ASBO-Boy - Suspected Other: Part 1

Mike’s hands were still covered in paint when they slung him into the TARDIS.

His head banged against the cold white wall and he slid to the floor. The doors were closed roughly behind him and he was left to stare at the enamel white surfaces of the boxy, street corner prison.

He knew it’d be useless, but he struggled anyway. Typically, the pigs had done their job well. Not only was he bound by the cuffs, but they’d coated his arms in suppressing foam which seemed to have hardened and gained weight. Unable to stand, Mike just sat there on the cold, hard floor, with the smell of sick and bleach in his nostrils.

Exhausted, terrified and lulled into a stupor by the gas that was mixed in with the ventilators, Mike seemed to float into a languid broken sleep.

Suddenly, there was light and noise all around him. He opened his eyes to be blinded by the open doors. It was morning and every muscle in his body was aching. Once again he’d awoken to find himself soaked to the skin, his clothes stcking to him like clammy paper.

Two burly pigs leaned in, gripped him under the arms and dragged him out into daylight. His teeth immediately began to chatter. They wiped their hands on their trousers and looked away. They were wearing standard issue visors – to break eye contact - but he could tell they were avoiding his gaze anyway.

The two officers went about their work briskly, updating their PDAs with the TARDIS console. They were dressed in heavy, blue flak vests and were carrying side-arms and batons. Humming nearby was the transport van.

“Fourteen, male Caucasian by the name of Michael Thomas. Address: 42, Beechwood Road, Uplands. School: Bishop Gore State Academy. Apprehended and detained at Uplands Police Box 16, Monday 11th of April 2016 at 23:53 hours. Charged with vandalism. Suspected Other. Picked up for Processing, Friday 12th by Officers Paul Hinchely and David Jones at 9:15 hours.”

Mike listened to the last twenty four hours of his life get read out. But he didn’t hear much of it after the comment Officer Hinchely made about him being a Suspected Other. Too late now. Hadn’t been much of a secret – nobody naturally sweated as much as he did. Maybe they’d adjust his sentence… No chance, he told himself. It’ll be Borstal for you.

When the Officers were done they checked the foam suppressant, wrapped a Processing tag around his neck and opened the back of the meat wagon. He sat down roughly next to the rest of last night’s pickings. Drunks, disturbers of the peace, asbos. What would his parents say? He wondered vaguely, trying to convince himself that he didn’t care what they thought.

It was all bollocks.

**

At Cocket HQ the meat were unloaded and separated into categories of offence. The older drunks and parasites of Brynmill Park were carted off to one lot of cells and the asbos were rounded up and sent another way. Officers Hinchely and Jones politely asked that he follow them down a third route.

He was led to a large steel door which swung open after a lengthy verification process. Inside, the walls were enamel white like the inside of the TARDIS and the air smelled vaguely similar; bleached and alive with the stench of fear. Mike was frogmarched up to a window. Behind it sat a tall woman dressed in an insulator uniform who towered over him like a giant insect.

Officer Hinchely repeated the clinical summary of Mike’s life while the Officer behind the glass nodded and in-puted data on a screen. When the report was complete, the door on Mike’s right opened and she waved them on.

Mike was led down a long corridor to a hole in the floor. A ladder descended from the ceiling and the Officers set about melting the suppressing foam. They unlocked the cuffs and handed him a black, fitted skin-suit.

“You can change behind that.” He was told and directed to a screen. Slowly and shakily he began to undress behind the screen before putting on the skin-suit. The foamy material grafted to his skin and was unnervingly comfortable to wear. After he was done he was directed to descend the ladder and await instructions.

The ladder led to a spherical room with smooth enamelled walls. When he was down, the ladder ascended from the room and a seal came down to fill the hole, completing the sphere.

Mike had never been particularly claustrophobic but he hoped to all that was just and holy that this wasn’t going to be his cell.

“Don’t be afraid,” spoke a gentle female voice from an unknown source. “We’re going to administer a little test and then you can be Processed.”

The room began to glow and throb. Mike started to feel dizzy, his knees began to wobble. Unsteadily he sat down. He felt drunk all of a sudden, then sick, then euphoric.

His limbs grew weak and he slid to the floor, distantly he felt his body become wet and clammy again. Everything became soft and he felt like he was spreading across the floor, pooling in the centre of the room.

Slowly, the throbbing lessened and he seemed to return to normal. Within moments the ladder dropped down and he was instructed to climb it once again. Vaguely he remembered being guided to a cell. This one wasn’t spherical, but it did have the enamel walls - that didn’t matter now though, all he wanted to do was sleep.

The room faded away and was replaced by a vast, dark ocean. Mike drifted on the surface, the water lapping at his feet. It felt good. It felt real.