Garrett Silver / 19 Year Old Inmate

Dr. Miranda Wong sat motionless at her desk, her hands folded neatly, staring at the file of her next patient. The dim light of the setting sun streaming through her office window sharpened her angular features. Her chin-length, sleek black hair framed a face of striking symmetry, given a cool severity by the sheen of her glasses. She never understood why some of her colleagues got lost in empathy and pity. To Miranda, the concept of "second chances" was nothing more than a romanticized illusion.

The community of Havenbrook, California's most progressive small town, had learned one thing: some people deserve punishment, not redemption.

Her gaze swept over the case file of Garrett Silver, her newest patient. Nineteen years old, a product of her own town, but far removed from the ideals Havenbrook upheld. His crime? For months, he had threatened three classmates. One of them had ended up hospitalized after Garrett violently shoved him during a dispute. The reason? A girl had rejected Garrett, and he took out his frustration on the boys who had been near her.

Miranda sighed and pulled out the photo from the file. It showed a Fit young man with pale White skin and short, disheveled brown hair. His sharp cheekbones and angular jaw gave him a slightly severe, distant look. But it was his eyes that unsettled Miranda the most: a cold, piercing blue that seemed to stare straight through the photo.

"A textbook case of toxic White masculinity," she murmured as she slid the photo back into the file.

Garrett was no victim of circumstance. No, he was the product of self-inflicted narcissism and deeply rooted aggression that needed to be broken.

Miranda’s eyes fell on the AudioTuring device sitting on her desk. It hummed softly, ready to do its job. This device was not just a tool for correcting toxic behavior. It was a punishment—subtle but effective. People like Garrett needed to feel the consequences of their actions. The device would rewire his thoughts, shatter his self-image, and turn him into a harmless member of society.

"He won't be the same when we're done here," she muttered coldly, standing and heading to the door.

In the waiting area, Garrett sat flanked by two police officers. His hands were still cuffed, but he seemed completely calm, almost bored. His slender, wiry body leaned casually against the chair as if the situation had nothing to do with him. He wore a faded black T-shirt and worn-out jeans that suggested he didn’t care about his appearance.

“Mr. Silver,” Miranda said, her voice cool and professional.

Garrett raised his head and looked at her. His icy blue eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, she felt something unexpected: resistance. Not the usual defiance or nervousness she saw in other patients, but a cold, calculated composure.

“That’s me,” he replied, not breaking eye contact.

“Follow me, please.”

The officers removed the handcuffs, and Garrett stood up. He was tall, at least six feet, and moved with a strange mix of nonchalance and alertness. Miranda ignored the unease twisting in her stomach and led him into her office.

“Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the chair across from her desk.

Garrett dropped into the chair, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze flicked to the AudioTuring device and then back to her.

“So, this is it? The thing that’s supposed to ‘fix’ me?” he asked, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

Miranda met his gaze, unimpressed by his tone. “The device will help you understand why your behavior is unacceptable. It will show you the perspective of the people you’ve hurt.”

“Right,” Garrett said dryly. “Or in other words: you’re trying to reprogram me.”

“Call it what you want,” Miranda snapped. “The fact is, you don’t deserve to be sitting here. Other people suffered because of you. One of them is still recovering from his injuries. You’ve had more than enough chances to make different choices. This technology is your last opportunity.”

Garrett’s smile vanished, and for a moment, Miranda thought she’d struck a nerve. But then he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and looked at her with an intensity that made her freeze.

“Last opportunity?” he asked quietly. “Or maybe the first opportunity to turn the tables on all of you?”

Miranda held his gaze, but inside, she felt a chill she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She activated the AudioTuring device. Its gentle hum intensified, and the screen began displaying soft, hypnotic wave patterns.

“Close your eyes and listen to the sounds,” she said coolly. “We’re starting now.”

Garrett closed his eyes, but his posture remained tense. Miranda began the prepared routine: questions, gentle instructions, subliminal messages transmitted through the device. Yet something felt off. Garrett’s breathing remained steady, almost mechanical, and his reactions were minimal.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes.

“Nice toy,” he said, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion. “But do you know what it can really do?”

Miranda hesitated, her hands hovering over the keyboard. “What do you mean?”

Garrett leaned back and smiled—a smile that held no warmth. “I mean that maybe I know more about it than you do. And I wonder how it would feel if you were tuned to my frequency.”

A shiver ran down her spine, and for a moment, she was certain of one thing: Garrett Silver wasn’t broken. He was dangerous.

The soft hum of the AudioTuring device filled the room. Dr. Miranda Wong felt in control, as always. Her tone was measured, her movements precise, her gaze fixed on Garrett Silver sitting across from her. Yet deep down, unease gnawed at her.

His unsettling calm, his piercing blue eyes—something about him didn’t fit the mold of the typical delinquent.

“Focus on the sound,” Miranda instructed in her usual professional tone. “Close your eyes. Your thoughts will become clearer, and you’ll begin to question the behavior that brought you here.”

To her surprise, Garrett obeyed. He closed his eyes and leaned back. But unlike her other patients, who usually showed signs of initial discomfort, Garrett seemed entirely in control. His breathing was even, almost mechanical.

“Take a deep breath,” Miranda continued. “Imagine each breath lifting a heavy weight off your soul. Every sound you hear cleanses your mind.”

Garrett smirked faintly, and Miranda found herself unsettled. “Interesting,” he said suddenly, breaking the trance she was attempting to create. “But do you really understand how this device works?”

Miranda stiffened slightly, her hands hovering over the console. “The device works through neuroacoustic feedback,” she said sharply. “I understand it perfectly well.”

“Hmm.” Garrett’s tone was skeptical, almost mocking. “You might understand it technically. But emotionally? Psychologically? I’m not so sure.”

He opened his eyes then, and Miranda felt a jolt of discomfort. His gaze wasn’t defiant or scared—it was calculated, deliberate. It felt as if he were dissecting her.

“Garrett,” she said firmly, trying to regain control. “This isn’t a debate. Follow the process.”

But Garrett didn’t respond to her authority. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his sharp blue eyes locking onto hers. “Do you know the most interesting thing about this little machine of yours?”

Miranda’s chest tightened. She didn’t want to entertain his provocations, but the way he spoke unnerved her. “What’s that?”

“It doesn’t just send signals,” Garrett said, his voice calm and even. “It can receive them, too. Like an open door. And you’ve just let me walk right in.”

Miranda’s hands gripped the edge of her desk. “That’s impossible,” she said, her voice betraying the first flicker of doubt.

Garrett chuckled softly, the sound devoid of humor. “Is it? Or have you just been too arrogant to notice?”

Before she could respond, Garrett moved swiftly, his fingers brushing the controls of the device. A low, vibrating hum filled the room, deeper and more resonant than before. The subtle wave patterns on the screen changed, their rhythm almost hypnotic.

“Garrett, stop!” Miranda snapped, rising from her chair.

But Garrett’s gaze didn’t waver. “Relax, Dr. Wong. Isn’t that what you tell everyone? Just relax. Listen to the sound.”

The hum grew louder, and Miranda felt an odd sensation creeping over her—an inexplicable heaviness in her limbs, a fog clouding her thoughts. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

“This is absurd,” she muttered, her voice unsteady.

“Is it?” Garrett’s voice was softer now, almost a whisper. “It’s just sound. Harmless, right? You said so yourself.”

Miranda struggled to focus, but her thoughts were slipping away, dissolving into the rhythm of the device. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the console, but she couldn’t bring herself to move.

“Close your eyes, Dr. Wong,” Garrett murmured. “Let go. It’s easier that way.”

“No,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But her eyelids grew heavy, and despite her efforts, they fluttered shut.

“That’s better,” Garrett said, his voice smooth and soothing. “You’ve worked so hard, haven’t you? Always trying to fix everyone else. Always judging. It’s exhausting.”

Miranda’s head lolled slightly to the side, her breathing slow and shallow. Her lips moved faintly, but no words came out.

“Listen to me now,” Garrett continued. “You trust me. You know I’m in control.”

“Yes…” Miranda’s voice was barely a whisper, her tone distant and hollow.

A triumphant smile spread across Garrett’s face as he stood and circled her chair. He studied her for a moment, her serene, trance-like expression, her once-sharp mind now dulled by the device she had so confidently wielded.

“This is just the beginning,” he said quietly, leaning close to her ear. “And you, Dr. Wong, are going to help me reshape this town. Whether you like it or not.”

Miranda’s only response was a faint, obedient nod.