Page 7 of Anarchy Chained: Alpha Thomas

CHAPTER THREE - THOMAS

My room is ten by ten. Bare concrete floor with a drain in the center—I don’t even want to know why. One concrete bed. One stainless-steel sink. One stainless-steel toilet. And one stainless-steel desk.

This is the new building. It might as well be a prison. I’m not sure if everyone on this floor has a “room” like this, or just the dangerous patients, but this is what I have. There is no window in the door. Just a slot where they fasten the tray of food three times a day. They don’t let me out except to talk with Yasmine, so standing in front of her window this morning was my only chance at seeing the real world.

I’ve been in here seven days, but I was in a nicer room before that. I spent almost three weeks there. That was before I became… difficult. Now I’m here. Apparently, this is where all the high-maintenance patients go.

It’s been a little over a month since the Alpha plan went awry. One month of questions, and temptations, and a constant struggle for self-control.

The suit was a nice touch. I made that deal yesterday. Yasmine was about at the end of her patience with me and I just needed to buy a little time. Plus, the suit felt good—cheap as it was. It felt normal for the few minutes I had it on. That, in combination with the window… well, I could almost pretend things were OK.

Thing are decidedly not OK.

The little slot in my door clanks as someone on the other side opens it. I’m expecting a tray of food for lunch, but instead a piece of paper is shoved through and the slot is closed.

I know they have cameras on me, so I know I’m being watched as I walk over and pick the folded piece of paper up. But I don’t care.

It reads:

Be ready.

I take it over to the sink, waiting for the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door. Waiting for one of them to come and take this little message away. But they don’t come.

I press down on the knob that lets a trickle of water escape the faucet and wet the paper until the ink runs. Then I shred it and throw it in the toilet.

I have no idea what Be ready means, but I’m fucking ready for whatever it is. I can only assume it’s a message from Case or Linc. Or maybe Molly. One of them is coming for me and hell yeah, I’m ready.

I’m a patient guy. I can withstand a lot of things. But enough is enough. A month, goddammit. A month is more than enough. And I’m gonna rip Linc and Case a new one when they finally do show up for leaving me here to rot for so long.

After I finish being grateful, of course.

Fucking emotions.

I turn away from the camera so they can’t see me smile.

Fucking smiles. I never used to smile, now I find everything funny.

A buzzer sounds out in the hallway. I wait, wondering if that’s what I’m supposed to be ready for. But no. Nothing happens afterward. So I sit and stare at the SpyGlass on the wall.

It’s disabled. Ever since that shit went down a couple months ago—the same shit that got me locked up in here—they’ve disabled them all over the city. It’s created a mess because Case’s little public alert system was built in almost everything over the course of the last year.

Now they have to do things the old-fashioned way again. People have to come to my room and use a chart to determine which medications I get. Nothing is automated anymore. No friendly voice comes through that speaker telling me it’s time for food, or sleep, or therapy. They don’t trust us. Of all the people not to trust in this city, me and my friends shouldn’t even make the top five. Top ten, sure. But not top five. And since they do still trust Yasmine and she’s number one on my list, well, just proves how fucking stupid they are, I guess.

Footsteps. Ah, there they are. A little late, but still paying attention.

But this time, instead of just the slot opening, the whole door opens. Yasmine is standing at the threshold with three armed guards pointing their weapons at me.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“You have visitors,” she says.

I nod and walk towards the approaching guards. One shackles my ankles, another cuffs my hands, and the third points his electrodart gun at my head.

God, they’re a bunch of idiots. They still haven’t figured out that a ToyBox subsidiary makes those weapons.

I want to tell them they won’t work on me, but eh. They’ll figure it out eventually. And since I’m supposed to be ready, I’m pretty sure this isn’t the time to fill them in on how ignorant they are.

“Who came to see me?” I ask, looking Yasmine in the eyes.