I gently open the door.

…

“Mummy?”

…

Silence.

Her wrists…They’re–

BRINNGGGGGGG!

“All patients report to the food court for meal one.” A voice blares over the intercom, startling me awake. The door to my room clicks open. 

I can finally make a run for it-

THUD.

I slam straight into something blocking the door. Standing before me is a different advocate than last time, though she dons the same uniform and perfectly stiff pose as the other. She’s about my height, slightly chubby, and pale with eyes that look almost… sunken in.  

“Oh, Patient 693. It’s good to see you’re up and about.” She says, blocking the door before ushering me back into my room.

“What the bloody hell is this?! Let me out–!”

“Oh no no no, dear– you are not permitted to eat until your lab work is complete.”

“…Lab work?” I question, crossing my arms. “I just want a goddamn bagel.”

“The Ministry requires a basic checkup and blood work at the beginning of your stay in order to calculate the correct dosages for your treatment. Please have a seat so we can begin.”

My eyebrows furrow when she says this, and I open my mouth to speak… 

Then I remember. 

I glance at the CCTV camera in the corner of the room, its lens pointed directly at me… 

Before I can muster up the words to question anything, the advocate calmly nudges me back onto the hospital bed. A chill runs down my spine when I notice her smile… It’s just like the others’: unnatural and uncomfortably stretched. It’s as if the corners of her mouth had been pulled apart like clay.

I really wasn’t imagining things last night.

“Woah woah woah- Wait a minute, lady! What the hell is wrong with you?!” I snap, swatting her hand away. “I’m not doing anything for you until you tell me what the hell is up with that camera!”

“The camera…?” Her eyes drift to the corner of the room. “Oh, there’s nothing to worry about, my dear. The Ministry has them strategically scattered about to ensure the safety of all patients and advocates. Now please, remain still as I give you a quick checkup.”  

I begrudgingly comply and allow the advocate to do her little checkup. Cold latex covered fingers press into my neck, and with the clinical carelessness of someone who’s done this a thousand times, she watches the clock. She scribbles down the results of my heart rate and before I can take another breath, she forces a thermometer under my tongue. Her pen scribbles against the clipboard as she writes the results down before unhooking the stethoscope from her neck. It feels like ice against my chest when she places it under my gown. Between her clinical apathy, vacant smile, and the cold pressure on my chest, a disgusting feeling crawls over my skin. 

“Inhale and exhale for me, yeah?” she says in a saccharine tone.

I take annoyed breaths in and out with a huff as she moves the stethoscope around my chest and back. When she finishes her little checkup, I roll my eyes and cross my arms, hunching over slightly to hide my chest again.

“…Can I get breakfast now?”

“We just need to get a quick blood sample for the labs, darling. It’s necessary for your treatment and it will only take a moment.” She replies, gingerly grabbing my hand and pulling my arm out straight. I raise my hand to swat hers away, but she’s quick to secure my wrist with a firm grip, her eyes becoming daggers. Despite her intensifying gaze, the eerie smile remains perfectly still on her face in an uncomfortable grimace. 

“Please do not resist, 693. It is in your best interest to remain still and comply.” 

I open my mouth to protest, but I can’t muster a word; I’ve been stunned into silence, causing paranoia to creep under my skin.

Shit– I don’t trust her… I don’t trust anyone in this place.

She wraps a tourniquet around my arm, its tight pressure making my fingertips tingle as the sensation leaves them. My heart pounds in paralysing fear.

Why can’t I move–? 

Do something, anything , dammit!

I see the CCTV camera’s tiny red light blinking in the corner, it’s all I can focus on. The rest of the room starts to get blurry, as if nothing matters more to me than that damn camera. 

The light blinks on.

And off.

And on.

And off.

…

My attention shifts back to the advocate once I feel a brief pinch in my arm. Each vial slowly fills with crimson blood one after the other under the watchful eye of the Advocate. She turns back to me, smiling as if she hadn’t threatened me minutes prior.

“All done. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Do you know how to get to the food court from here?” She places a cotton pad to my forearm, which turns red as it soaks up the blood seeping out from the wound.

“...No.” I mutter.

“Not to worry then, I can show you! Follow along now, where I need to go is right nearby.” The advocate picks up the tray with the vials of blood and guides me out of my room. 

The hallways are cold and metallic, the only sounds coming from the quiet buzz of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and the echoing sounds of the advocate’s boots clicking against the floor. 

After a few minutes of turning corners, we arrive at a pair of yellow doors which are open for anyone to walk into. The Advocate pats my shoulder and gives me another smile that in her eyes is probably meant to be reassuring. She then turns on her heel and hurries out the doors with the tray. 

The food court is quite spacious compared to the hallways and rooms here. There are many round tables, each surrounded with four plastic chairs coloured in this place’s signature bright yellow. To the side, there’s a large metallic counter, set up similarly to the buffet section of a hotel. I follow the crowd of patients who are filing into a line next to the counter, being sure to take cautious steps as dizziness begins to plague me.

“Am I the only one who thinks this place is a tad weird?” I ask the person in front of me.

They give no immediate response. I tap them on the shoulder in annoyance, trying to get them to turn around.

“Hey, you. I asked you a–” My body freezes with unease, my breath hitching in my throat.

That smile. 

Why does he have the same smile as the others– ?!

“I love this place. The Sanctuary is my new home. Don’t worry, surely soon you’ll warm up to it.” The patient says, making a motion to clasp my hands in his. I quickly swat his hands away in fear and take a step back, though I bump into the person behind me. They muster an apology and help me up, but I frantically push myself away when I see that familiar smile on their face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people-?!” I yell, stumbling out of line and running into a table, letting out a small grunt as I hit my stomach against it. The large swarm of patients all snap their gaze in my direction in robotic unison. 

Every. 

Single. 

One of them. 

Is smiling.

I cry out in fear and make a mad dash for the doors, running out into the hallways with no plan or destination. All I care about is getting away from there. 

They call this place a “sanctuary?” Bullshit. This place is a fucking cult– and I want no part in it. 

I’ve got to get out of here.

I make good distance before my chest begins to feel heavy. My dizziness intensifies as my breath shortens and my chest gets tighter by the second. 

No… I can’t get worked up- Not now—

The sound of footsteps quickly approach from behind. Dammit– They’re gaining on me. My knees buckle from underneath and I collapse to the cold, hard tiles with a thud. On impact, I start to have a coughing fit.

Shit.

I roll onto my side, gasping for breath and shakily clutching my chest as the air around me starts to thin, my breath getting dangerously wheezy and short. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest and sucking the air out of me through a straw. 

I can’t breathe. 

I can’t fucking breathe.

Two advocates quickly catch up to me and grab me by the arms, forcefully pulling me up on my feet and dragging me down the hall. I try to cry out, protest, say anything; but all that comes out are frail, desperate wheezes.

“Patient 693 appears to be having an asthma attack. Breathing is laboured and wheezy— prep a bed and nebulizer in the Inoculation Wing, stat.”