in telling everyone that I’m a degenerate gambler and I owe over $5,000 to some Italian gangsters.

     “I’m just hoping to make it out of here with all my marbles.” I concluded.

     Simple is good.

     “Thank you, Jack. Randy, please go next.”

     Randy looked dumbfounded and gazed around the room. He then sucked in half the room’s oxygen through his nose and began to speak.

     “Hey guys, I’m Randy, I’m from Medford and right now I gotta take a massive shit,” he said as the room erupted in laughter. He smiled. “I got me a wife and two kids at home. Stupid bitch was threatening to divorce me if I didn’t get a job and uh, that’s how I got here.” Randy looked around the room to see who was paying attention. “I used to be a janitor at the high school, but I got fired for hitting a student.” He looked back down at the floor.

     “Why did you hit the student?” Dr. Nelson asked from behind Randy.

    “He was an asshole. Bullying this kid, kept calling him a faggot and pushing him around.” Randy cleared his throat. “My brother was gay and a good guy. He died last year in a car wreck. So, I just kept seeing my little brother every time that motherfucker pushed this kid and I snapped… I snapped”. He said and ended with a sniffle.

     Dr. Nelson was standing behind Rudy at this point staring down at the giant man’s tangled mess of hair with a look of bewilderment. “Thank you, Randy. I’m sorry for your loss. Emily go next please.”

     Emily patted Randy’s leg and decided to stand up to address the group.

     “I’m Emily and I’m not really here for the money. I’m here to see what this drug is going to do to my brain, if it’ll enhance it any, like memory or – “

     “Well, that’s fucking stupid!” said Chester, who was sitting 3 spots to Emily’s left.

     He’s the dapper looking car salesman guy with perfect teeth. I’ve known him for two days and I already can’t stand him.  

     “That’s enough, Chester.” Dr. Nelson quickly responded.

     “Oh come the fuck on here! We don’t know what the hell this drug is going to do, I mean look at what happened to that girl yesterday!” Chester shouted, getting louder and louder. Chester looked up at Emily directly, “You really think you’re going to walk out of here with all the secrets of the universe and a perfect memory? You’re crazy. This shit could mess us up, lady.”

     Randy got up, walked to Chester and stood over him. Randy’s face was dark red, and his eyes were practically bulging out of their sockets. “You give this girl the respect of keeping your fucking mouth shut. You hear me, man?”

     Two of the guards stepped toward the group from the door and Dr. Nelson waved them back.

   Chester just looked down at the floor and shook his head. “Whatever man”, he said, obviously not wanting a confrontation with the volatile Randy man. I think I’ll nickname Randy, Randy the Savage.

     “Thank you, Randy, please go back and sit down.” The doctor said very calmly.

     Randy sat back down, and Emily began to speak again.

    “That’s all I wanted to say. So far all I’ve gotten out of this drug is two good naps with some vivid dreams. So, I don’t know what the hell it’s supposed to do, but a sleep aid is definitely a good application for it.” she said and sat back down.

     “Thank you, Emily. Chuck, go next please.”

     Chuck is the older militant gruff guy who was shaving next to me yesterday morning. He’s got a barrel chest, big arms with tattoos and a beer gut. He looks like someone who might have been a real bad ass in the military but got out and suffered some PTSD or some shit.

     “I’m Chuck Meyers, former US Marine, and, uh, I do steel framing for the city. Or I did anyway until I hurt my back and I’m just happy to be here. Thank you.”  He said and looked at the floor with raised eyebrows.

     Well, that was sort of what I expected from him.

     “Thank you, Chuck. Ben, please go.” Dr. Nelson said.

     Ben is a shy and awkward red head. He looks like Alfalfa from Little Rascals, that old black and white show that people born in the 40s and 50s really liked. I’m sure you know who I’m talking about, Dr. Nelson.

     “Um… so, I’m here to pay off my student loans, or at least a good portion of them. Oh, I’m Ben, by the way…” Ben said and looked around at everyone with a freckled and apologetic face, as if he shouldn’t be able to speak.

     After a few moments of silence, Dr. Nelson asked, “What were you studying?”

   Ben giggled a little. “Uh, that’s the thing, nothing really. I got student loans for an online school and used the extra money to go to Las Vegas and attempt being a, well, a… stand up comedian.” He said with a sigh and his face was the color of a perfectly ripe apple.

     “Tell us a joke!” Michael shouted.

     Ben stood there a few moments staring up at the ceiling with a blank face and finally he responded, “Okay, um… a man was at a bar drinking, when a genie sat next to him and told him he could grant him 2 wishes. The drunken man asked the genie if he was serious and the genie said, “go ahead and make your first wish.” The man thought for a moment and said, “okay, an endless glass of beer” and the genie smiled and said “done!” The drunk looked at his suddenly full glass of beer in awe and he took a big gulp, set the glass back down and saw that it was still full. “It’ll never empty?” the drunk asked. “Never!” the genie replied, and the man was very happy. So, the genie asked him to make his second wish and the man took a few more gulps of his beer and marveled at the full glass. “Well?” the genie asked. The man looked at the genie a few moments and said, “well, I guess I’ll take another one”.

     I chuckled and Kyle burst out laughing and said, “you’re a trip dude”, but apparently, we were the only ones who thought it was funny. The rest of the room was silent. Poor Ben. I guess that explains why it didn’t happen for him in Vegas.

​     Ben looked around the room and sighed. “Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here. It didn’t go so hot.” He said and sat back down.

     “Thank you, Ben. It’s now your turn to speak, Chester” The doctor said with a bit of a snide tone.

     Chester looked embarrassed for the first few seconds, but then smiled and glanced around the room.

     “I’m Chester, currently from Boston, originally from Sacramento-”

     He’s from California, that explains so much.

     “—I am here for the money. I’ve done many of these trials in the past and I have to say, this one is the strictest. At any rate, I’m looking to start my own company with the proceeds of this trial. I have a few interested investors who’d like to help me start a marketing firm downtown—"

     He rambled on and on for minutes. I know I wasn’t the only one who eventually muted him out. Finally, Dr. Nelson told him thank you and asked Frank to go next.

     Frank hasn’t said a word since he’s been here and as I’m typing this, he still hasn’t. I’m not even sure if he speaks English. He’s the Asian guy who always eats in the corner and hurries to his room after he’s done. When Dr. Nelson prompted him to speak Frank just shook his head and bowed his head down.

     Dr. Nelson broke into the circle and stood before Frank. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and nodded. “Okay Frank, maybe not today, that’s fine. Rudy, please go.”

     Rudy stared around the room with a creepy smirk and clasped his hands together in front of him.

     I don’t like Rudy, but I was very curious to hear what he was going to say. Evidently, so was everyone else in the room because the entire group was deathly quiet, just waiting for him to begin speaking.

     “I am Rudy” he paused and looked at each one of us, then continued. “And that is all I am going to say.”

     And he just stopped talking and stared straight ahead, right through me as if I wasn’t there.

     Dr. Nelson was circling around the group and didn’t say anything straight away, but I saw him look at Rudy with a concerned expression that made me nervous. “Amanda, please go next.” Dr. Nelson said.

     “Helloooo everyone. I’m Amanda, call me Mandy if you want. I’m a veterinarian, and a recovering alcoholic. I lost my practice because I was too drunk to actually do my job.” She said as she looked at me.

     I knew it. She’s been to AA meetings.

     “I’m sort of here for the money, but I’m also here because I’ve been sober for 3 months now and it’s driving me up a fucking wall. I will take the money, but I really hope – I really, hope—”

     Her voice started to tremble.

     “-- that whatever this Formula 35C is, it gives me a way out of this darkness I feel. My daughter died two years ago, and I just can’t get past it” she said and broke into tears.

     Now I really feel like an asshole. I have to stop being such a judgmental prick.

     She covered her face and stopped talking. Dr. Nelson handed her a tissue, patted her on the shoulder and whispered something into her ear. She smiled up at him and wiped the tears from her eyes.

     “Thank you, Amanda, thank you. Lynette, will you go please?” The doctor asked.

     “First off honey, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Lynette said as she gave a slight hug to Amanda. Amanda quietly said thank you and hugged her back. Then Lynette faced the group again. “I’m Lynette. I’m a single mother from Dorchester. I got 3 kids and I need this money. None of my kids know I’m here. I told them I was going away for a little while for a job. I didn’t want to tell them nothing about what I was doing here.” she said and nodded. “That’s it. I’m done.”

     “Thank you, Lynette. Go ahead, Kyle.” Dr. Nelson said.

     Kyle is that weird long-haired dude with the 666 tattoo on his neck. I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say.

     “Greetings my fellow lab rats! I am Kyle and I just came here to get fucking high!” he said with a giant shit eating grin.

     The room seemed to enjoy it because everyone chuckled.

     “Is that all, Kyle?” Dr. Nelson asked.

    “I mean, yeah Doc. The money’s nice, but I’m chasing the dragon. I’m looking for that life altering, mind shattering chemical compound you can’t find on the streets. You feel me?” he responded with a laugh.

     “Yes, Kyle, I… feel you, sure. Thank you. Michael, please go.” Dr. Nelson said and seemed happy to move along.

     Michael stood up and entered the center of the circle.

     “Hello, my fellow drug buddies!” he said turning a full circled to get eye contact with each one of us. “As you know, I am from Columbia. I came to this country seven years ago and I love to cook!” His smile beamed through the room like rays of sunshine. “I cannot wait to cook for each one of you after the trial is over because the food we are getting here is, how do you say, shit!”

     Randy groaned, but the rest of us smiled.

     “Thank you, thank you! Also, If anyone would like to challenge me to a game of chess, I am always ready!” he said and returned to his seat.

     I really like Michael. Maybe I can get a job in his kitchen washing dishes when all of this is over.

     Dr. Nelson was standing behind me and he told Walter to go next. Walter is someone I’ve not really noticed until today. He’s older, maybe in his mid 60’s. He wears a pair of thick glasses and seems a bit out of touch, almost like he’s been living in his mother’s basement for 50 years or he’s a hermit.

     Everyone looked at Walter and he just stared at his crossed legs and rubbed his knees. Finally, he looked up and spoke.

     “Good day everyone. I got a damn good idea, what’s going on here,” he said in a deep sort of southern accent or maybe he’s one of those guys from Maine.

     Dr. Nelson stopped behind Rudy and stared at Walter for a moment. “Why don’t you explain what you mean, Walter.”

     Walter looked up at the doctor and hissed. Like a fucking cat. Then he covered his face with his hands, and he nervously peaked around at everyone in the circle and stopped at Rudy.

     “Deviant, sicko!” he screamed at Rudy.

     He then looked over at Chester and screamed. “Lying cheat!” And he went on with each of us Lynette he called a fornicator, Randy he called a brute, and he looked right at me and screamed, “Gambling is a sin!”

    He said some pretty specific shit to people. Stuff that wasn't disclosed I don't think. What did he mean when called Rudy a deviant sicko? Did this old bastard somehow get into our files? Oddly enough, no one lashed out at him and instead we were all just quietly shocked about it.

     “That’s all I want to tell you.” He said as he lowered his gaze back to the carpet.

     “What about you, huh?” Randy yelled across the room at him. “What’s your flaw, asshole?”

     Walter lifted his head and steadied his giant magnified eyes onto Randy and said, “Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, this he will also reap. For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life.” he declared and then chomped his teeth at Randy.

     Randy just laughed and said, “Fucking whackjob.”

​     “That’s enough. Let’s end this with you Jeff.” Dr. Nelson said without skipping a beat.

     Jeff, aka the "poisoner" as coined by the old religious guy was sitting right beside me. He cleared his throat and said, “Uh, I’m Jeff, from Malden. I’m 22 and I just thought I could get some good money doing this trial—” he shifted and looked at me like I could help him overcome stage fright or something. I just smiled and nodded at him, like I was there to support him. “Anyway, I dropped out of college and this trial is really hard beca-use I need a cigarette and could really use a joint to calm my nerves, you know?” Half the room agreed with him. I was one of them, I would have loved a cigarette and some coffee.

     Dr. Nelson thanked Jeff and told us to go about our routine and await further instruction.

     The rest of the afternoon was uneventful. I took a nice long nap,  then went out to eat dinner which consisted of a Caesar salad and garlic bread. I was going to hang out in the common room and get a card game going, but I just decided to come back in here and get some more sleep. Like I said, I’m out of it.

     I guess we’ll do it all over again tomorrow and I’ll write to let you know how it’s going. I’m just really tired.

     Talk to you later.
   
​     -Jack

     Today was surreal. This might be a long one, so buckle up Dr. Nelson.

     How do I begin? Okay, let’s start with the annoying alarm clock. I’m pretty accustomed to waking up whenever the hell I want on a nice gradual climb, but that ended at 6 AM this morning when the 200 decibel sirens uninvitedly pierced into my consciousness over the loudspeaker system. Nothing says get up like a heart attack. Consider this negative feedback from an unhappy customer. It blared for a full 2 minutes before I even knew where I was. Not cool. Not ever cool.

     I jumped out of bed, grabbed my overnight bag, towel and slipped into my slippers. My first thought… get to the shower FIRST. I don’t want to wait in a line, and I want to hurry up and be done so I can eat whatever’s for breakfast. I’m starving. Thank you, no smoking policy, I’m liable to gain 50 lbs. during this experiment. I exited my little cubby and stared straight toward the bathrooms and saw all the women entering into their bathroom. How the fuck did they get up so fast? I rush down the hallway and behind me I can hear Dr. Waters.

     “Let’s go! Let’s go! You have 15 minutes to be in the common room! Move it!” He shouts.

     What is this boot camp? Are they going to force us to do jumping jacks and pushups before we can eat? Maybe this was a bad decision... Then again. I’ve already made $300, so that’s encouraging. As I get into the bathroom, I see one shower is already taken, I have no idea who, but that’s okay, the other shower is ready. I get in, I get washed and I get out. As I’m changing into my new scrubs, I dump the old ones into the hamper in the corner along with my underwear. Fresh clothes every day, that’s an upgrade from my previous life.

     The guy that was in the shower is the militant crew cut guy in his 50’s. Turns out his name is Chuck. He’s shaving. I go to the other sink next to him and start brushing my teeth. The reflection of my mirror shows the other men entering for the showers. Chuck decides he wants to have a conversation.

     “Early bird gets the worm,” he says over the scrape of the razor.

     I look over at him and nod. “You think we’ll get a 5-star breakfast?” I ask.

     “Nope.” He grunts. Then he rinses his face, turns and leaves.

     Good talking to you, pal, I thought. So much for that. Randy waltzes in scratching his genitals and isn’t wearing his shirt. He’s not in the best shape and has hair on almost every patch of skin. The first thing he does is use the toilet and then proceed over to the sink. At least he washes his hands.

     “I’m fucking starving,” he says and then farts. Time for me to hurry up to the common room, I thought to myself.

     “I’ll see out you out there” I say as I depart and desperately hope he doesn’t try to keep talking.

​     “What’s your name?” he says.

     So much for that.

     “Jack, Jack McCoy” I say as I offer my hand.

     He shakes my hand. “Good to meet you, Jack. Are you married?”

     Why is he asking me this, I don’t even know this guy.

     “No, Sir. Not yet.” I reply.

     “Good for you man. Married life sucks. My wife is  a class A fucking bitch.”

     Who is this guy? I just stare at him with feigned surprise.

     “You think we’re going to get our brains fried or what?” He asks me as if it’s no big deal.

     “I really hope not.” I reply and start to turn away.

     “Yeah, that would suck, huh?” He starts laughing and heads to the shower as the singing Michael jumps out completely naked. I didn’t need to see that.

     The rest of the morning went by almost swimmingly. Everyone convened in the common room for “breakfast”. They gave us chocolate protein shakes, a fistful of vitamins and some bottled water.

     Sound the alarms… because hot-tempered Randy turned into an absolute bitch about the shakes. We were all obviously disappointed, but in these kinds of situations you just go with the flow, but not Randy. He threw a giant tantrum soon as he saw the Doc roll them in. I’m pretty sure it’s because when we first got here, one of their sales pitches was that they’d feed us well and Randy was REALLY looking forward to it.

     Clearly, the poor bastard was expecting a halfway decent breakfast with some egg McMuffins, bacon, and coffee or something to that effect. So, when the doctor and orderly walked in this morning, pushing a cart filled with shakes and vitamins, Randy immediately blew a gasket. He got right in Dr. Robert’s face.

     “What in the flying ASS FUCK is this?” he roared at the doctor.
     
     Dr. Roberts seemed a little startled by Randy’s hostility at first but regained his composure.

     The stone cold doctor responded with, “It’s what you get,” and I could see Randy’s jaw clench and hear his nostrils flare out hot air.

     “That ain’t what you fucking assholes said YESTERDAY!” he screamed, practically spitting on the doctor’s neck.
The whole group of us just stood there with unblinking eyes, completely unable to speak. Truth is, it was pretty exciting as this place is kind of boring. The smelly John Wayne Gacy guy even cracked a smile.

     Dr. Roberts, who stands an easy foot over Randy just stared down at the man with the blankest expression you’ve ever seen, and replied with, “You can skip breakfast if you wish”.

     Randy’s face went beet red, but he didn’t say a word. All the rest of us just stared in silence for a few more awkward moments until Randy finally grabbed the shake and drank it. He then bitched into my ear for the rest of the morning about how lunch better “be real fucking food”. Which it wasn’t…

     I can’t blame him for being upset, I wouldn’t have minded some hot food and fresh coffee either because this “no smoking” bullshit I’m going through is making my stomach growl, but whatever man, I’m here for the money.

     An hour later, they brought us into the testing room. It’s a white room attached off the big community area and is separated by a hefty metal door. The interior of the testing room is round, brightly lit, impeccably clean, and has fifteen lab chairs in a circular formation. There’s also a bunch of machines lining the walls for measuring our heart rate, brainwaves and body temperatures. They strapped us into the chairs and then attached some wonky looking pads onto our chests and heads. The whole process of getting fastened in made me anxious as hell.  I don’t like being restrained and I felt this dreadful sense of fear ripple through me when the clasps were locked, like the way a murder victim might feel as they’re being tied down by a serial killer.

     The fifteen of us were just staring around the room at each other with widened “oh shit” eyes, and no one, besides Stephanie, had the nerve to say anything at all. Rudy kept shitting gas clouds into the room and stinking it up.  First it was funny, then as soon as the scent hit, it became like a form of torture. I kept getting this hallucinogenic image of little fecal whirlwinds with Rudy’s laughing face floating through the air and into my nose, and into my bloodstream. I mean, imagine if you were tied down and forced to breathe some strange and ugly man’s gas into your lungs, disgusting, right?

     So, at any rate, I sat there worried they were going to inject us with needles, but they are using pills instead, which is great because I hate needles. So that was kind of a positive twist. The only thing that sucked about it was having the doctor be the one to put the pills in my mouth and pour the water down my throat. Awkward.

     Then we just… lied there.

     I was waiting for something to happen and after a while I stopped looking at everyone else and just stared at the ceiling. The doctors kept circling around us in silence watching the machines. It was then that I realized I was dreaming. All sorts of crazy out-of-this-world imagery was floating before me. The room was gone, but I felt myself still there and I could hear voices in the distance and yet right next to me. What was this pill? LSD? I didn’t feel panicked or upset or anything. I just watched as cog wheels and circuit boards and molecular explosions danced in front of me.

     “How are you doing” I could hear faintly in my head.

     “Who me? I say, I think out loud, but maybe in my head.
     
     No answer.

    Then I was in water, deep, deep water. Maybe at the bottom of some ocean. Was I swimming? I saw bubbles all around me and they made my whole body tingle with a feeling of pleasure, but then the bubbles turned to clouds and then rain and then darkness. I couldn’t see anything for maybe seconds, or minutes, could have been days. Then a campfire only 10 feet away and a woman screaming. She was screaming! It sounded real, because it was real. I came to and saw Stephanie, the Hispanic girl screaming in her chair. The machine she was attached to was making loud beeping noises. The doctors were doing something to her, but she just kept screaming. I was the only one who noticed, everyone else was sleeping it looked like. Why was she screaming?

     I drifted back to sleep and the next thing I knew people were standing up out of their chairs and being escorted out of the testing room back into the community room. I didn’t see Stephanie. Dr. Waters came and unfastened my straps.

     “Where’s Stephanie?” I asked him.

     He eyes locked onto mine as quickly as a cobra strike. “She won’t be in the trial any longer,” is all he said.

     I nodded in feigned apathy, but in my mind I panicked. I remember her screaming. She must have had a seriously bad reaction to this LSD crap. I guess as the trial goes on it’s bound to happen.

     How do I feel? I’m feeling just a little bit tired. I’ve been yawning every 2 minutes for the last 7 hours since the first dose. I was terrified earlier, but now I feel a little calmer than before since I started writing this entry. That must be another reason that Dr. Nelson wants us to write a journal entry every day I imagine. It’s therapeutic.

     Earlier this evening, I was in the common room with everyone, and I started to look around at my fellow test subjects once again.  Most people were attempting to socialize with each other and do normal things. It’s still a little awkward for all of us. It doesn’t help that we’re not allowed to watch TV or use phones or hop on the internet. The place would be completely dead if it wasn’t for the quiet and easy-going classical music constantly playing for us through the overhead speakers. Most of us were out there save for a few who just went to bed.

     I saw Randy made his first friend. He started talking with the blonde girl Emily while she tried to read one of the books, and it appeared to me she was semi-interested in what he had to say. I hope his wife doesn’t find out he’s trying to spit game in here. Depending on how things go during this trial, I may try making a go at Emily too, but it’s too early to make that decision. I’m not sure about her yet.

     I also noticed a few people playing an amateur game of Texas Hold ‘em at the table. Seeing those clowns fumble their cards and make stupid bets, makes me really tempted to play against them and take all their money. Or I could just run a card game for them and get them to wager their earned money from the experiment. If I run it, I won’t even have to play, I can just collect a 20% house fee. I wonder if the Doctors will object to that. I know they’re watching us right now because they have cameras all over the place, even in our little sleeping rooms. So much for privacy.

     It looks like we only have three doctors here. There’s the one that feeds us, Dr. Roberts, a tall, lanky looking man who acts robotic and says nothing to anyone. Even with Randy right in his face roaring at him this morning, the guy didn’t give much of a reaction. Although Randy does have a little bit of squeak to his yelling voice, so it’s kind of hard to take him seriously.

     Dr. Waters, who’s younger than I am, I think, but he’s already balding as I’ve already mentioned. He also has this mean look in his eyes, like some piss-drunk brawler at your local pub who’s just looking for trouble. It could be because he’s losing his hair, or maybe he just hates his job, or his girlfriend… who the fuck knows. All I know is that he’s the one who preps us into the chairs in the testing room and gives us the pills. He says very little to give me any clues about his home life.  

     Ironically, Stephanie, the girl who is now out of the program, asked him a question this morning as he was putting the straps on her.

     “Is this going to hurt?” She asked, and I could tell she was afraid. Dr. Waters just fastened the straps and gave her a glaring sort of, “shut up or I’ll punch you” look. Now that I think of it, that’s the sort of thing that you don’t want to do if you’re about to give someone a powerful hallucinogenic drug… I hope when she’s better she sues the hell out of him. Oh wait, we signed forms against that. Damn.

     Lastly, there’s you, Dr. Nelson, you’re the mad scientist looking fella with the Albert Einstein hairdo. You’re the one who sold us on this whole experiment when we first got here. You promised us that we’d be under close observation and that the lab was equipped to deal with side effects, if any, and that the best we could hope for was some elevated brain activity or maybe a cure for Alzheimer’s.

​     I wonder what happened to Stepanie.

     Let’s hope tomorrow is better.
     
​     -Jack

     Bang! A wrinkled fist raised up high and slammed down onto the metal desk. Bang! Bang! Bang!

     “Fucking waste of my time this shit!” Dr. Nelson screeched into the empty room.

    The white-haired scientist glared at the stacks of turquoise folders towering in front of him with swollen, red-veined eyes, and slouched over the rickety desk in angry defeat. He grumbled curses under his breath and imagined pounding his forehead onto the surface to knock himself out of his misery. It was just after midnight and the old man was beyond the point of exhaustion. The highly esteemed and -normally rational- Dr. Nelson had been held against his will for thirteen hours thanks to his new boss, Agent Reynolds of the CIA.

     Dr. Nelson was the sole-proprietor of the Nexus Mind Research Labs; a place he’d run for nearly three decades with moderate success. His goal in life, was to cure Alzheimer’s disease. He’d performed many good and wonderful feats in his lifetime, and up until the economy crashed 7 years prior in 2008, he’d never struggled for work. He’d certainly never had to do anything shady like he was doing now in cahoots with the CIA.

     The task set upon Dr. Nelson earlier in the day, was to handpick fifteen candidates, who would run through a TOP SECRET experiment that Dr. Nelson himself would oversee and operate. He had christened the project; ‘Formula 35C’. The problem was, he didn’t know what Formula 35C was! This was not standard protocol for the old man. The proud scientist possessed a stellar IQ, numerous degrees, accolades etc. and never once abused his station or rank within the medical community. However, because of financial hardships, he had to forego his principals and thrust Nexus Labs into a sordid, back-alley deal with the CIA. The circumstances vexed Nelson greatly.

     Mr. Reynolds’ instructions were to integrate fifteen men and women into the experiment. A task that might have been a lot easier had not hundreds of people applied. Furthermore, each of the fifteen people Nelson would have to choose, -under Reynold’s orders- should in some way or another, be in such desperate need of money that they would surely ignore all the fine print. This meant he had to somehow guess as to who might be clever enough to actually read the fine print, and this was no easy task. Nelson stared a moment at the over-filled shredder basket next to his chair and sighed.        

     The saggy-eyed man had spent all day analyzing the applications of nearly two hundred individuals who responded to the ad. It was a fine advertisement and elicited considerable response. “Make $300 every day for 30 Days!” the ad claimed in big bold print. Anyone who clicked the link was redirected to a single-paged website containing the application form. Nearly everyone who applied had typed into the “Additional Comments” section to plead all the reasons they should get in. The idiots didn’t even know what they were “getting in” to, he thought, but the old science captain sympathized with the hard-up folk, nevertheless. The pickings for good jobs in Boston were slim, and times were tough for everyone, including himself. The advertisement was effective because it claimed to pay more in a day than most of these people could earn in a week.

     So far, he’d approved fourteen people to share in the experiment, but he needed one more to be through with the arduous assignment. Dr. Nelson sat there a few moments in silence and tapped the metal desk with his long fingernails. He daydreamed about the comforts of his warm home. His tongue throbbed for the taste of red wine, and his ears longed to hear the kind-hearted chirps from his loving wife, who was undoubtedly pacing back and forth through the kitchen concerned to death. Marge Nelson had always been such a worrywart, but he couldn’t help but smile when he thought of her face.

     The thoughts spurred the doctor’s sense of urgency to escape his surroundings and directed his focus onto the folder of one, Jack McCoy. Potentially, Subject Fifteen. He gripped his white mug of black coffee and grimaced down two big gulps of the bitter substance. Ole’ Jonny-caffeine was the isolated gent’s only friend inside the drab and heartless building. He placed Jack’s folder in front of him and paused to look at the young man’s photo. “Help me out Jack,” he muttered under his breath.

     The thick folder held Jack’s online application, credit report, police report, FBI file, social media records, and driving record. Everything furnished by the CIA. The doctor rapidly scanned through each document, anxiously aware of the uncomfortable pressure building inside his bladder with each passing moment. When he finished reading, he let out a long thankful sigh. He decided, then and there, that the sorry soul of Jack McCoy was going to be his fifteenth subject in the drug trial. All things considered; Mr. McCoy was a wild variable to the experiment. The fourteen applicants he’d already approved, breathed very average lives, under very ordinary circumstances. Most had their problems, and some had bigger problems than others, but none of them compared to Jacks.

     Per the file, Jack was a financially ruined, degenerate gambler with very few friends and many enemies. The gambler’s life was almost stranger than fiction. Jack’s father, John McCoy, stood a convicted murderer, damned to the confines of a concrete box for the rest of his days. While his mother Loretta, existed as a lonesome, old hag, slowly withering away inside a prison of bottom-shelf vodka and foul-smelling cancer-sticks. The couple’s lack of good parenting had led to a son caught into the drifting hell of insolvency and lies. Not the best ingredients to bake with, Dr. Nelson thought to himself. He then added Jack’s folder to the other fourteen approved applicants. Jack must do, he thought, since the scientist just wanted to be done with it and get the fuck out of the cramped office.

     Doctor Nelson snatched the files and his half-drunk coffee off the desk as he headed for the door. His bladder pulsed, giving the doctor the full body jerking sensation that signaled he was about to piss his pants. He exited the room in a wild dash to get on with his business. He hustled down the bright-lit and narrow hallway on plain beige carpet toward the restroom.

     He rushed inside the men’s room, dumped the folders onto the counter and quickly stood before the urinal. Within seconds, his muscles relaxed, and the doctor exulted in relief as he trickled out every drop of transmuted coffee into the toilet. It was the single best moment he'd had all day. He zipped, flushed, and then washed his hands, noticing that they shook with an uncharacteristic nervousness born out of fatigue and fear. The old man stood in front of the mirror a moment longer, gazing at his wispy gray hair and the dark bags under his tired brown eyes and sighed. “Stanley... what the fuck are you doing? Is this right?” Getting no answer from himself, he collected the folders and headed back to the corridor.

     As he strolled down the passageway, he crinkled his nose at the stale and frigid air that seeped into his skin. Apparently, Mr. Reynolds enjoyed the air-conditioner’s extreme, glacial settings to be fully employed always, which seemed senseless to the Doctor since it was as cold a New England winter as there ever was. The old scientist had lived in Massachusetts his entire lifespan, and he’d learned to appreciate the warmth of a blazing furnace during the snow months. It was yet another reason he hated the agent, he didn’t seem human.  Nearing his boss’s office, the scientist wondered again how he’d gotten himself into this mess.

     When first approached by the CIA, Nelson had asked many questions. The only data that he was given about Formula 35C, was that it was a strange cocktail of narcotics completely fabricated by the CIA. He wasn’t even sure if it’d been tested on animals, and if it had been, he didn’t understand why those results were not made available to his research team. The experiment wouldn’t have bothered him so much if this were a phase 1 trial with rats or something, but apparently, the CIA was cutting straight to the Phase 4 clinical trials and bypassing all the rules. This sort of thing didn’t sit well with Dr. Nelson.

     Unfortunately, he had signed the papers, and there was no going back now. His desperation had put him into a position where no part of his life was in his control anymore. For truly, he had made a deal with the devil, and he had abandoned his own integrity. However, if he could cure Alzheimer’s disease, he thought, it would all be for the greater good.   

     He finally arrived in front of Mr. Reynold’s door and knocked twice.

     “Enter,” came a soft voice.

      Dr. Nelson shifted the folders to his other arm and carefully balanced his coffee while turning the knob and opening the door. The interior of the office was just about empty, and every wall stood a tiresome pale white that seemed to moan in a dreary sadness. The tall and lanky figure of Mr. Reynolds sat along the back wall, hunched over his cluttered desk. The room’s lighting was too bright and caused the doctor to squint his eyes uncomfortably. The AC buzzed annoyingly loud and shot straight into the scientist’s already frazzled mind. Shivering slightly, Dr. Nelson walked inside.

     Mr. Reynolds lifted his head slowly, revealing his dark eyes and stern, pale features. Nelson felt uneasy around the man. There was something unsettling in his gaze and even more so in his unemotional mannerisms. “Have you chosen your Subjects, Dr. Nelson?” Mr. Reynolds asked dryly, as he looked down to the papers on his desk.

     “Yes Sir, I have fifteen as you requested.”

     Mr. Reynolds started writing and offered no response.

     “What’s the next step?” Stanley questioned while sipping his coffee.

    Mr. Reynolds looked up and narrowed his eyes as if annoyed by the interruption. “Leave me the folders and await further orders.”

     Dr. Nelson carefully tiptoed over to the spook’s desk, fearful to make any sound, and placed the folders in front of the towering agent. Even sitting, the man was nearly his height. Dr. Nelson peeked down at the paper Reynolds wrote upon, and he could see what looked to be a form of hieroglyphics. Nelson’s eyebrows raised and he shrugged, not understanding the significance.

     “Alright then, I’m going home where I’ll await your instructions,” he said as he turned to exit.

     As he approached the door to make his long-awaited escape, he heard the agent stand up from his chair.

     “Doctor.”

    “Yes?” Dr. Nelson squeaked tensely as he turned back toward the agent. At full height, the spook's head nearly touched the ceiling, a sight that caused the scientist to down the remainder of his cold coffee.

     “Why did you choose these fifteen people?”

   The Doctor hesitated a moment before answering and stared into his empty mug. He stood there a few seconds, silently, and then looked up at the agent. “Because they all have one thing in common.”

     Mr. Reynolds crossed his arms. “Which is what?” he asked.

    “Some have no choice but to sign the papers because of their finances, and the others, who don’t hurt for money as much, simply won’t read the fine print… because they’re stupid. They’re all stupid.” the doctor replied while daring to grin. The agent said nothing and returned to his seated position. The nervous doctor took the cue and exited the room quickly.

​     Standing on the others side of the door, Dr. Nelson paused. He wiped away a single trickle of sweat beading down his forehead and sighed. “It’s for the greater good. It’s all for the greater good.” 

     Hello again.

     It’s almost midnight and I’m fiending for a cigarette in a bad, bad way. Everyone is asleep as far as I know. We were sent to our beds at 9pm, but I’ve been tossing and turning just completely unable to sleep. The cigarette situation is a problem. We had dinner at 5 pm, which is the earliest I’ve eaten dinner in my entire life as far as I know. Pork chops, mashed potatoes and green beans. Veggie burgers for the vegans. There’s 3 in the group. I feel so sorry for them.

     I went to see Dr. Nelson earlier, like I was supposed to, and I have to say, this set-up they have going is a lot like a prison. For example, the only areas we’re allowed to be in are the common room, our dorms and the bathroom. The common room has 3 exits. Exit 1 leads to our dorms; Exit 2 goes to the greater part of the building where Dr. Nelson is, and the last exit is the testing room where we’ll be getting our daily doses. As I said, prison. My dad’s in prison. Did I mention that? Another time.

     I was escorted to Dr. Nelson’s office by 2 security officers who typically stand on the other side of the door of the common room. It's a heavy ass door made of metal and requires a code and thumbprint scan for entry and exit. The two stoic guards escorted me beyond that door down the hallway and dropped me off at the doctor’s office and just left me in there.

     So, I was just sitting there facing an empty desk looking at all of Dr. Nelson's stuff. He doesn't have much, not even a picture of any family. Just folders, files and a big mug of cold coffee. I felt a little uneasy, especially with what I was wearing. Did I mention we had to forgo all of our civilian clothing and wear scrubs during this shit?  Well, we are. So we have a big list of things that make me feel weird; No smoking, shitty attire, that smelly bastard in our group and the wonderful feeling of being in prison… things are not looking up for me.

     After several long minutes later Dr. Nelson entered the room. He’s an old man with glasses, white wispy hair and an overgrown goatee. He gave me a once over and sat down sighing. I don’t know what the hell he sighed about. I mean I know I’m not in the best shape here, but I’m not the biggest loser in this experiment by far. Then he just smiled. So, I smiled, and we were both smiling at each other for the longest most awkward amount of time.

     “How are you holding up, son?” He said, finally.

     “I'm alright,” is all I could think of to say.

     “Have you adjusted, okay? Are the other doctors treating you alright?” He said as he grabbed a folder and put it down in front of him. The label tag on the folder had my full name and then “Subject 15” right next to it. I don’t know whether to be scared or grateful for the moniker. My first thought was to talk shit about the bald prick who was yelling at us all morning, but I decided not to. Guy probably has enough problems.

     “Well, Sir, I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could get some smokes,” I said nonchalant with a slight yawn for effect, as if it didn’t matter, but in my head, I was screaming and begging for him to give me the answer I wanted.

     “No smoking during the trials. That’s non-negotiable, I’m afraid,” he replied flipping through my file.

     “Well, you didn’t mention that on the online advertisement” I shot back faster than I intended. He seemed to notice my irritation and looked up at me.

     “Would you have not applied?”

     “Why can’t we smoke?” I decided to dodge his question because the truth is if I didn’t get this trial, I’d be in the hospital with broken legs for not paying my bookies.

     He glanced back to my file for a few seconds and then closed it and looked back up at me. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Jack, the compound that we’re testing isn’t…. fully understood. We can’t have variables in the experiment that might throw off any results. Do you understand?”

     I thought about it for a few seconds, and I replied, “Well, how will you know what the drug effects are for the smokers?”
I felt like I was at my old sales job. Maybe I could actually sell this!

     He chuckled. “Depending on the results this first go around, we may broaden our testing to include other variables, but not at this time.”

     Well, that settled that. Dr Nelson 1, Me 0.

     “What is this Formula 35c drug supposed to do anyway? What’s it supposed to treat?” I asked. They actually never explained any of that earlier.

     “Good question, that’s why I invited you in here.” He said with just the slightest little croak in his throat. Was he nervous? “The truth is, here at Nexus Mind Research, we are focused on a cure for Alzheimer’s disease. Are you familiar with it?”

     “That’s like when old people lose all their memories right?” I responded, a little more intrigued.

     “Yes, that’s one of the symptoms of greater or lesser degree, but the end stages are a total loss of self. It’s a very big, big problem. 1 and 6 people over the age of 65 will get it.” He said, and I detected a sadness in his eyes.

     “You’ve seen it with a friend or a family member, haven’t you?” I dared to ask.

     He took off his glasses and started to wipe them down. “You’re very perceptive. Yes, my father, when I was a boy.” He placed his glasses back on. “It’s how I got into my line of work.” He then placed the file he had on me back on to the stack.

     I stared at the stack for a few moments and visualized all the information I could get on the other people in this trial if I could just get into this office somehow. No Jack, bad Jack. That would get me kicked out.

     “So, the drug we’re all taking is going to do something increase our mental abilities, or what?”

     “Well, that, is what we’re aiming to find out.” He answered and for a brief second, I saw a look of total anxiety. He’s hiding something… I reiterate, what have I gotten myself into?

     “Don’t worry too much about it. I’m overseeing everything and have done clinical trials like these for many, many decades. You’re in good hands.” He said with a perfect script reading voice. A few seconds later his phone rang, and he picked up. He listened for 2 seconds and then gruffly said, “let’s have him”.

     He looked me over and said, “Thank you, Jack.” I stood up, felt compelled to reach out my hand for a shake but he ignored me and grabbed a new folder.

     It was then that the security officers entered the room with Michael, the Columbian chef guy and escorted me out. The meeting was a little brief for my liking. I decided to throw in one last question, “Are we going to meet like this every day?”

     He looked back up at me and responded, “Not likely, but I will be reading all of your entries into your laptop, so be sure to mention anything and everything that comes to mind, okay?”

     “Yes, doctor.” I replied and thought, shit… they’re going to be reading our entries. I knew there was a catch to this free laptop deal. The two security guys nudged me out the door and I heard Michael in his thick South American accent greet the doctor effusively as I was leaving.

     As I was walking down the hallway back to our designated area, I noticed how eerily still and quiet the place was. There are doors going all the way down and God knows what’s behind them. It occurred to me that no one knows where I am. Not a soul. I know we’re not in Boston because they picked us up in blacked out vans and drove an hour to get wherever the hell here is. Scary.

     I suppose you are reading this Dr. Nelson, as you stated you would in your office earlier today. I hope you don’t take offense to anything I’ve said, you did say to write anything and everything, right? I also hope this shit’s confidential because there’s no telling what’s going to pop up out my head during this stint at Nexus Mind Research Penitentiary.

     Anyway, I should get some sleep.

     Big fucking day tomorrow.

​     -Jack 

      Well, I’ve really gotten myself into it this time.

     Let me start off by saying... there’s a crazy guy sitting across from me right now named Rudy. He must be in his early 30’s and looks like the homeless double of John Wayne Gacy. His creepy dark eyes are boring into me right now and it’s tripping me out. The guy is about 100 pounds overweight with greasy brown hair, but what’s really putting me off is the odor drifting off him. It’s an unpleasant blend of dirty feet and corpse bile. We all took showers, mind you... This is not a good first impression of what my life’s going to be like over the next 30 days if it continues this way.

     Today is Saturday, not just any Saturday, it’s orientation day. 

​     No, this isn’t my first day at college or some fun tech job. That would be cool. I’m being oriented into the drug trial I just signed up for. The good? It’s $300 a day. Awesome, right? Sure, that’s almost ten grand if I make it the full 30 days, which will pay off my bookies and get me square with my bills. The bad? I have no idea what the fuck this mystery drug “Formula 35C” is going to do to me.

     Aside from the noxious smelling guy, there’s over a dozen people in here with me. To my right is Randy. He’s hemming and hawing about having to write out his thoughts I think, either that or he’s got to drop a number 2. Oh, wait, he needs my attention. Perfect.

     “Wah tuck we posed to rah?” He says almost too fast and aggressively for me to decipher.

     I stare at him for a second trying to process the words. 

     “Well? What the fuck are we supposed to write on this stupid thing?” he rattles again, slower.

     “Just what they said a few minutes ago” I reply with the patience of a loving mother, which I never had. “Your thoughts, feelings, and basically anything that pops into your head.”

     His face scrunches up and he huffs out a throaty growl. “What the hell for? Just give us the fucking drugs already.” He says before staring back at his laptop. I smile and nod. I feel like I’m at an anger management meeting.

     “JACK MCCOY” I hear one of the scientists yell.

     “That’s me.” I belt back and see it’s the mean balding one, Dr. Waters, I think.

     “Ten more minutes then you will make your way to Dr. Nelson in the staff office.” He yells while checking something off on his clipboard.

     “Sir, Yes, Sir!” I reply with a few drips of sarcasm.

     “You’ll call me Doctor, do you understand?” he replies with condescending authority.

     “Yes, Doctor!” I shoot back with a genuine smile and daggers in my eyes.

     I guess I better get back to it.

    This wasn’t supposed to be a lone operation for me. It was my buddy Vic who told me about this drug trail while we were at gamblers anonymous last week. He’s not here, so I guess he didn’t make the cut. We’re both degenerate assholes, but he at least has his own place and a vehicle, so I’m not sure how I won the job, and he didn’t. It’s entirely possible, given that this is a drug trial, that they were intentionally seeking the biggest losers they could find and by the looks of these people who also got in, I’d say they did a great job.

     Okay, that was mean. Some of these people seem normal. I had to spend the entire morning with them doing all kinds of physical and mental testing. They even put us on a polygraph test just to be sure we weren’t here to disrupt the trials. I’m good with names and with all my years of poker, I can read people pretty well. Not well enough to win, evidently, but good enough.

     Aside from Rudy and Randy, there’s a guy named Jeff and he’s…. somewhere in here. He looks like a stoner type who grew up in a small town with hippy parents. Shaggy hair and scruff on his face. We bonded briefly because we both smoke and they’re not letting us smoke while we’re here. I’m not fiending for a cigarette just yet, but its’ coming and it is going to suck. I don’t think Jeff did that well on the mental testing, but he did do the solid 30 minutes on the treadmill. For the record, I bombed both.

     There’s also, Ben. A mousy looking redhead. He can’t be more than 20. He hasn’t said much, but I think I heard him crying after the physical testing. I’m not judging. I would have cried too, had I not prematurely jumped off the machine.

     Then there’ s Frank, who’s huddled by himself in the far corner of the room right now on his laptop. He’s the only Asian member of our group. He’s got super thick glasses and hasn’t said a word the entire time we’ve been here. I… really can’t read much off him.  

     Also sitting at the table here is Michael, a mid-30s chef. He’s from Columbia and has a pretty thick accent. He’s very handsome and charismatic. He greeted everyone in the group this morning and promised us that when he got his full payment from the trial that we were all welcome to come to his new restaurant that the money would pay for right on Newbury Street. Count me in!

     There are a few other men here who I haven’t gotten the names of yet. There’s a guy is in his 50’s, looks gruff and serious, almost like he's upset he's with a bunch of young dumb kids. I see a metal head looking dude with “666” tattooed right on his neck. No wonder he’s out of work.  And another guy who looks like he might be a used car salesman or something, big smile and all. He's the polar opposite of Mr. Serious and seems to be laughing at almost everything.  

     Now, for the women. Let's start with Lynette. Lynette looks like she’s mid-40s. She’s black. The only black person here at the trial. She’s adjacent to me at the moment raising her hand. I wonder what she’s going to ask Doctor Rogaine.

     “Yes, ma’am, what is it?” that balding prick asks her.

     “How much shit are we supposed to write down?” she says while crossing her arms.

     The doctor rubs his balding head and raises his eyebrows. “Just whatever comes to mind. If you’re done, you’re done. Close it up and standby.” He is clearly irritated.

     That seemed to satisfy her. She quickly closed her laptop and leaned back in her chair. She looks my way and rolls her eyes.

     “I’m ready for this shit to be over and get my money, honey.” She says to me with a grin.

      A girl after my own heart. I just smile at her for a moment. She’s cool.

     There’s also Stephanie. Young girl, looks like a college chick. She’s on the comfy chair away from the table I’m seated at. She’s pretty and has long brown hair and brown eyes. Hispanic maybe?

     Then there’s Emily. Smoking hot blonde girl. Maybe 25. Hasn’t said much but gives out a bad car accident vibe. You want to look, but you know it's bad.

     Amanda…  Amanda is a not so attractive woman in her 40s with short hair and horn rim glasses. She reeks of 4th wave feminism and a hatred for the patriarchy and will probably get more vocal about it the longer she’s here. I can’t wait for the preaching to begin. I’m all about equality, but I can’t stand militant man-haters.

      So that’s it for my fellow subjects. We’re all from the Boston area and it looks like we’re going to be getting to know one another very closely over the next month.

     One of the benefits we all have is that while we’re here, it’s all free living. They’re taking care of us by giving us hygiene products, food, and I guess you can call it "room and board," since we each get our own bedroom. It’s also great I won’t have to spend money on stupid shit like toilet paper and toothpaste. You’d be surprised how valuable those things are when you don’t have money. Did I mention that I’m a broke gambling addict who’s being evicted from his apartment? It’s the whole reason I’m here.

     They’ve also fed us pretty well so far too. When we got here today there was a long table topped with an assortment of trays containing fresh vegetables, grilled chicken, fish, and a couple different rice dishes. I could get used to eating like this. It beats the ramen noodle and stale donut diet I’ve been on for the past several months.

     The bathroom situation, for lack of a better word, sucks. All the dorm rooms are on each side of a long, poorly lit hallway and at the end of the hallway is the bathrooms. There’s a men’s room and a separate women’s room across from each other, and both have two toilets and two showers. The showers run on a timer so that no one can take longer than 5 minutes. Actually, you can, if you sit there like an asshole and wait two minutes for the water to come back on, which kind of sucks. Or you can hop over to the other shower and start that one, but they are set apart in such a way that you would have to run out bare-assed about three feet. I don’t know these people well enough to be flashing my nakedness in front of them, so it’s not really ideal.

     We’re seated in the main area right now. It’s a large room about the size of a school cafeteria. I’m hunched over my laptop at this long table that sits 8 people. Right behind us there are two giant bookshelves filled with hundreds of books covering many subjects. I haven’t read a book in 20 years, so not very excited that the books are our only entertainment with exception to the one deck of cards and a chess board. The rest of the room has two big couches and 3 comfy chairs. There’s a water cooler in the corner, but no vending machines or any kind of snacks. I hope that changes, especially since I won’t be smoking. I’ll need something to keep sane.

     They took our phones, wallets and keys. We can’t access the outside world the entire time we’re here. I don’t know if that’s standard practice, but it seems a little sus. What have we gotten ourselves into?

     I really can’t complain. My shitty little studio doesn’t even have electricity right now -in the dead of winter- and I’m being evicted anyway. So, what I’ve got here will more than suffice. At least It’s warm here.

     “JACK MCCOY” shouts the balding asshole doctor.

     “Yes, Doctor?” I respond with an over cloying sweetness. 

     “Ten minutes is up. Let’s go.” He says and doesn’t bother to look at me.

     Whelp looks like I’m about to go have a meeting with the big guy. Wish me luck. Talk to you later.

     -Jack