A familiar place again… Surely, none of this is real… But why, then, does everything feel so vivid?!

Suddenly, you realize you are standing in the middle of… your college cafeteria!

A vast, open space…

Long rows of tables with chairs tucked beside them…

Here and there, your eyes catch sight of crumpled, torn snack wrappers left carelessly behind…

The dim, lackluster glow of fluorescent lights overhead, mounted on the high ceiling…

There is no light coming through the windows - it’s as if it’s the middle of the night.

One of the overhead lights flickers, with an irritating, rhythmic pulse.

You are dressed in your usual casual attire - a sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers.

Looking around, you notice with surprise that, in this cavernous room, there is no one else but you.

Strange…

You take a few steps toward the counter where food is usually served…

"Hey! Billy! What are you doing wandering around the cafeteria this late? Did you lose something?" - a deep, raspy male voice calls out from behind you, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

"What the hell?! I thought I was the only one here!" - you think, a jolt of alarm running through you.

You turn around and see an older, heavy-set black man (likely in his fifties or so) standing in the middle of the cafeteria. He’s wearing soiled work clothes; in his right hand, he holds a worn-out mop, and in his left, a bucket of water. Near his feet, a large, open trash bag sits on the floor.

"Mr. Touby!?" - you exclaim, the name slipping out instinctively.

You know this black man (as do many other students at your college). Mr. Joel Touby is a janitor at your college.

Mr. Touby carefully sets his bucket of water on the floor and leans his mop against one of the tables.

Then, he picks up a trash bag and moves along the tables, gathering various bits of refuse (like torn-open snack wrappers) and tossing them into the bag.

He walks toward you.

And, for some reason, he’s chuckling a little…

You begin to feel an inexplicable sense of unease…

"You never answered me, Billy… Did you lose something?" - old black man asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Uh… No… I…" - you stammer, instinctively backing away until your backside bumps against the edge of one of the tables.

"Are you sure? You didn't lose anything at all? Perhaps… your manhood?" - janitor continues, chuckling.

"What?!" - you exclaim, indignant.

"Heh… I’m just kidding… Of course you didn't lose your manhood… After all, one can’t lose something one never possessed in the first place! Heh… Heh… Heh…" - he says slowly, drawing closer and closer.

You want to say something in response…

Alas, an irrational fear grips your mind, preventing you from uttering even a single word to defend your dignity.

"Heh… You don't even have the masculine resolve for a verbal 'scuffle'… You’re just pathetic… Oh! Look at that! I think I see the very thing you must have been looking for here!" - mr. Touby approaches to within about five meters of you and points toward a small object lying on the floor right at your feet.

"Holy shit! There was nothing on the floor here a second ago! What the hell is going on?!" - you stammer, your voice weak and trembling.

"This belongs to you... Pick it up..." - janitor looks straight into your eyes; his voice sounds... commanding.

Unable to withstand his intense, dark-eyed gaze, you look away, crouch down, and pick up the small object.

Then, standing back up, you hold it higher - toward the light of the lamps - to get a better look.

It’s a small leather collar, featuring the word "SLUT" spelled out in some kind of lightweight metal...

The sort of thing everyone’d find in a sex shop.

"OMG... What does it all mean?!" - you ask, terrified.

"You know... Enough with the pretense. It’s pretty obvious that this would look quite fitting around your neck... So, what are you waiting for, Billy?" - mr. Touby says, never breaking eye contact - his focus is chillingly intense.

"What?! This is absurd! No!" - you exclaim.

In response, the janitor tosses the trash bag aside with sudden, lightning-fast movement and whips something out from behind his back.

To your horror, you see a pump-action shotgun in his hands, the barrel pointed straight at your face!

"Do what the fuck I said! Put that damn collar on your neck, you fucking snowflake! Or you wanna get your brains blown out?" - mr. Touby reloads his weapon with a distinct, sharp click; his expression has turned... extremely aggressive.

You are frozen, paralyzed with consternation…