Captive

Originally sent to subscribers in February, 2023. Sign up for the newsletter now to receive exclusive stories months in advance.

           Dr. Kelvin Glenn gulped down a glass of water, flushing the two pills he just took down his throat as a knock echoed through his office. His patient was right on time for once, leaving him with no time to try to eliminate the stabbing pain that had erupted behind his eyes. “Come in,” he called through the pain.

           “Good afternoon, Doctor Glenn.” Addison Lutwig was one of his less difficult patients, a woman in her thirties who got too wrapped up in Emotion Capsules, or Captions, after the birth of her son, Jeremy. It was a common problem, really. Young mothers weren’t given adequate care after childbirth, so they turned to deals in hidden alleys, nestled within the wreckage of the southern side of the city.

           “Hello, Addison. Have a seat.” Kelvin motioned to the chair across from his own. “How are you doing? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

           “It’s been a really good month,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t used, or even thought about using. One of my friends, Dallas, has a prescription for Smilers. She took one at a party the other night. Even then, seeing her take it and how much different she was after, I still didn’t want one. I’ve learned to do the little things to make myself happy.”

           “That’s great to hear.” Dr. Glenn jotted a few notes into his book.

           “Are you proud of me?”

           Kelvin met Addison’s eyes, studying her for a moment before responding. “I must ask, Mrs. Lutwig, is it important to you that I be proud of you?”

           “What do you mean?”

           “I mean, how would it impact your happiness if I were to say no? Or if I were to say yes?” He placed his notes facedown on his lap.

           Addison rolled her eyes and looked away. She had a tendency to be animated with her emotions, especially when annoyed or upset. “Why does that matter?”

           “I am only trying to determine the source of this newfound happiness,” Kelvin said. “Just a month ago, you were struggling to contain the urges. You told me how hard it was to find things to make you happy.”

           “Well, I have been seeing someone, and I got back in touch with my brother.” She scratched behind her left ear, a common tick she displayed whenever she was upset or anxious. “They’ve both been great. Truly a pair of blessings.”

           “My only worry is that you may still be allowing your emotions to be ruled by external factors, rather than internal ones.” He leaned forward in his chair. “The only difference is that the Smilers have been replaced by the validation and approval of others. This can be good, for a time. But it can also quickly devolve into a codependent situation in which the individual becomes reliant upon, or addicted to, that praise.”

           “So, you’re saying I should never be with anyone?” Addison said, her voice rising an octave. “I should just blow off my brother and my boyfriend and be alone because I was addicted to Captions?”

           “Quite the contrary,” Kelvin said, retaining his calm demeanor. “Healthy interpersonal relationships are one of the main casualties of Caption dependency. It’s good that you are working to build relationships. Just remember to work on the relationship with yourself, as well. That is the only way to ensure all of the relationships are healthy and productive.

           “Take, for example, the question you asked me. Now, apply that to your brother or your boyfriend. If you asked them if they were proud of you, and they said they weren’t, would you be sad or hurt? Of course, you would. Most people would. That’s normal. Where the behavior or reaction would become irregular and maladaptive would be to allow that hurt to overwhelm you and infect all areas of your life, resulting in an interference with everyday activities or functioning.”

           To her credit, Addison remained silent throughout Dr. Glenn’s explanation. She listened and seemed to truly be trying to internalize his advice. She nodded slowly, thinking over her response before speaking. “Thank you, Dr. Glenn. I see what you’re saying. And, I guess you’re right. It would have a negative effect on me if you said you aren’t proud. Why do you think that is?”

           “Why do you think that is?” he repeated.

           The session lasted a full hour. Kelvin sat back and let Addison work through her thoughts on her own. He provided only small, insightful comments for her to consider, electing instead to listen and note her progress. By the time the meeting ended, she had cried twice and yelled three more times, but she was able to regulate her mood on her own each time. It was a wonderful improvement, considering where she started.

           Still, by the end of the session, his eighth of the day, Kelvin was exhausted. He still had to go home, spend some time with his kids, and find time to enter his notes from the day into his computer. Despite being regarded as the most famous, successful addiction therapist in the city, he spent a lot of late nights at his desk, while his wife waited for him in bed, only for her to fall asleep, angry and hurt, before he could finish his work. For all of his constant interaction, it was a lonely life. 

           Kelvin turned the key in the lock and checked the knob to ensure the building was secure. There had been a string of break-ins in the area recently as the issues of the Doh seemed to be moving farther and farther into the neighborhood. Captions were used all over the world, but the abuse of unregulated street-made Captions had never been higher. The higher the companies drove the prices, the more people turned to the back alleys, and the higher the companies had to push costs to meet profit goals. It was an endless cycle of awful things. Captives, those people who lost themselves to the artificial emotions, kept him employed and comfortable, but he would much rather be able to transition his practice to a treatment center for other disorders.

           Unless something changed, that would never be an option. With a sigh, Kelvin began the short walk through the parking lot, pulling his coat tight to shield him from the brisk November air. Halfway to his car, he noticed something off. There were far more cars than there should be for a Tuesday night. He picked up his pace. He was nearly running when three hooded figures stepped out from behind his car. Two more emerged from a mini van parked to his left. They had him surrounded.

           “Evening,” he said, his voice steady despite his nerves. “You know, Halloween was last week.”

           “Dr. Kelvin Glenn.” The man before him was huge, easily six-foot-six and probably two-hundred and fifty pounds of solid muscle. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

           “Sorry, guys. Not tonight. I’ve got to get home.”

           “It wasn’t a request.”

           “Look, do you want money? Is that why you’re here?” Kelvin tossed his wallet on the ground between them. They wouldn’t get much. He never carried cash, his card purchases had to be verified by a retinal scan, and all of the identification cards were fakes. His real ones were stored safely in his home. “Take it.”

           “We don’t want money,” a woman’s voice said from behind him. “Well, not your money, anyway. We know how paranoid you people are.”

           “Well, thanks for proving me right to be paranoid.” Kelvin silently cursed himself. Now was not the time to antagonize.

           “Okay, Dr. Glenn, here’s how this is going to go,” the goliath said. “You’re going to come with us, nice and quiet. We’ll take you to our guy, you’ll have a little chat, and, if you cooperate, you can be on your way. Sound good?”

           “Not really. Any other options?”

           The mountain of a man sighed and shook his head. “Wrong answer. Get him.”

           All five assailants charged forward, encircling Kelvin before he could react. There was nothing he could do. In seconds, they had him on the ground, his hands bound, a gag stuffed in his mouth, and a hood over his head. The large man, apparently the leader of the group, hefted Kelvin up onto his shoulder with no more effort than he would a child. He tossed Kelvin roughly into the rear of the mini van, waited for one of the others to crawl in the back with him, and slammed the trunk closed.

           Kelvin tried to keep track of the turns they were making, to at least have some idea of where they were going. They started south, as if he were driving home, but quickly made a left. Then a right. Two more lefts. Right, left, left. Or, was it right, left, right? How far had they been on this road? Where were they going? At last, he gave up. There was no way he would be able to accurately judge his location with his head covered. He would just have to figure something out when they got wherever they were going.

           At last, the driver put the van in park. Without speaking, the crew of criminals pulled him out and pushed him to walk ahead of them, guiding him toward their meeting spot. Kelvin heard a door open and felt the noticeable change as they entered a building. It was swelteringly hot. It nearly took his breath away after coming in from the cold wind. They led him through a series of doors as sounds echoed all around him. He could hear grinding metal and blow torches at random intervals, but everything else blended together so it was impossible to pick out individual sounds.

           After four or five hallways—the heat and the stress were making it hard for him to think—they stepped on his foot and threw him to the floor. All of the air in his lungs was knocked out as he hit the ground. The door shut as he lie there, gasping for a breath.

           It took him several minutes to regulate his breathing in the thick air. How was it so hot? It was like they were pumping heat into the room, though he found no vents when searching the room. He still had the hood over his head, blocking his vision, but he felt along each wall and the low ceiling. As far as he could tell, there was nothing in here. The entire building must have been the same temperature. How could anyone work in that heat? He could barely get a full thought through his mind, let alone come up with anything useful or productive.

           Chalking it up to his fatigue, he gave in to his situation. He wasn’t going to do anything until he got some sleep. He curled up in a ball in one of the corners, using the wall as a pillow for his head. It wasn’t comfortable, but he was asleep within minutes. Awaking every twenty minutes, Kelvin found it difficult to get any meaningful rest. Eventually, though, he managed to find a comfortable position. The heat didn’t seem as bad anymore, and he fell into a deep slumber.

#

           Kelvin awoke with a start as the metal door scraped the floor, sending an echoing ringing through his small cell. Within moments, the pain set in. His entire body hurt, but it was worst in his head. It felt like someone was taking a hammer and pounding on the backs of his eye sockets. He clutched his forehead, which was slick with sweat. Though the overwhelming heat remained, his bones felt cold, like he slept outside all night instead of inside this sweltering room.

           Someone jerked the hood from his head. The overhead lights were like a hundred suns hitting his eyes, making the pain in his head even worse. He pinched his eyes closed and shielded his face from their luminosity. “Please, can I have the hood back?” His throat was dry and sore, making his words sound more like begging than he intended.

           “Really?” The voice belonged to the same woman who had helped capture him the night before. “You want this thing? It’s soaked.”

           “Yes. Please?”

           “Whatever. But you’re going to have to walk.”

           She pulled the hood tight over Kelvin’s head, hiding him from the intense light. With an arm under his own, she lifted him onto his feet and pushed him ahead. He kept his footing despite the shaking in his legs. He was just so cold. And weak. He couldn’t focus. He had no hope of keeping track of where he was being led. All he knew was that he wanted to get there as quickly as he could so he could sit back down.

           He felt himself being led through a door and finally into a room that wasn’t blisteringly hot. In fact, it was cool. He could feel air conditioning coming through the vent overhead, further chilling his aching muscles. “You look awful,” a voice said as Kelvin was shoved down into a cold, leather chair.

           “I feel awful. Who are you?”

           “Was the heat that bad?”

           “I’m cold, not hot,” Kelvin said. “Who are you?”

           “Cold?” the voice said skeptically. “Hold on. Take off his hood. Let me get a look at him.”

           Light exploded in Kelvin’s eyes as the hood was torn from his head. He winced in pain and used his hand to shield his eyes. Squinting, he was able to make out the face looking at him from across a wide mahogany desk. The forty-something man was tall, with long black hair specked with gray. His beard was neatly shorn and lined up along his neck and cheekbones. He wore a slim, pressed black suit and a pink tie. He looked every bit like the successful businessman you might find in an accounting firm on the sixtieth story of some skyscraper.

           “Well, I’ll be damned,” the man said with a short laugh. “The man responsible for costing me so much business these last few months, the man known all around the country for helping people get off Captions, is an addict himself.”

           “What are you talking about?” Kelvin croaked.

           “Don’t try to fool me,” the man snapped, leaning over the desk with a snarl on his face. “You think I’m dumb? You think I built all of this without knowing the signs of someone aching for a fix of Captions? So, tell me, what’s your vice? Smilers? Cupids? What’s got you looking like this?”

           “Nothing,” Kelvin insisted. “I take Captions sometimes, sure. I mean, who doesn’t? But I’m not addicted to them.”

           “You need to be able to admit it to yourself before you’ll be able to change,” the man said in a mocking tone. “Isn’t that what you tell your patients? I thought that was pretty good. Come on, spill. It’s just us, here. No one else will know.”

           “Only if you tell me who you are.”

           “That’s all. I thought you might ask for more. But, okay, I accept.” The man stood and extended a hand to shake. “The name’s Mister Queue, because before you know it, your next fix is already coming down the queue.”

           “I’ve heard of you. Always thought it was a dumb name.”

           “Regardless, I told you my name. Hold up your end of the bargain.”

           “Fine.” Kelvin shrugged his shoulders in an attempt to relieve the crick in his neck. “I’ll occasionally take an Energy Caption in the morning, if I didn’t sleep well. And, if I really need to buckle down, I have a little bottle of Focus Captions I keep in my desk.”

           “So, Bunnies and Zoners, huh?” Mister Queue leaned forward to study Kelvin more intently. “No, huh uh, I don’t buy it. That’s not all. You’re taking something else. Something that’s causing the weakness and the aversion to light. What is it? Come on, Doctor Glenn. It’s okay to talk about it. There’s no shame in it.”

           Kelvin rolled his eyes. “You really want to know? Fine. Every now and then, I take a Motivation Caption. But, it’s rare, smart guy. Not nearly enough to cause withdrawal.”

           “Yet another lie,” Mister Queue said. “I think you’re taking all three—Bunnies, Zoners, and Pushers—five or six times a day, every day. There’s no other reason for you to be experiencing these symptoms in such a short amount of time. It’s been only ten hours since you left your office.”

           Ten hours. The thought scared Kelvin more than he would admit. His wife would be worried. She had probably already called the police, though he would be nearly impossible to find. Gangs like this were huge, way above the law. The cops couldn’t touch them because of the money and power Mister Queue had. The only thing Kelvin could do was stay calm and keep his abductor talking.

           “You know, you still haven’t told me what you want with me,” he said.

           “It’s simple.” Mister Queue yawned, bored, as if he had a prisoner in his office every other day. He probably did. “I want you to stop treating Captives. You’re costing me a lot of money with your little crusade to help people get clean. It’s pointless. Captions are here to stay. Even if you get people to come off them, they’ll eventually be back. It’s a fact of life. It would be like trying to get people to go without technology. They improve lives. I just offer them cheaper than those damned pharmaceutical companies.”

           “You’re right, Captions can be good. Can. Until people get addicted and can’t do anything without them.”

           “Captives are my main source of profit, yes, but that doesn’t mean I make them that way,” he says. “I simply provide the product. It’s not up to me what my clients do with those products.”

           “You know as well as I do that addiction comes from availability,” Kelvin said, his voice rising in volume despite his fatigue. “If everyone had a prescription, they couldn’t get addicted and wouldn’t turn to someone like you.”

           “And how has your prescription worked? Keeping you on the straight and narrow, is it? Are you using only as intended?”

           Kelvin fell silent. There wasn’t much he could say in response. He hadn’t been using his prescriptions as instructed by his own therapist. He had turned to confiscating Captions from his patients, recycling most of them and keeping the ones he needed. No one would even know to question pills going missing, especially unregulated, bootlegged pills. He hadn’t even realized how bad it had gotten, but Mister Queue had actually underestimated his use. On an average day with normal stress levels, he was taking a dozen Bunnies for energy, ten Zoners for focus, and at least fifteen Pushers to find the motivation to keep going. It was a problem. But how could he admit he had a problem when he was the one supposed to stop people from doing exactly what he did? The irony of the situation would have the press swarming.

           “That’s not the point,” Kelvin said finally. “You are hurting the general public. I’m helping.”

           “Just because a few of my clients go too far, that doesn’t negate the thousands for which I provide affordable, effective solutions to their needs. I would not expect you to be one hundred percent successful with each and every one of your patients, would I? So, why am I held to a higher standard when I’ve helped far more than you ever will?” Mister Queue stood and ambled confidently around the room behind Kelvin. “See, Doctor Glenn, I am not the villain in this situation.”

           “And you think I am?” Kelvin didn’t have the strength to turn around, so he had to put all of his emotion into his voice.

           “Overall, no. However, to me, you could be considered a rival, or perhaps an adversary. Everyone is the protagonist of their own story, after all.”

           “If that’s true, why do I feel like a side character?”

           Mister Queue laughed loudly and slapped Kelvin on the shoulder. “Oh, my boy, that is because you no longer have synthesized motivation coursing through your veins. Without the Pushers, you have no drive or desire to do anything for yourself. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll come around once your brain adjusts to the lack of external chemicals powering it.”

           “Can we go into the hall?” Kelvin said, finally resigning himself to ask for something. “I’m just so cold.”

           “No, I think we’ll stay here.” Mister Queue stepped to the wall and pressed a button. The air coming from the vents cooled considerably, causing Kelvin to curl up tighter on himself. “It’s too hot outside of this room.”

           “Why is it so hot out there, anyway?” Kelvin asked to distract both himself and Mister Queue. “The chemistry being done in this building requires an immense amount of energy, heat energy specifically, to complete. And when you have the kind of output that I have, we have to work around the clock to produce enough supply to meet the demand. It seems like we’re making more and more every day.”

           “Congratulations,” Kelvin said bitingly.

           “Thank you,” Mister Queue replied, completely earnest.

           “You told me what you want me to do,” Kelvin said. “You want me to stop treating my patients. I have two questions for you. First, what would you like me to do instead? I have to make a living. And second, how are you planning to persuade me to change my entire business?”

           Mister Queue looked sideways at Kelvin. “Please, Doctor Glenn, do not think me so foolish. I know convincing you will be no easy task.” He sat on the arm of Kelvin’s chair and crossed his legs, completely at ease. “At least, it wouldn’t be under normal circumstances. But these aren’t normal circumstances, are they?”

           “What are you talking about? I’m not going to cave.”

           “As I said before, your brain is still adjusting to the lack of Pushers,” Mister Queue said, resting his hand on Kelvin’s shoulder. “In a few hours, I hypothesize you won’t be denying me much of anything. And, to answer your second question, you can treat any number of issues, or just prescribe Captions like a normal therapist. That’s easy. It’s also not the main point of today. You are here so you can see the good in what we do. You seem like a reasonable man. A little bit naive to your own shortcomings, maybe, but reasonable nonetheless. I would hate to have to resort to more intense measures to bring you to the side of my cause.”

           Kelvin shrugged himself away from Mister Queue’s hand. “That sounds like a threat.”

           “It doesn’t have to be.”

           “That doesn’t even make sense.”

           Without warning, Mister Queue jumped to his feet. “Come with me. I’ll take you on a tour,” he said with a smile.

           “I can barely stand. There’s no way I can walk around inside here with how hot it is.”

           The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Come.”

           Just as Mister Queue had warned, Kelvin could feel his will to resist fading away. Each small act of defiance took more effort. He knew he should fight back, but he didn’t have the drive to oppose such a powerful entity. Without Motivation Captions to push him forward, his brain wouldn’t be able to produce the right combination of neurotransmitters to keep him on the right path. He needed to get his hands on some Captions. He couldn’t remember which company had coined the term for the pills, combining the words for “emotions” and “capsules” into one term, but it caught on instantly. It made perfect sense. That’s what the pills were. Within a week, everyone was using the term. Other companies adopted it and it became the industry standard.

           Kelvin shook his head as he rose. The pain in his body helped to clear his mind. Not only was his will diminishing, but he was struggling to focus on any one thought without the Zoners to help him. How had he let it get this bad? Was Mister Queue right? Was he a Captive?

           “…and that’s one of our tanks where we combine certain elements to make Tearjerkers. Both uncommon Captions, true, but there is some market for them both.” Mister Queue had been talking about the various vats and stacks throughout the warehouse, pointing out different chemical reactions Kelvin couldn’t be bothered to remember. “Now, this next room is where we sort and package all of our Captions. As you can see, we have dozens of employees working to quality check each batch of pills before they’re sent out.”

           Kelvin let his attention slip as he resigned to making random noises at what he hoped were appropriate times. He needed all of the energy and brain power he could muster to focus on the myriad Captions passing by him at all times. Tablets glided along conveyor belts to various stations, where they were piled together on tables. They all looked so similar. Though he had taken hundreds, if not thousands, of Captions at this point, telling each kind apart from one another was difficult. Legitimate companies had adopted a standard of color-coding the pills to make the compounds easily detectable. These underground operations didn’t utilize the same methods. Some groups used letters stamped on the pills, some intentionally mixed up the colors, and some printed the names. Still others, such as Mister Queue’s venture, elected to sort their Captions using less obvious details, namely the size and shape of each variety. Without a key, it would be nearly impossible for Kelvin to find what he was looking for amidst the mayhem.

           Kelvin decided to test his luck. Devoting all of his energy to his task, he swiped a few Captions at every opportunity, without any indication as to what he was stealing. He slid each pill into his pocket, using his itchiness as cover to keep moving around so much. He was pretty sure the workers caught him on more than one occasion, but they never said a word. He gave a silent thanks to each and every worker and vowed to himself, and them, that he would put a stop to everything Mister Queue had done.

           By the time Mister Queue ended the tour, Kelvin was barely standing. With each step, he was convinced his leg would give out and he’d end up facedown on the floor. It was worth the pain and the exhaustion, though. He had gathered a cache of at least fifteen random Captions, if not more, into his pocket. Whether or not they would have any worth to him, he would have to wait and see.

           Mister Queue led him back to his cell, which still smelled of sweat from Kelvin’s night spend inside. “Welcome back. Sorry it isn’t more comfortable for you,” he said. “At least it’s quiet. It will give you plenty of time to think and consider my offer. Perhaps, in a couple of hours, we can get you upgraded to better living quarters. We might even be able to spare some Captions for you, if I like what you have to say.”

           Kelvin waited in silence as Mister Queue left the room, locking the door behind him and leaving Kelvin in solitude. As Mister Queue’s footsteps disappeared down the hall, Kelvin pulled the Captions from his pocket and spread them out on the floor. By his estimation, based on the reports of nearly fifty patients over the past few years, he had about three hours until the withdrawal totally debilitated him. He would need to get to work quickly if he had any hope of escaping without risking his business and his morals.

           Slapping himself to focus his mind, he began sorting his haul of pills. If Mister Queue came to check on him, he would be ready. He had to be.

#

           With his mental faculties declining quickly, Kelvin fought to formulate some kind of plan to escape this broiling prison cell he found himself in. An hour into his isolation, he knew he needed to move before he lost more motivation. He pounded on the door and asked the guard posted outside to bring Mister Queue to the cell. The ringleader arrived in just a few minutes.

           “I have made my decision,” Kelvin said.

           “What is it?”

           “I want in.”

           “Come again?”

           “I want in. On all of this.” Kelvin gestured with his arms.

           “You really expect me to believe that?”

           “I’m serious. Can we walk?” Kelvin waited for Mister Queue to lead the way, which he did with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Think about it. It’s the perfect setup. I treat Captives, but I can also treat them for other things and sell your Captions from my office. I could get people away from Captions made by your competitors and push them toward your own. I could even tell people there is a new Caption that helps them break free from other ones. This could work.”

           “You understand why I would be skeptical,” Mister Queue said. “If I might ask, what made you change your mind?”

           “I don’t want to say it has nothing to do with my withdrawal symptoms, but I’m sure those have played some role,” Kelvin explained. “However, the big driving force would be the amount of good I could do. I’ve helped a lot of people, sure, but think how many more I could help if I had your reach and resources. With our combined energy and efforts, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to think we could grow even beyond what you’ve already built. You seem like a thoughtful person, willing to work for the greater good while also maximizing profits. We could have something great.”

           “What you say makes sense,” Mister Queue said. “Okay, let’s talk about the details of the arrangement.” He turned to speak into a small earpiece. “Marjorie, could you bring Doctor Glenn his Captions, please?”

           Marjorie, the woman who had helped capture Kelvin, caught up to them within a minute, dropped a cup of pills into Kelvin’s hand, and disappeared around a corner, all without saying a word. This was going to be even better than Kelvin could have hoped. He didn’t have to guess at the uses of the Captions he had procured. Everything he needed to be back to his normal self had been delivered right to him. At least, he hoped they had. “What are these?”

           “Your usual,” Mister Queue said absently. “Plus a couple extras to get you back on your feet. We can work on weaning you off later. For now, I can’t have you passing out on me.”

           Kelvin swallowed the dozen pills without stopping to consider it further. Even if there were other Captions mixed in, the Zoners and the Pushers would give him what he needed to execute his plan. Anything else, like some Bunnies or even Zennies, would be an added bonus. He felt the effects of the Captions within minutes. His mind was sharper. He was able to take in details about the plant. Every movement felt smooth, as opposed to the struggles he had experienced before.

           Mister Queue led Kelvin up a long ladder. Though he was feeling much better, Kelvin was still gasping for air by the time they reached the platform at the top, which had been set up with a snack. The high platform provided a view of the massive reaction room as they sipped water and ate sandwiches. Mister Queue once again talked Kelvin through the process of making Captions, pointing out various points along the journey of a bunch of chemicals becoming pills which had changed the course of human history.

           Kelvin bided his time, waiting for just the right moment. When Mister Queue turned to make a grand gesture, he swapped one of the pinwheels with the one in his hand, one he had stuffed with two of the Captions from his pocket. Mister Queue turned back to his plate, oblivious to the change. They had peanuts in them, so he wouldn’t notice the crunch of the pills. Kelvin only had to hope the flavor wasn’t too far off. Not content to put his hopes in this one aspect of the plan, Kelvin opened two more Captions and poured the powdery substances into Mister Queue’s cup at the next opportunity.

           He had used four Captions. If he was lucky, they would interact in some way to give him a chance to escape from Mister Queue. His captor gulped down the contaminated pinwheel. He made a face, but didn’t say anything as he gulped down the rest of his drink. “This tea is terrible,” he said. “It’s so bitter. The imbeciles must have steeped the leaves too long. How is yours?”

           “Quite bitter as well, though I enjoy it that way,” Kelvin lied.

           “Very well. Come, let us examine the supply rooms,” Mister Queue said as he rose from his chair. “You can begin selecting your stocks for distribution.”

           They descended the ladder together. Once again, when the reached the end, Kelvin had to double over to catch his breath as sweat dripped onto the floor. This time, however, Mister Queue was right beside him. “Are you okay?” Kelvin asked.

           “I don’t know. I feel weird.” Mister Queue turned to Kelvin. Tears streamed from his eyes. “It’s just so sad, to see the conditions I’ve placed upon the workers here. And to have to hide the truth from them, it kills me.”

           “What truth is that?” Kelvin asked.

           “The truth behind Captions, of course,” he said. “They’re—” Mister Queue stopped. He stared at Kelvin. “Wait, what is going on? Why am I so sad? Did you do something to my food? Did you give me Tearjerkers?”

           Without responding, Kelvin bolted in the opposite direction, back toward the rows of chemical vats. He turned down narrow corridors, weaving in between potentially deadly liquids at top speed. He could hear Mister Queue raging behind him. There must have been some Bullies somewhere in that mix, for him to be that angry that quickly, totally disregarding his own safety and profits. That was good. If Mister Queue was depressed and uncontrollably angry, he wouldn’t be thinking clearly. Of course, he would also not hesitate to destroy Kelvin if he caught him, but at least it presented a possible escape condition.

           Kelvin worked to open another Caption, his eyes constantly darting from the small pill in his fingers to the path in front of him. He couldn’t afford to be surrounded or cornered. Strangely enough, the chemicals were the least of his worries. He took a moment to appreciate how amazing Captions were, to push him to his goal when just half an hour before he had been nearly ready to give up on everything.

           A figure slid to a stop in front of him, where two passageways between rows of vats came together to form an intersection. It was Mister Queue. Without hesitating, Kelvin threw the contents of the Caption in his hands into Mister Queue’s face. He could see some of the powder get sucked up as Mister Queue inhaled. Whatever it was, it would hit him even faster than if he had ingested it. Kelvin turned and ran down a different connecting aisle as Mister Queue coughed to clear his lungs.

           Kelvin made three more turns before he found himself along the outer wall of the space. He could hear Mister Queue gaining on him. When he looked over his shoulder, he was terrified at what he saw. Mister Queue, who had appeared perfectly sane and reasonable despite his criminal activity, looked like a madman. A wide grin had spread across his face, contrasting the tears which continued to stream from his eyes and the snarl that escaped his throat. Snot flew from his nose as he ran and high-pitched laughs cut through the growls at random intervals.

           That last Caption must have been a Smiler, meaning he had unnatural levels of happiness, sadness, and anger competing in his mind. Kelvin had never treated someone who used all three, but he couldn’t imagine that combination would be healthy for a mind unaccustomed to the effects of Captions. He wondered if he could add one more into the mix to stop Mister Queue in his tracks.

           Kelvin had just ten yards of separation from his shadow when he spotted a door along the wall. He threw his weight into the door and crashed through, only to find himself in a long hallway, much to his dismay. He needed to find an exit. He may have had Bunnies powering him, but he still hadn’t fully recovered from the effects of the last two days. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this up much longer.

           Using a handrail as an anchor, Kelvin flew around a corner and bounded up two flights of stairs. The hallway on the third floor was identical to the one below. He made the bold decision to run back toward the chemical room. He had spotted a catwalk even higher than the platform where they had stopped for their snack. If he could get up there using the walkway on this level, perhaps he could spot a way out.

           He burst through the door onto the metal walkway which lined the outer walls of the massive room, sending a guard careening over the railing to the cement floor beneath them. Kelvin winced as he heard the impact of the man’s body, but he couldn’t stop yet. Spotting one of the ladders leading up to the catwalk just a hundred yards away, he put his head down and pushed ahead.

           Thuk!

           Kelvin stumbled and had to put his hand on the ground to keep his footing as a bullet embedded into the wall mere inches from his head. He kept running, keeping his body as low to the ground as his tall frame would allow.

           Thuk! Thuk! Ping ping ping!

           At last, he reached the ladder and scrambled upward. The metal rungs between him and the shooters provided little coverage, but it was something they would have to account for. Dozens of shots flew past him, with several missing by an inch or less.

           All of a sudden, the shooting stopped. Kelvin paused for a moment to catch his breath, only to feel a hand grab ahold of his foot. Mister Queue had caught up to him. The shooters must have decided it wasn’t worth the risk of accidentally shooting their boss. Kelvin kicked his foot free and resumed his furious clamber up the ladder. He reached the top having had to escape the clutches of Mister Queue several more times. He hauled himself up over the edge onto the walkway suspended over one hundred feet in the air.

           He stole one glance over the edge before sprinting away from the ladder. The vats looked so small from up here, even though each one was well over twenty feet wide and ten feet tall. He heard Mister Queue roll up onto the metal catwalk as the shooting resumed. He knew he would be a difficult target from his position, so he put all of his energy into searching for an escape route. He turned onto an adjoining catwalk, which had a slight decline as it approached one of several large circular platforms positioned throughout the room.

           A massive weight crashed into Kelvin from behind, slamming him into the steel walkway. Mister Queue had launched himself from the railing of the other platform. Had he miscalculated the jump, he would have missed Kelvin entirely. As he slid along the metal grating, his skin tearing from his flesh in several places, Kelvin thought he was finished. He closed his eyes as he approached the edge, unwilling to watch as he fell to his death.

           His left hand brushed something solid and he instinctively grabbed hold. A searing pain shot through his shoulder as his body dangled from the walkway, his hand latched onto one of the metal poles of the railing. Mister Queue hadn’t fared much better. He had slammed into one of the other poles, preventing him from falling but badly injuring his hip in the process. He struggled to his feet and limped to where Kelvin was hanging.

           “That was a sneaky move, Doctor Glenn,” he said. “You almost had me. That was a dangerous mix you gave me. It’s too bad we couldn’t have the chance to work together. I really do think we could have built a special empire together.”

           Kelvin took a risk. He recognized three of the pills in his pocket. He had taken the same pills earlier, with the cocktail of Captions provided by Mister Queue. He tossed them in his mouth, bit down on the outer shell, and swallowed the contents in a single gulp. With his brain primed for the effects, the change came almost instantly. He was right. They were Bunnies.

           Before Mister Queue could react, Kelvin grabbed onto the catwalk with his other hand and swung himself up onto the platform. His left arm hung limply at his side, matching Mister Queue’s lame left leg. Kelvin lunged forward only to be stopped by a bullet through his left leg. Pain erupted in his thigh as blood seeped into his sweaty gray pants. He knelt at Mister Queue’s feet, his mind numb with agony.

           Kelvin tossed the rest of the pills into his mouth. He wouldn’t need them anyway, so maybe one of them would give him a final moment of peace before his death. He swallowed them down and awaited his fate.

           Mister Queue stepped closer and something shifted inside Kelvin. Rather than peace, an overwhelming sense of self-preservation washed over him. He was angry and determined to take this bastard down with him. He waited for Mister Queue to bend down as the pain seemed to fade away. Mister Queue grabbed ahold of the neck of his shirt and pulled.

           Kelvin launched himself upward. He threw his head back, connecting with Mister Queue’s chin. Mister Queue stumbled backwards, right into the metal railing. Kelvin pushed forward and threw his full weight into Mister Queue’s chest. He managed to use his foot leg to catch himself on the railing. He watched as Mister Queue careened downward, directly into a vat of chemicals just beginning the heating process.

           A shrieking laughter echoed through the cavernous space as the unfiltered chemicals of Happiness Captions, or Smilers, took effect on Mister Queue. He was unable to contain himself. He continued howling in laughter despite the burning in his lungs, throat, and eyes. Above, Kelvin shuddered as the maniacal laughter continued, a sound that would haunt him for the rest of his life, even if the rest of his life was only going to be a few minutes.

           At last, Mister Queue’s heart gave out and the room fell into an eerie quiet. Void of his chilling wails, the sounds of the machinery seemed to be a distant buzz to Kelvin’s ears. He rolled over onto his side as a pervading sense of bliss overwhelmed the artificial feelings being force fed into his brain.

           His vision began to blur. If he was going to die, at least he had taken out one of the worst people in the city along the way. He could accept that. He only hoped his family would be happy.

           Kelvin’s eyes started to droop as a hooded woman stepped onto the platform before him. He tried to glimpse her face, but he couldn’t move.

           He breathed a long, slow breath as his eyes fell closed.

#

           “Thank you, Doctor Glenn, for everything.”

           “You’re quite welcome, Addison.”

           Kelvin shook Addison’s hand and walked her out of the office following her final appointment. She was fully recovered and ready to move on from their sessions. She had his number should she ever relapse, and she had even referred one of her friends to him for help getting off Cupids.

           “Ah, Addison, if I may ask?” Kelvin said as they arrived at the door. No one else was in the office, as she was his final appointment of the day.

           “Anything.”

           “Do you happen to know where your friend got the Captions?” he asked. “Who was the supplier?”

           “Have you heard of Queue Two?” she said solemnly. “He’s getting pretty big.”

           “I have, thank you,” he said. “Anyway, I wish you the best. Remember, I’m always here if you need to talk.”

           “Thank you, Doctor Glenn,” Addison responded. “I hope your leg gets better soon.”

           “As do I. Bye bye.”

           Kelvin sighed as he limped to the couch in his waiting room and fell into the soft cushions. For all his efforts, the underground Caption industry had survived. Of course, it had. The worst part, though, was that he hadn’t even taken down the operation he had worked so hard to destroy.

           After waking up in a hospital bed, Kelvin had explained the entire story to the police, but they hadn’t been able to track down the warehouse. Without any definitive details to share about where he had been held, they would have to search every large building in the city, which would take years. It was hopeless.

           Someone else had taken up the mantle of leader following Mister Queue’s death. He called himself Queue Two, which Kelvin thought was even cheesier than the first name. In the months since the incident, Queue Two’s reach and influence had extended further. The big companies had raised prices for the most popular Captions once again, causing more people to flock to the streets for their needs.

           Kelvin had spent over a week in the hospital, detoxing from the Captions and recovering from his injuries. He had finally been allowed to leave with an arrangement to see a new therapist and daily physical therapy appointments. The lethargy was killing him, so he had reopened his own practice within a month of his escape. It was way too soon according to his wife, his therapist, and his doctors, but he needed to do it. Without Captions driving him, he needed something to do to keep him going.

           It had been a long, exhausting road, but he was getting better. His doctors had told him he would be fully recovered in another month. He hadn’t had a single Caption since the micro doses administered at the hospital to lessen the effects of the withdrawal. He felt like his life was heading in a good direction. He only wished he could do more to have an impact on the deteriorating state of the Caption trade.

           No matter how hard he tried, he wasn’t going to solve the world’s problems in one night, so he picked himself up off the couch and walked back toward his office to retrieve his things. He froze as he stepped through the door. A woman sat in the patient chair with her back to him, perfectly still.

           “Hello again, Doctor Glenn.”

           He recognized her voice, but couldn’t place it. She spun around to face him, and he nearly fell over backward. Sitting before him was Marjorie, one of Mister Queue’s goons who had been involved in his capture, the one who had brought him a cup of Captions when he was a prisoner.

           “You don’t have to look so scared,” she said as she rose to her feet. “You wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for me.”

           “What are you talking about?”

           “Don’t you ever wonder how you got out of that place?” she asked. “With all of those guards around, after you had just killed their boss, you don’t find it strange that you somehow ended up in a hospital?”

           “I guess, but what did you have to do with it?”

           “I hauled your big ass up onto the roof and into Mister Queue’s private helicopter.” She walked over and placed a hand on his arm to steady him. “I’m the one who flew you away from that place and drove you to the hospital. In my own car. I’m still trying to get the blood out of the back seat.”

           “I’m sorry one of your friends shot me,” he said.

           “They aren’t my friends,” she said. “They never were. I always hated that man.”

           “Then why did you work for him?”

           “There is much you don’t know,” she said. “Including the truth of what Captions really are. And what you might be.”

           “What are you talking about?” Kelvin asked. Mister Queue had mentioned the truth of Captions, but he had never thought it would be anything more than some philosophical rambling about how the world needs the artificial emotions due to the decline of ethical principles or some other excuse for what he did.

           “Captions aren’t created through science,” she said. “Well, at least not science alone.”

           “Go on.”

           Marjorie stood and paced around the room. She looked through the large window behind Kelvin’s desk and checked the closet. She pressed a button on a small device before looking back to Kelvin. “Good. No bugs. Are we alone?”

           “Yes.”

           “Are you sure?”

           “Yes, everyone else has left for the day.”

           “Very well.” Marjorie guided Kelvin toward the chairs in the center of the room. “Have a seat. We need to talk.”

           “What is this all about? What do you mean the Captions weren’t created with science alone?”

           “First of all, you should know that those pills you stole, the ones you gave to Mister Queue, were placebos,” she said. “They shouldn’t have done anything to him.”

           “That’s impossible.” Kelvin jerked forward in his chair, pulling on the tight scabs of his lower back that hadn’t completely healed from his slide across the metal catwalk. “I saw how he changed.”

           “As did I,” she said. “Which is why I was so shocked. However, that is also the reason you needed to be saved. You see, all of the pills you took while in our care, other than the ones I brought to you, were fakes. None of them had any of the active ingredients of any Caption. They were essentially sugar pills.”

           “H-how?” Kelvin stuttered. He had a feeling everything he knew about emotions and Captions was about to be called into question. “How is that possible?”

           “You asked why I worked for Mister Queue,” she said. “It’s because he threatened me and my family. We found out about our heritage, how we were descended from a long line of important and powerful people. He kidnapped us all just to see if we followed the trend. I was the only one who showed him what he wanted to see, so he forced me into servitude by threatening to kill my mother and sisters if I didn’t cooperate.”

           “What did he want from you?”

           “I’m one of very few people blessed with the gift of Endomancy, and I think you are, too.”

           “What does that mean?” Kelvin asked, his face pale. “What is Endomancy?”

           “I told you Captions aren’t entirely scientific,” Marjorie said. “They’re magic. EndoShifters can change the makeup of chemicals to affect emotions. Companies capitalized on the ability to create Captions, and it blew up. For centuries, EndoShifters have been used to further the goals of people all over the world. This is just the latest exploitation of our abilities.”

           “I’m sorry,” Kelvin stopped her. “Did you say, ‘our?’”

           Marjorie looked him in the eye and took a deep breath.

           “Doctor Glenn, you’re an EndoShifter.”

End.