“We can always figure it out tomorrow. Here, take your medicine.” Jason held out three gummies, cannabis. “Tomorrow, it’s injection day.” He spoke of these things as if they were medically necessary, but the truth is his own goal was manipulation. He wanted absolute reliance. And that injection? It was your weekly dose of heroin.

You were chained to a small bed in a dim room lit only by a red light, a bunker, a basement, you didn’t know. Only that you were stuck, and your only visitors had only ever been Jason. And he’d always come in wearing a full hazmat suit.