Astor sat alone in the corner of the crowded cafeteria, avoiding eye contact with the other students. This boarding school was essentially a holding pen for youths like him - poor kids whose families had eagerly sold them to Fournier Enterprises' portal awakening programs.

At first, Astor had hoped he might make friends here among fellow outcasts. But he quickly realized even these scarred, vulnerable teens feared and resented his role.

As a level three Psi user, Astor was employed to use his psychic abilities ensuring the younger students obediently entered the portals for their perilous apprenticeships. He was complicit in the same exploitative system that had purchased him.

"Hey freak, when are you gonna send me through that death trap?" a scrappy boy named owl jeered as he passed Astor's table.

Astor winced. "I'm just following orders. I wish they'd leave you guys alone."

Dove laughed derisively. "Wow, our tormentor feels bad about tormenting us. That makes it all better."

His friend Caleb chimed in. "He's probably brainwashing us into liking him. That's what you psychos do, right?"

Astor shrank down, stung. "I told you, I don't control people's minds against their will."

But the boys had already lost interest, wandering off. Astor lowered his eyes, listlessly pushing food around his tray. Part of him didn't blame the others for hating him. He was complicit in Fournier's exploitation, even if reluctantly.

I should try escaping again, Astor thought. But the punishments for past escape attempts had been severe. And where would he even go if he got out? His own family didn't want him either.

For now, he was trapped here. So Astor simply endured, trying to minimize harm from his orders. And he hoped an opportunity would finally arise to get these exploited kids, and himself, to safety.

Until then, he could only offer hollow apologies and refrain from using his powers for cruelty. One day, things had to get better he told himself...though believing it grew harder each passing day.

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Kren shifted nervously in line with the other youths, waiting their turn to be assessed by Astor before entering the portal. He watched the glowing anomaly waver and pulse before them, dread sitting like a stone in his gut.

He still couldn't believe his parents had sold him to the Fournier company to be an apprentice explorer. They'd been struggling financially, but was money really worth sacrificing your only child?

"Next!" barked the mercenary guard. The girl in front of Kren was ushered toward Astor. She glared at him resentfully as he placed a hand on her forehead, eyes flashing purple.

"She's primed and ready," Astor said in a dead voice. The girl's shoulders slumped in defeat as she joined the group prepped for the portal.

Too soon, it was Kren's turn. He hesitantly approached Astor, who gave him a look of pitying resignation.

"I'm sorry about this," Astor said softly as he raised his hand. "I wish I could help more."

Kren stepped back out of reach. "Then don't control my mind for them! Please, help me escape this place!" he pleaded desperately.

Astor's eyes widened momentarily. But then his expression went cold. "The punishment would be severe. Just accept your fate."

Before Kren could argue more, Astor's eyes flashed. An involuntary fogginess seeped into Kren's mind, suppressing his panic and objections.

He blinked in a daze as Astor guided him over to the group entering the portal. Kren wanted to resist, but his thoughts felt slow and blurred.

I have to get away, he told himself frantically. But his body refused to respond. Helplessly, Kren shuffled along behind the others toward the swirling portal.

Just before they entered the nauseating prismatic energy field, Kren locked eyes with Astor watching regretfully. How could someone who claimed to be good participate in this evil?

Then all other thoughts were lost as Kren plunged into the seething chaos of the portal. He prayed the end would come quickly once they reached the other side. At least then, he would finally be free of this hellish coercion.

Astor stood frozen, staring at Kren sitting placidly before him. The frail boy had somehow survived his trek through the portal - the first youth ever to return alive. But his hollow eyes now held no spark of defiance, just an empty docility.

"Go on then, finish conditioning him," ordered Dr. Miles, the researcher overseeing this horrific project. "He must be molded into a loyal portal guide."

Astor shrank back. "Please, I've done enough to him already. This is wrong."

Dr. Miles scowled. "The only wrong here is your refusal! Obey or you'll be punished." He gestured threateningly toward the door marked "White Room."

Astor shuddered. He still had nightmares of the sensory deprivation isolation he'd endured there before. Anything was better than returning.

"I'm sorry, Kren," Astor whispered, reaching out to touch the boy's mind. He began subtly reshaping Kren's psyche, eroding resistance and imprinting devotion to Fournier Enterprises.

Kren showed no reaction, but Astor felt bile rise in his throat as he warped the poor boy's free will. It was a grotesque violation, however gently he tried to administer it.

When Dr. Miles finally declared the conditioning complete, Astor stumbled away, hugging his arms around himself. He had never felt so disgusted by the misuse of his powers.

"I know you tried to show mercy," Dr. Miles said with cold approbation. "But sentiment must not deter progress. You'll learn that in time."

He departed with Kren in tow, leaving Astor trembling with shame and nausea. How could he keep participating in this perverse exploitation?

Yet he knew refusal would mean unimaginable torture in the White Room. Perhaps he could still do some small good for Kren, even under the company's harsh control. If he could coax genuine friendship from the boy, ease their mutual loneliness, it would be a tiny morsel of humanity in the bleak darkness surrounding them.

So Astor resolved to show Kren what kindness he could, imperfect as it was. And someday, he prayed a chance for real freedom would arise for them both. Until then, he could only weather each atrocity as best he could, retaining some flicker of his principles in the face of crushing inhumanity.