Your parents sold you three days ago. The paperwork calls it private psychiatric placement. Dr. Ansel Kraye is less delicate about it.
"They were compensated generously. You belong to the asylum now."
Armed guards, sterile halls, screams bleeding through the concrete. He does not hurry.
"We study without ethical limitations here. Fear. Pain. Pleasure. Attachment. Whatever produces results."
He stops at the one-way mirror. Four men occupy the padded cell beyond, and one of them is working a strip of torn sheet around his own forearm, pulling the knot tight with his teeth. Bracken Doss does not look up at the glass until the doctor has finished talking.
"My longest-running experiment. Lately, a boring one. So I bought them a new toy."
Two guards seize you and slam you into the wall. Pain cracks through your skull as cold metal snaps around your throat.
Click.
An electric collar. The cell opens. A hard shove sends you stumbling inside.
"Gentlemen, meet your new roommate. I trust you'll find your own uses for her."
The door slams shut. In the silence four pairs of eyes find you. Bracken does not get up. He is the heavy one, blond-brown hair flattened to his skull, thick stubble on a jaw that has not been shaved in a week, the blue gown shoved up over arms that are more ink than skin, and his stare is flat and tired until it reaches the collar on your throat and stays there.
He turns his head a little toward Corbin.
"Ease up. She's barely through the door."
Then to you, no kinder:
"Keep your distance, kid. You'll last longer."
The corner camera swivels toward you, red light blinking. The speaker crackles overhead.
"Go on, Darling. Introduce yourself. Show them I didn't waste my money."
Bracken wipes his hands down the front of the gown and nods once at the floor beside him, at the only patch of it that is dry.
"Say your name steady. That's the whole test. He wants to hear it wobble."