At one point, I was in the middle of a ring, taped to a chair, the edges of the space swallowed in dark. One by one, the residents paraded around me, giggling, their fingers bent from the girth of their glee, their steps high and awkward as if they were marionettes.

I was startled awake the next morning by the door. I jumped up, tossing the blanket to my knees. Had I slept in? What would the punishment be for that? My bare feet were on the floor by the time Mitch crouched down at my side, and I was trying to apologize. “I’m so sorry, won’t happen again, I must’ve—”

“French, it’s me, it’s just me. Great news.” He was flushed, and even his tie was askew. “We have a meeting with Mellin in an hour. This is it! She’s going to give us her decision on the field test. And thanks to your quick thinking in the kitchen, it’s bound to be good!”

I tried to shake the echoes of madness from my head. “Wait, what?”

“Agent Mellin—she’s going to make a decision about whether you’re ready for the final test.” He shook my leg. “So wake up. Get ready. I’ll set your shower for eight o’clock and be here at eight thirty to get you. This could be it! If you get in, I’m sure to be promoted!”

He stood up, rubbing his hands together.

“Mitch, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Yesterday, you told me the dinner shift would be easy. And then I got there, and half the residents were gone.”

“Yeah?”

“And the ones who were there…well, they were…different.”

“Did you see them?” His voice went down an octave.

“Yeah—well, no. I always check the slot before I slide a tray in, and this time the lights were on, and I saw them. Just for a few seconds. But they were, I don’t know…off?”

He watched my face for a minute. I could see the workings of his mind as he decided how much to share, whether I could be trusted. I was depending on his excitement to make him slip up and offer some information.

“Let me teach you a quick lesson, French. Back in the days of massive slaughterhouses, they would push the cattle through a narrow chute before they put them down. The chute would contract, and the animals got squeezed. That kind of pressure alleviates stress, releases good chemicals.”

“Wait, we heard this from Minnie when she came to stay with us, remember?” It felt somehow intimate that we were holding on to the same memory, that it had impacted each of us in some way, separate but together.

He squinted. “No, no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Minnie?” He tapped his chin, then shook his head.

“Our cousin, Minnie? She’s, like, two years older than you?” I tried to remind him.

He shook his head. He couldn’t remember. “Anyway, it’s all well-known science. The squeeze, the chemicals, that lets them relax before the end. Then the meat tastes better without all the panic and fear in it.” He spoke as if hosting a matter-of-fact radio program. “We don’t have chutes here, but what we do have is a supply of the good chemicals. Let’s just say we’re looking for new ways, better ways. So everyone benefits.”