Vertical.

Groggily you come to, the headache worse than before. Whatever that chemical knock out agent they use can't be good for you. You perfunctorily try to reach your head, assuming already you can't, and you are correct.

Only this time you're not on an exam table. You're vertical but not touching the ground. You're hugging yourself, your arms in a tight straight jacket. Your neck is free so you look down. You see the white canvas strapped tightly across your body. You can't see much past your folded arms, but you can see your toes, you wiggle them to make sure they're yours, hanging just above the ground. The sensation on your legs tells you that you have pants on, though not your own, some sort of soft loose cotton it feels like.

You look around the room and see 3 padded walls and a door, like the asylums in the movies. Just then you hear a bell, and see the doctors face peering through a small window. "It's amazing how perfect the timing on the gas is." she muses. You hear a set of heavy clicks, then the door opens and she enters.

You try to ask questions, but the gag is still there, and still doing it's job, and presumably so is the lock on the back. "Now now patient 9654, not yet, there will be time for questions, soon . . . . ish" she adds at the end.

"As I mentioned earlier we here at the Reformatory act as a treatment center for the troubled." She eyes you up and down, "And you are troubled. However for the time being we're in America, and as such you have the rights of an American. So we here at the institute have to follow the laws." She pulls out an old tape recorder. "Now, you have every right to refuse our treatment, however we EARNESTLY recommend that you allow us to help you. We've already had you here for 20 hours for observation and we've determined you NEED help. Now how do you respond?" You try to respond but you can't. You yell and huff into the gag, trying to form words, making the most clearly distressed noises you can. "Now I need to alert you that Maine is a 'Silence is assent' state. If you do not provide either a verbal or written wish to reject treatment we will move you to our advanced treatment facility."

You scream at the top of your lungs.

"Well I'm not hearing the word 'No' so I'll give you one more chance." She moves closer, that predatory smile appearing once again as she puts the record right up to your mouth with her left hand, her right making spidering tickly motions that send shivers from your neck to your bare toes. "Last chance. Speak now, or we begin your treatment in the moooorniiiiing" she says, sing songy.

Realizing her plan you begin to sob into your gag. "Well that's great." The tape recorder clicks off. "We have proof of your assent to treatment." she pockets the recorder.

"I'm sorry I won't be seeing you after today, but tomorrow will be fun for you. It's the first day, of the rest of your life!" She says, and reaches both hands down, and starts kneading her thumbs into your hips. "Oh the surprises you have waiting for you. The staff, they'll be your new family. Your new home, oh it'll be so exotic to you. And the restraint you'll learn." You hear her words between your helpless laughter, each stabbing into your soul like a knife. You're panicking, you're helpless, and you've got to figure a way out. There has to be a loop hole to the law somewhere. You start wondering what's in store, but you assume it's more of this.

Suddenly you wince, feeling a dull pressure, almost a pain in your groin. The doctor notices the expression on your face and smiles a mile wide. "Oh you noticed?" Noticed what you think. "Oh you haven't? Well it's a shame I'll miss it. "And you notice the same piece of wool coming to your nose again, and like clockwork you're out.