Page 6 of Pack Frenzy
The doors click open, one after another, like dominoes falling.
“Let’s go, ladies,” a guard’s voice booms down the row.
The locks disengage with a clank, and I step out, hands loose at my sides, trying to look cooperative.
Bleach fumes and body odor fill the air. Floor staff line every few cells, badges blinking green as they scan us through. Their expressions range from bored to exhausted—none cruel, which somehow feels worse. Cruelty takes effort. Apathy just waits for its next shift.
We pass faded signs: INTAKE B, COMPLIANCE CHECK, WELLNESS EVAL. The irony’s thick enough to choke on.
Thankfully, the courtyard is open-air. Chain link fence, safety-yellow corners. Sprinklers must have misted it earlier because the smell of disinfectant over wet stone clings to everything.
Cold slides under my collar, and I keep my hands tucked under my arms.
As they move us out, a woman with a tablet calls names and cells, brisk and bored. “Cell nine—Lily Watson. Let’s go.”
I jerk to see a tall girl with freckles who ducks back into the line.
A whistle pops. “Five minutes, O’s. Stretch or walk, keep moving,” a woman calls, voice flat from repetition.
Most of the girls drift in circles. Some huddle. Some look sedated. A few stare up like they’re trying to memorize the sky.
I scan every face, pulse hammering as I look for my friends. Blonde hair—no, wrong height. A girl in the corner with Kayla’s build turns, and for one desperate second—Not her. Shit, none of them are here.
The hollow behind my ribs expands until I can barely breathe around it. They could be in another wing. Another facility. Or they could be?—
No. Don’t go there. They’re somewhere and safe. They have to be.
I force myself to keep moving, keep my face neutral, but my hands are shaking, so I shove them deeper under my arms. A guard by the fence watches with dead eyes.
Lily sits on a bench near the fence, knees pulled to her chest. Her strawberry blond hair catches the light. She’s staring at nothing, picking at the skin around her thumbnail until it bleeds.
“Morning, Lily,” I say, and she nods, but she doesn’t look like she wants company, so I walk a slow lap, pretending to stretch.
A girl with black hair brushes my shoulder as she passes—deliberate but not hostile. Testing.
“You’re the new one.” She keeps her eyes on the gate ahead as we walk.
“Guess that’s me.”
“Rachel.” The name comes quickly. “You gave me your banana.”
“Jess.”
“Time’s weird in here.” She looks twenty, maybe, with a scar through her brow. “They keep some of us longer than others.”
“Why?”
She cuts me a look. “Why do you think? We’re product. Some need more… ‘preparation’ before they’re considered placement-ready.”
The wordplacementsits in my mouth like poison.
“Great. So what’s next?” I ask.
“Evaluations start soon. Placements if you’re lucky.” Her voice drops. “Don’t be interesting. Interesting girls get pulled for special assignments.”
“Pulled where?”
Her blue eyes are older than nineteen. “Private placements. Off-roster. Keep your head down, new girl. Blend.”
