Unusual Punishment

Month 1

Day 1: Referral

It was stuffy in the courtroom. Cloudy September sun filtered through the high Victorian windows, dappling Zayn's clenched white knuckles with jagged blocks of light. Zayn focused on the back of his hand, biting his lip to keep his emotions in check. The papers had been filed, and all that was left was for him to give his assent, and he'd be taken directly to the test facility for one calendar year. After which, he'd be released, back to whatever shape they assessed him to be in upon what was euphemistically dubbed, "referral".

Alternatively, he could use the next five minutes to backtrack from the course he'd set in motion. To his left, two armed policemen sat, as was procedure, ready to strong arm him back to prison, where he'd be obliged to serve out a fifteen year sentence.

In the facility, he'd be allowed time to work on his PhD. There was at least ten hours a week enshrined reading time, and there would be a computer set aside with full internet connectivity (as long as he didn't try to contact the outside world). All he had to do was surrender his body to whatever it was they were going to subject it to.

For the next twelve months, he'd be rendered mute, minimally mobile, and utterly at the mercy of anything the government wanted to test. But, and this was the bit he'd be holding onto in his mind the way a holy man clings to a catechism - on that final 365th day - they'd erase all memories. He'd be released, his records clear, and free to go back to his life. His beautiful life that had been so savagely ripped away from him.

No, this was the only way. He just prayed he'd have the strength to make it through.

"Mr Malik? Mr Malik? If you don't answer, I'm going to have to hold you in contempt of court, and have you taken back to your cell."

"Sorry your honour," Zayn replied, his voice unnaturally high and strained. "I...I give my full consent. I surrender myself to the state to atone...to atone for my crimes," he managed to stammer, so badly wishing he could just hold his tongue and speak the words in his heart. This is wrong. I do not deserve this. Please let me go.

But there had been far more innocent men than he that had suffered far worse. So he took one last deep gulp of musty air, and allowed himself to be led to the wheelchair in the corner by his prison guard. With one nod from the judge, he was pushed down into the seat, and cuffed at his wrists and ankles. A fair haired man in a military uniform who'd been sitting unobtrusively at the back of the room stepped forward and began to wheel the chair towards a set of doors at the rear of the room. From this moment on, Zayn's body was official property of the state.

With a swish that sounded like a soft sigh, the heavy doors opened automatically, and Zayn was wheeled directly up the ramp into a waiting ambulance. The man locked the wheels into place, before slamming the doors shut. With an almost apologetic shrug, he
pulled a syringe from a cupboard in the ambulance, and, after giving Zayn's lower forearm a brief swipe with a stinging alcohol wipe, plunged the syringe in just below his elbow. Zayn winced at the scratching sensation, and struggled to fight as dark marbles rolled in front of his eyes. But it was no use. Within seconds, he was unconscious.

The man tapped his radio watch into life. "Alright Harry, let's get going."

And with that, the ambulance sped out of the court towards the closely guarded test compound, cloistered away from all but a select few. And that was the way the military intended to keep it.
------

Day 2: Admission

Slowly, Zayn felt awareness seep in. Someone had transferred him from the basic canvas backed chair to a considerably higher spec unit - almost like a reclined dentist's chair, with thick plastic padding, except instead of going down at the base, it was slightly arched in the middle, pushing his pelvis up. His legs were firmly held in place with silicon cuffs at his ankles and upper thighs, as was his upper torso and his wrists.