Our feet move in unison along darkened corridors, all marching to the same unheard beat. All it took was a single order, and every inmate swept into action, standing from their bunks and walking single file towards the door.

Some are still naked or in various states of undress, shivering as they walk, tears splashing onto their bare chests. The wardens don’t appear to care.

I’ve never felt so claustrophobic—the corridor ceiling is so low I can barely stand upright without my head scraping against it—but my feet carry me onwards, paying no attention to my brain’s orders to stop.

Dani marches in front of me, their head lolling to one side. Every fibre of my body screams to reach out, to touch them, comfort them. But the Compliance overrides me, forcing me to march on and on.

Dreads is at my back, tutting to herself in irritation. “Fucking wardens,” she spits. “Gloria ain’t got a stitch on. She’s gonna freeze.”

“Will they let her dress?” I say under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear me.

She sucks her teeth. “Don’t count on it.”

Every ten steps or so, a warden watches over the throng of inmates shuffling along between them. I’m still not used to seeing them in this new, grey uniform—I’m much more accustomed to their black riot gear they wear on duty around Skycross. It’s strange to see their faces. Outside, it’s easier to think of them as robots. Now I’m forced to acknowledge the truth—there aren’t any robots here.

Warm chestnut skin catches my eye—Ike stands to my right, but he doesn’t look at me. He’s staring at Dani, eyes wide with shock. My heartbeat pounds in my skull. I will him to do something, help them, get them out of here, anything. But he just stands there, flickers of concern passing over his face.

In moments, we’ve marched past him, and there’s a new revelation ahead—a large open doorway, the space beyond filled with swirling grey smoke. The inmates stream through in single file, continuing their hypnotising march.

“What’s this?” I whisper back to Dreads.

“Work,” she says. “Get ready to sleep on your feet.”

Metallic clangs echo along the corridor, the hiss of steam, roaring flames. The air grows oppressively hot, but still we march forward.

The door is ten feet away, and I can make out some of the factory floor ahead—a massive pit in the ground, with metal staircases and walkways suspended overhead. Inmates shuffle between assembly lines, moving in a zombie-like trance through repetitive movements. Massive conveyor belts carry bottles through a series of stations.

“Serenity,” Dreads mutters. “Great. We’ll be coughing purple for weeks.”

A machine ahead hisses a plume of steam into the air—a dark purple with specks of glitter. Sure enough, it’s the exact shade of Serenity I came to loathe working at Emotiv. The wardens bark at us to continue marching, and our dose of Composure ensures we comply. Our feet move in unison, doggedly carrying us onward.

“I don’t know how to make syrups,” I whisper. “What the hell are we meant to do?”

Dreads chuckles. “Trust me,” she says grimly. “You won’t need to know.”

We pass through the doorway and on to the suspended walkway. Glancing down, I can see the factory in the massive pit below. Inmates are already tending to different stations, carrying huge buckets of chemicals and flavourings, and operating a multitude of machines I’ve never seen before. I try to take it all in but my feet carry on pushing me forward—tubes gurgle underfoot and giant mixers churn the syrup in its various stages of production, first clear and gelatinous, then steaming hot and vivid purple.

The wardens guide us down the walkway, and split us off down separate staircases. Ahead, Dani is directed down to the left. They turn and descend with no reaction, their glassy eyes staring dead ahead. I keep marching, watching them until my neck threatens to snap from twisting so much.

“Inmate!” A voice to my right makes me jump. Turning to find its source, I’m staring right at a warden. “This way.”

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My body reacts and pulls me down to the right, away from Dani, into the pit. Dreads follows behind me.

“Don’t fuck this up, newbie.”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“You’re drawing attention. Just blend in, do what you’re told, or we all get into trouble.”

Scorching steam fills my lungs, coating my throat with sugar. I force myself to swallow, recognising the sweet floral taste of Serenity, and stop talking. Do what I’m told? Easy for her to say. I don’t even know what I’m being told most of the time. It’s like I’m on the verge of a panic attack, my body moving of its own accord, unable to take control. We take positions in a line, me, Dreads, and three other inmates I haven’t met yet. Dani is nowhere to be seen.

The enormous pit is packed with a tight network of machines, like a factory floor, but more chaotic. And yet, all the inmates move around each other without colliding. I never put much thought into how Emotiv produced its syrups, though it seems obvious now. Why use normal workers, who could steal from the factory and sell on the black market? Why not utilise the criminal population, and dose them to follow orders, instead?

A warden paces the floor, weaving through the aisles and inspecting the line up. He leans in to us, one inmate at a time, and says something to them. One by one, they move like robots with a new directive. He stops at Dreads, and gives her a dry smile. He’s a few inches shorter than her, pale skinned and stocky, with a tired look on his face, as if sleep is something that forever eludes him.

“Bennett,” he says, nodding at Dreads.

She grins at him. “Anything good for me today, cutie?”

No one could miss the sarcasm dripping from every word. Bennett straightens a little, looking down her nose. Her dark eyes stare right into his, not wavering, not even blinking.

He bristles, puffing his chest out. “Cooker duty,” he says, his lip curling. “Have fun.”

The moment he gives the order, she turns, seeming to shrink. Her feet carry her towards the far corner, where a massive vat of syrup churns, spitting out fat drops of scalding sugar. She lifts a steel container and dips it into the vat, cursing under her breath.

“What’s this?” the warden stops in front of me, looking me up and down to size me up. “Fresh meat?”

I meet his gaze, feeling my stomach churn at the possibility of things I could say to him. I could give him sass like Bennett, hell I could even spit in his face. It’s not that I don’t want to do any of those things. In fact, I’m sure it would give me the greatest satisfaction. But no matter how hard I try, my body doesn’t respond.

“I love it when they’re freshly dosed.” He leans in close, till his stubble scratches my cheek, and whispers in to my ear. “So obedient.”

A shudder travels from my shoulder down my back, but I’m held in place—jaw tight, fists at my side.

The warden reaches up to my hair and wraps a tendril around his fingers. He stays close, and murmurs, “Don’t let Bennett give you any ideas. Treat me like she does and you’ll have a tough time. Treat me well, though—”

“Harris!” A familiar voice comes from behind me. “I’m here to relieve you. Take your break.”

Harris steps back, unfazed by Ike’s interruption. “Pity,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “I was going to have some fun with this one.”

“Another time, maybe,” Ike says.

I keep my eyes locked ahead until Harris moves away, sighing. He mutters something to Ike as he passes, and stomps up the metal steps to the suspended walkway.

Ike comes into view. “Walk with me,” he says.

My body follows his order, keeping pace with him as we walk through the factory aisles. Surrounded by purple steam, the inmates go about their duties with a range of unnerving expressions on their face—it seems like the combination of Compliance and Serenity has created the perfection conditions for a prison workforce. Obedient and calm, every wardens dream. I glance over my shoulder at Harris as he goes out of sight up above.

Ike leads me to the opposite side of the pit and opens a door into a darkened side room. Heart hammering inside my chest, I walk inside without a question, though my brain is screaming at me to stop, to run away.

Ike follows me into the dark room and closes the door. “Please don’t worry, I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

“Dani is—”

“I know.”

“Can you help them? They need Composure, Lena said it counteracted—”

“I’ll do what I can. It won’t be for a day or two though. I won’t get offsite until then.”

I glance about, but the room is so dark I can’t see a thing. “Where are we?”

“Just a storeroom. The guards come here when… Well, let’s just say we’re okay for a few minutes. I wanted to let you know—I got your message to Frank.”

I huff a laugh. “You’re kidding? You turn me into a zombie and you can’t do shit for Dani, but you told Frank one little message?” My blood boils—the fury has been simmering for days, but I’m more than ready to unleash it. In the dark room, I can only barely catch the reflection in Ike’s eyes. I direct all my aggression to it, getting closer until I’m almost nose to nose with him. “You want me to thank you, is that it?”

There’s panic in his eyes, but he doesn’t back away. “Kyla, I—”

“No, I’ll tell you what. You help Dani. Then I’ll thank you. Right now, I couldn’t give a shit what Frank wants.”

“Kyla, be quiet!” Ike hisses.

“No!” I shout, thumping my fist against a rack of shelves. The Compliance growls at me, combatting my body’s rebellion, but I push it down, staring Ike in the face. “Help them.”

The door slams open, bathing the cluttered storeroom in purple light. Ike stares at the doorway, mouth gaping.

“Well, well,” an all-too familiar voice drawls. “Looks like Miss Chase needs a top up of Compliance.”