#handler cain

Leo drops his jaw and looks up at the ceiling, too embarrassed by the intimacy of it all. 

Bennett briefly shines the light in Leo’s mouth before stepping back and setting the tool aside to be sanitized. “Okay. I don’t see any issues with your throat. Do you have any pain anywhere?”

Leo shakes his head. “J-just the bruising.”

Bennett frowns. “Tilt your head up. Let me see.”

Leo drops his head all the way back. Bennett runs his calloused fingers over the bruises, gentle enough so it won’t hurt. “Okay, you can relax now. Bruising isn’t that bad, I’ll put some cream on your throat that will soothe it, but they should fade in a week. Lie back down for me, sweetie. And then we can get to healing those emotional wounds.”

Leo flops boneless onto the bed. Bennett rubs a cream on his fingers and starts working it into Leo’s neck. “Why’d you do it?” Bennett asks quietly. 

Leo makes a soft noise of protest. “Don’t want to talk now. Sorry.”

Bennett finishes rubbing the cream in and stands up. “Yeah, I understand. I’ll come get you when they call you to the Committee, okay? Lights on or off?”

“Off, please,” Leo says. 

Darkness envelopes him as Bennett closes the door. He doesn’t know how long he’s there, but it’s long enough that he could have fallen asleep. 

His guilt is eating at him. Right now, 501 is probably heavily sedated in the heavy restraints while a plan is developed for disciplinary action. It’s his fault. He provoked her, he knows better than to bait the former Guard Dog. 

When Bennett comes back to get him, Leo’s stomach has twisted into complicated knots. 

“James is here,” Beckett says. “The Committee’s ready for you.”

“Are they okay? The other handlers?” Leo asks. 

“James was only dazed. He has some residual pain in his groin and some bruising on the side of his face and ribs. Dennison has a minor concussion, surface lacerations, a deep wound from being bitten, bruises on his back, and a desperate need for a chiropractor. None of the Guard Dog handlers who sedated 501 were injured.”

Leo stands up and heads out. James is waiting for him at the door to the clinic, a bruise blooming out from his temple. He doesn’t greet Leo, just turns and walks them down the hallway. 

The Committee of Handlers for No-Mortality Incidents meets in a room just near the elevator. Before they walk in, James leans over and fixes Leo’s hair. “You tell them the truth. It’s best that way. Dennison was awake enough for this meeting, though, so there will be hell to pay.” He pauses. “Awake is a strong word. To be honest, kid, he just wanted to kick the shit out of you, and then he’s going back to the hospital.”

Leo nods frantically. That’s it, he’s going to be sick, he’s going to throw up all over James’s shoes that the pets have to polish. 

James sighs. “And we’ll talk about this later. I’ll be here with you for the meeting, and Greco is also going to talk to the Committee, but you and I will have a private conversation at some point.”

Together, they head into the room. 

The Committee is sitting at a long table, all six of them in a row and grouped by designation. The table is elevated slightly so they all look down at Leo. There are two handlers from each designation present, selected by corporate. The Guard Dog Handlers are Handler Robinson, a tall, lean woman with a scar on the side of her face, and Handler Cain, a muscular, quiet Hispanic man. Handler Paisley, a short blond man, and Handler Bright, a lanky brunette, make up the Platonic and Domestic Handlers. For the Romantics, there’s Handler Thomas, a pretty African American woman, and Dennison, who’s holding an ice pack to his head. There’s a bandage around his neck and an IV in his hand, leading to a bag of blood. 

Handler Cain gestures to the chair in the center of the room, and in a voice too soft for his frame, he says, “Sit.”

The chair must be shortened or something, because Leo feels like a small child sitting in front of them. James sits in a chair on the back wall, joined by Greco when he slips in a moment later. 

“Okay.” Handler Thomas looks around the room. “I call this meeting of the Committee of Handlers for No-Mortality Incidents. Handler-in-Training Finch, since this is your first official disciplinary strike, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Since the merchandise, Romantic 728501, was not damaged during her escape, and there were no deaths of any merchandise or handlers, we’re allowed to peer-review you and assign appropriate disciplinary action. You’ll give your account of the events and what went wrong. Your supervising handler will speak on the accuracy of your account and Handler Greco will speak on 501’s condition. Then we’ll make some remarks on it, tell you what to do next time, and assign discipline. Understood?”

Leo nods. His leg is shaking out of control, he’s about to jump out of his chair and run. 

There’s a horrible silence in the room before Handler Paisley leans forward. “You gonna start talking, kid? Or do we have to make you?”

There’s a chorus of laughter and Leo is burning up. 

“I’ll talk,” Leo says, cringing at how weak his voice sounds. “What happened was that I gave 501 the green stuff, and Handlers Dennison and Hanford put the electrodes on her to do a shock treatment, but she slipped the restraints. She attacked Handler Dennison first, then Handler Hanford. Both did their best to subdue her, but failed. She, um, then she destroyed the shock machine and the remaining vial of the green stuff and started strangling me. Once I was able to, to stand back up, I followed her out and saw that Handler Greco and his team had managed to subdue her.”

“James, is that correct?” Handler Bright asks. 

“Yeah,” he says from behind Leo. “But the little bitch didn’t tell you why this happened.”

Little bitch? Leo’s heart drops. He’s in danger here, a sheep surrounded by hungry wolves. 

“Go on, dumbass,” Dennison snaps. “Tell everyone what you did.”

Leo’s words are barely audible. “I took her collar and gag off, and I left the restraints loose. But, but I had reasons, I needed to do the injection in her neck, and I was asking her a question, and her wrists and ankles were all chafed and I didn’t want her to be in more pain—” Nothing he’s saying is going to help his cause. 

“What question was so important that you had to take off the gag on one of the most dangerous, volatile pieces of merchandise we have in this facility?” Handler Cain asks. 

He can’t bring himself to say it. 

Dennison slams his hands on the table. “For fuck’s sake!” he yells, then winces. 

Handler Thomas watches him carefully. “I can call an alternate,” she says. 

“Nah. I wanna flame broil this kid and then I’ll go back to the fucking clinic. What the fuck did ask 501, Leo?”

Leo focuses on a blemish on the floor. “I asked her if she was okay,” he stammers out. “I wanted to see if she was okay.”

The room erupts into chaos, people screaming at Leo but he can’t distinguish the words, before Handler Thomas cracks her baton down on the table, drawing everyone’s attention. “Quiet!” she yells. “Let Handler Greco make his report on 501’s condition and the damages before we do the peer review.”

Greco steps forward, holding a file folder. He throws it on the Committee’s desk. “The machinery and drugs that 501 broke cost ten thousand dollars. In addition, she put two handlers in the clinic with moderate injuries and caused bruising to another. That alone ups the cost because of the medical treatment. Now, as for 501, she’s in solitary, currently heavily sedated and in the restraints we use for Guard Dogs. Muzzle, straight jacket with metal bands woven in and bucked around the arms, high power shock collar, legs restrained with canvas, straps, and metal bands, chained to the floor with only three links of chain. When my team and I were restraining her, the pet was in severe psychological distress, which may in part be due to taking a high dose of the Hypersensitivity Enhancer, but I would say it’s mostly from her situation. Any questions?”

“What punishment is 501 receiving?” Handler Robinson asks.

“Handler Hanford and I will determine that tomorrow. After this meeting, he has been ordered by the clinic to go home to sleep off his injuries. 501 will remain in my care until then.”

“And the bonded?” she asks. 

“The bonded is going to his room and will be staying there. He’s been reassured that 501 is alive and being punished. I slipped some mild sedatives into his food. 236 has always been a good boy, though,” James adds.

God, the trainees must be terrified. Or at least they will be tomorrow, when the aftermath sinks in. 

“Can we get to the fucking peer review?” Dennison snaps. “My head is killing me.”

Leo grips the sides of the chair for dear life.

“Here at WRU, we don’t like company property destroying company property,” Handler Thomas says. “And we sure don’t like it to seem like a handler-sanctioned event.”

“These things aren’t people.” Handler Cain shifts in his chair. “They’re pets. They’re toys. They need structure. They don’t understand that. And 501 is particularly unstable. Any change in her environment, she reacts with anger. You need to be more strict with the pets. Help them stick to their schedule.”

This isn’t so bad. It’s fair feedback, actually, and Leo’s starting to calm down. 

As if on cue, Handlers Robinson, Paisley, and Dennison stand up and crowd around Leo, boxing him in. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

Handler Robinson grabs a handful of Leo’s red hair and yanks, snapping the boy’s head back. Leo whimpers, looking up at her with wide eyes. They can’t do this. He’s a handler, he works for them, this is wrong wrong wrong.

“What’s the matter, kid? Daddy didn’t hit you hard enough so you turned out all sweet and stupid?” Handler Paisley slaps Leo across the face, hard enough to sting. “Or did he leave you all alone? Probably deserved it, since you’re this fucking weak.”

Fuck. Leo feels tears building in his eyes. 

Dennison glares at Leo. “You fucking bitch. You think we’re so bad and mean to that fucking mutt, but look what she did!” The bite mark is wrapped in gauze, but it’s already bleeding through the bandage. “Come on, Leo. Grow a pair and do your job. Letting these things, especially that mutt, have a break, doesn’t teach jack shit.”

“Eh, I think he’d be a better pet than a handler.” Handler Robinson gives another hard yank on his hair. “If he keeps whining like that, I think we better make him one of Dennison’s trainees.”

No. Leo thrashes around, ignoring the sharp tugs at his hair. He has to get out of here, he has to curl up and hide. 

“He fights like a Romantic trainee, too,” Handler Robinson says. “Well, a normal Romantic trainee. 501’s just fucking crazy, so she’s an exception.”

“Our methods work,” Handler Paisley hisses. “Get your head out of your ass and see that. James filled us in on how you break the rules and try to make them like you. All you’re doing is fucking ruining everything!”

Dennison pauses for a minute, carefully appraising Leo before turning to Handler Robinson. “Get him on his knees. He wants to help the pets so bad, then he can join them.”

Handler Robinson grins wickedly and pulls Leo up by his hair, sending a kick to the back of his legs to force him onto his knees. 

He wants to curl up and die but he can’t, not with Handler Robinson keeping him on his knees in front of the whole Committee. His left cheek is still red from Handler Paisley slapping him, his handler uniform is rumpled, his throat aches. 

A single tear slides down his face. 501 isn’t worth this. They’re right. She’s just a feral animal. She’s just a mutt. 

A camera flashes in the room, Leo cringes away, but it’s too late. The picture was taken. The damage was done. 

Handlers Dennison and Paisley head up to the table. Handler Robinson rubs Leo’s head. “Think you can stay on your knees?”

Leo’s internal organs are made of shame. He nods, another tear falling. 

“Good.” Handler Robinson slaps him in the back of the head before going back up to take her seat. 

“Handler Dennison, since you’re the closest to this situation, I’ll allow you to make the call on the disciplinary measures for Handler-in-Training Finch,” Handler Thomas says. “As long as they’re approved by Handler Hanford.”

Dennison stares at Leo. “Do you like being on your knees? Do you like being a pet?”

“N-no, Sir.” Leo can hardly speak. 

“Do you understand, pet, why we do what we do?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Dennison shakes his head. “I don’t think you do. Not well enough. Do you want to be my little bitch pet or do you want to be a handler?”

“I want to be a handler.” Leo gulps. “Sir.” He doesn’t want this, not really, but it’s better than the alternative.

“Okay. We have to solidify that, though. 501’s punishment was interrupted. Not only was that a behavioral adjustment for her, it was also a test of combining the green stuff and the shock machine. We’re missing data now.”

Leo doesn’t like this, not at all. 

“Your discipline for allowing 501 to escape and damage handlers and equipment is to undergo 501’s punishment for her. I don’t think you’ll ever want to help the trainees after that. Handler Greco will administer. Then, you’ll be on two-day leave and I expect to see you back here with a brand new attitude.” His face softens, just for a minute. Maybe it’s from pain, maybe he’s thinking about his favorite trainee, the pretty boy with the silver eyes. “I don’t want to see you here again. Ever.”

It’s a general understanding that handlers who go rogue, start questioning the morality of keeping the trainees locked up like this, try to circumvent the system to get the pets out never see their friends and family again. 

They end up on their knees wearing a white shirt, black shorts, and a shock collar. 

Leo’s already one for four. 

“Move him quietly,” Handler Thomas tells Greco. “If any of the trainees see a handler being treated like this, we’ll have widespread chaos on our hands. Handler Bright, is there any more documentation necessary for the conclusion of this hearing?”

Handler Bright scans the paper he’s been filling out. “Not to my knowledge. I’ll need Committee signatures once we conclude. Is there anything that should be redacted or…removed?”

Handler Thomas sighs. “Take out where Handlers Robinson, Paisley, and Dennison were talking to Handler-in-Training Finch. And where they hit him.”

Leo bites his bottom lip and stays on his knees. They can’t do this. They can’t just make it all go away that easily.”

“Okay. I’ll remove that part.”

What else have they redacted? They shouldn’t be able to do it that casually, just taking out where they forced Leo to his knees. How many times have they removed worse from their files?

The part that turns Leo’s stomach isn’t that they can redact whatever. It’s that they can redact things. That they know what they do is wrong, and they choose it anyways, over and over again. 

Isn’t that what Leo’s doing? He’s not going too end up as a pet so instead, he becomes a monster, just like the handlers sitting in front of him. 

He chose this. 

“Meeting adjourned,” Handler Thomas says. “Handler Greco, make sure you give Handler-in-Training Finch a proper demonstration of how a pet should be secured.”