#handler dennison

“I had a false memory.” 479 clears his throat and the ground is blurry beneath him. “I remembered flashing lights and loud music…I remembered someone taking my hand and pulling me outside. I remember feeling free. And then I saw the man and he was kissing me.” He sniffles, wiping his eyes. “Did I…did I live outside? Have I seen the outside?”

“No, you haven’t.” He makes some notes on his clipboard. “You’ve always been here. You’ve always been 479. You haven’t kissed any other men than me, have you?”

The tone in Handler Dennison’s voice…it’s dark, it’s dangerous, it’s too much. Nothing good ever comes when he sounds like that. 479 has watched him make other pets scream, watched him draw blood. He doesn’t like when Handler Dennison sounds like that. “No, Handler. I haven’t kissed any other men than you.”

“And you’re not going to kiss any other men than me, right?”

“Well…my owner, Handler,” 479 stammers out. He’s being made for his owner. He’s supposed to be good for his owner. 

Handler Dennison scoffs and waves his hand. “Right, your owner. Sure. I don’t care about your prospective owner right now, slut.” 

479’s cheeks burn with the casual, degrading term. 

Handler Dennison clicks his pen once, twice, three times. “But you didn’t just have a false memory. You did something, baby. What did you do? Tell me.”

“Handler…” 479 squirms around, running his hand through his hair again. He doesn’t like this, but he doesn’t have a choice. “I made a mistake, Handler.”

“What kind of mistake, baby?”

“The false memory…it made me do something. It made me…” Shame. That’s all 479 feels is shame. Handler Dennison has been good to him. He’s made him better, and all he gets for it is 479’s misbehaviour. “I grabbed onto the man. I begged him to save me.”

“Save you from what?”

“Save me from…from here.”

Handler Dennison tilts his head.  “What’s there to save you from, baby? You’re lucky. You get food and water and shelter. You’re treated kindly, not like Handler Hanford’s trainees. You get treats and you get to go to dance classes and you get all of my attention. What exactly do you need saving from?”

479 crumples at Handler Dennison’s feet, gripping the man’s legs. “I don’t need saving, Handler,” he sobs, his chest so tight and empty. “I like it here. I like you. I need to be good for you.” There’s a difference between wanting and needing. He knows he needs to be good for Handler Dennison. But wanting…

He wants it too because he wants to be touched and held and loved. 

Handler Dennison holds 479’s chin, forcing the boy to look up at him. “Oh, sweetheart. It’s okay. I know that false memory must have been distressing you. I don’t want to punish you if you promise me you won’t ask to leave again.”

479 nods as fast as he can. He doesn’t want to be a bad pet. He doesn’t want to be punished. 

Handler Dennison lifts 479 onto his lap, holding the boy to his chest and rubbing his back. “There, there. It’s okay. I promise. I’ve got you. Just relax.”

479 leans against his handler, his heart racing. Safe…he has to feel safe. This is right. This is the way things are supposed to be. 

Dennison flops down at his desk, lacing his hands behind his head. Rough day at work. He went to check his boy out in the morning. 479 was as beautiful as ever, with those confused, doe-like silver eyes and his messy black hair. All he wanted to do was take advantage of the sweet little thing, but it’s too early for that. Unfortunately, 479 is just a patient in the clinic, not a trainee. At least, not yet. The rest of the day was filled with a bunch of Romantics, all eager and docile, but none as sweet as his 479. 

All day, he was dealing with those trainees, and all day, he was thinking about this exact moment. What to say, what to do, what words to use to really sell this. He flips open 479’s file and finds the number of his owner, one Levi Katz. That bastard didn’t know just how valuable his boy really is. Dennison let 479 slip through his fingers once. He won’t let it happen again. He picks up his phone and dials the number, placing it to his ear. 

It rings for a few moments, but eventually, someone picks up. “Hello?” Levi answers. “Who is this?”

Dennison smiles his widest even though the man can’t see him. “Hello, Mr. Katz. My name is Handler Patrick Dennison with WRU Romantics Division. How are you?”

Levi sighs, his voice scratchy through the phone. He sounds old, much older than Dennison. A shame, really. 479 would do better with someone young. Someone to match his…stamina. “I’m fine, Handler Dennison. How’s Hermes?”

“Oh, 588479 is recovering nicely. I’m sure the staff at the clinic will be calling you to give a more thorough medical update on the pet’s condition. I’m not very well versed on that sort of thing.” He forces a chuckle, knowing it sounds real enough to build rapport. “What I’m calling about, Mr. Katz, is more about after 479 is released from medical care. I’m a Senior Handler here, which means I have quite a lot of experience evaluating Romantics. I went in recently to evaluate how this injury of his will impact his ability to function as a Romantic. We here at WRU take our finished products very seriously, and if anything less than perfect was delivered back to your care, we simply could not stand for that.” Dennison leans forward, shuffling some papers on his desk to make it seem more convincing. “Now, when I evaluated 479—Hermes—it was clear to me that he is in desperate need of a refresher course. Just the basics, he won’t be gone long. Positions, pleasure skills, obedience.”

Levi pauses, but eventually, he says, “Okay. I trust your decision, Handler. Do what you need to do. Make sure Hermes is allowed to continue his reading. It’s important he maintains that skill.”

“Oh, oh, Mr. Katz, of course. 479 is very unique in that regard. Here at WRU, pet customisation is of the utmost importance.” Here it is. Time to move in for the kill. Dennison takes a deep breath, knowing he has to sell this hard to really get his boy to stay a little while longer. “Customisation is the other thing I’d like to discuss. WRU has made a lot of changes to our Romantic curriculum since 479 was trained. We are now proud to offer several new packages and add ons to enhance your pet. I took the liberty of selecting a few options if you’d like to hear them?”

“How much is this going to cost?” Levi asks. “I’ve already spent a fortune on Hermes. Training, medicine, jewelry, it adds up.”

Dennison laughs. “I completely understand that, Mr. Katz. Having the best of the best can be a costly venture. But to be honest with you, 479 was an absolute doll to train. A true pleasure. I would consider it an honor to have him again. Because of that, I’m willing to offer you a discount. Twenty percent off all services. It’s the biggest discount we offer owners, Mr. Katz.”

“Yeah, okay,” Levi grumbles. “Let’s hear it.”

“Wonderful.” The twenty percent off worked like a charm, Dennison knew it would. “I’m more than happy to send a full packet of options over your way, but I would hate to waste your very valuable time, Mr. Katz. I’ve come up with the additional services that I think would be best suited to 479 and to your needs. I won’t bore you with technical terms. He’ll benefit greatly from our Romantic-specific general enhancement package, which reinforces and builds on Romantic skills. I also would recommend our dictation add on. I know you like having 479 read to you. This is a small add on, but it’ll really add eloquence to his speech. Our speech trainers here can make him sound like he’s telling a story instead of just reading words off a page. This will all take about a month, but that timeline isn’t set in stone. I’d need your permission to evaluate him.”

“Can you…” Levi sighs, Dennison can imagine the old bastard pinching his nose and missing his Romantic. “Can you train him to beg better? Like…he’s sweet when he begs, but he doesn’t know a lot of different ways to do it? And I’d like a refresher on his classical ballet training. Just to be safe in case his illness damaged his skills.”

Oh, this is perfect. Absolutely perfect. Dennison wasn’t expecting this much, if anything, he wasn’t sure Levi would go for this at all. But two more add ons? He’ll get so much more time with 479 and he’ll get a nice bonus at the end of the year. “Of course, Mr. Katz. Begging and classical ballet, in addition to the Romantic-specific general enhancement package and the dictation package.”

“Yes, that’s fine. Have your people send the bill to my house.” 

“Same place we sent your pet, or have you moved since, Mr. Katz?” Dennison says, typing up the order request to get it approved. 

“Same address you have on file. Will you be his primary handler, or will his training go to someone else?” 

Dennison grins, imagining how wonderful it will be to have his boy under his desk again. “That’s right. I’m emailing you consent forms right now to continue training your pet, and if you sign those tonight, I’ll evaluate your pet tomorrow morning and give you a call right after.”

“Sounds perfect, Handler Dennison. Thank you for calling me and notifying me of my options. That’s what makes WRU worth the price, you know. Good customer service. Have a good night.”

Dennison hangs up and sets the phone down. Customer service. It makes him laugh a little bit. Levi doesn’t know just how much worth his delectable little pet has, and he gave him up without a struggle. Dennison will get at least two months, maybe more with 479 cuddling up to him, eating out of his fucking hand. 

He hasn’t been able to stop thinking about 479. It’s affected everything, relationships, work, sex life. No other trainee has come even close to that perfection, that desirability. Having 479 back in his care will either kick his addiction to the pet or make it so much worse, but Dennison doesn’t care. 

Handler Dennison scratches his boy’s pretty black hair, making gentle noises under his breath. 479 hums and leans into the touch, his silvery eyes fluttering open and closed behind his thick eyelashes. 

“There’s my sweet thing,” Handler Dennison coos. “There’s my good little pet. Can you come back to me, baby boy? Come back to me.”

479 groans weakly. “Hurts, Handler Dennison.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I went too far. I pushed you too far. Can you forgive me, pet? I wanna hear you say it.”

479 shudders, his lips pursing to form the words. “I forgive you, Handler. Thank you for...for treating me well.”

“You’re so precious. I want to keep you here with me forever.”

479 stiffens, knowing what normally follows those words, knowing he’ll have to take the pain and whatever else Handler Dennison gives him. 

Handler Dennison clicks his tongue and gently massages 479’s shoulders. “Oh, not that now, baby boy. You’ve earned the night off, I think.”

“Thank you, Handler,” 479 sobs. 

“What can I get for you? Just say the word. Within reason, of course.” Handler Dennison adds the last part with a light chuckle. 

479’s face scrunches up in confusion. His...choice? He picks what he wants?

Handler Dennison lightly taps the side of his face. “Don’t do that. You’ll get wrinkles.”

479 carefully schools his face back down into a relaxed, practiced smile. “Sorry, Handler.”

“It’s okay, baby boy. Now, what do you want for a reward?”

It has to be a trick question. Has to be. He’s not a person, he’s a pet, and pets are too stupid to choose for themselves. “I want whatever you want, Handler Dennison,” he says, batting his eyelashes. 

Handler Dennison scoffs. “None of that now. I’m trying to reward you. But if you really want me to pick…”

479 nods rapidly, then winces as his neck twinges in pain. “Please, Handler Dennison. Please pick for me.”

Handler Dennison leans down to affectionately kiss the trainee’s temple. “Alright, fine. I’ll still spoil you, though. You’re lucky I’m this patient. One second, baby. Gotta go grab it.”

479 whines as Handler Dennison pulls away, shivering as his warm headrest leaves. No other handlers do this for their trainees. 479 is so lucky he gets to lay on Handler Dennison’s lap like royalty and get rewarded. 

Handler Dennison comes back, maneuvering 479’s pliant body so his head is resting on his lap. “Close your eyes and open up, baby.”

479’s heart drops. It’s not a reward, it’s a punishment, is it the ring gag again, not that, please no—

He closes his eyes and opens his mouth because he’s so good. It isn’t pain that greets him, it’s something sweet and sugary and cinnamon, and a few other flavors he can’t name because he’s not very smart. It’s soft and delicious and fills 479 up with warmth. He keeps his eyes closed and wiggles around in contentedness. 

“Open your eyes.”

479 does, looking right up at his handler. 

Handler Dennison groans. “I love when you do that. Love those eyes, pretty boy. Did you enjoy your treat?”

“Yes, Handler. Thank you.”

Handler Dennison feeds the trainee another piece. This one has a bit of frosting on it, 479 hums happily as he chews. “It’s gingerbread. Made it myself. Do you like it?”

479 nods. He’s so happy, he’s so good, Handler Dennison is so kind. 

The man ruffles his trainee’s hair. “Good boy. We’re just gonna sit, okay? I promise. I won’t hurt you.”

For the next two hours, 479 gets a reprieve from the vicious white walls of the Facility, gets to eat gingerbread and stay cozy in a blanket. Sometimes, he can hear screaming coming from beyond the door, but he ignores it. Those pets are bad. But he’s good, so he gets spoiled. 

479 would give up everything to be allowed to eat out of Handler Dennison’s hand. 

He sticks his thumb out and the boy leans forward to close his thumb around it. No teeth. Wonderful. Dennison pushes his thumb further into 479’s mouth. “Yeah, you’re good. So good.” He pulls his thumb back and wipes it off on 479’s shirt. 

479 whines at the loss, sticking his lower lip our and slumping forward against Dennison’s chest. 

Dennison laughs. “That’s cute.” Would the boy from the bar all those months ago, the high little spitfire, have done this for him? He’ll never know and part of him mourns that. “Alright, baby. I’ve got to get you back to your room.”

“No,” 479 whimpers. “Don’t leave.”

Dennison frowns. “You’re not allowed to say no, 479. And you were doing so good for me. Why’d you have to ruin it, huh? Why’d you have to go and say no?”

479 squeezes his eyes shit, a tear spilling down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Handler Dennison, please punish me, just please. Don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

His heart is breaking for the poor boy, it really is but he needs to make sure 479 learns his lesson. Pets don’t get to say no. They sign that away when they say yes to the contract. Dennison won’t be leaving his beautiful boy alone any time soon. He pushes 479 to the floor. “Position two, and put your hands behind your head. I think ten baton hits should suffice for your bratting.”

“Yes, Handler Dennison,” the boy whimpers, quickly moving into position.

“You’re going to count for me, I want to hear your pretty little voice.” Dennison stands up, circling his trainee. “Nothing fancy, just counting.” Damn, he’s in a mood today, fingers itching to his baton. He wants to beat 479 to a bloody pulp, he wants to cuddle him, he wants to break each of the boy’s fingers, he wants to kiss him stupid. 

“Yes, Handler.”

Dennison knows his boy doesn’t actually like the pain. He doesn’t train masochists like James Hanford down the hall does. 479 is just…lonely. And, apparently, needing behavioral correction. Dennison doesn’t turn the electricity on, rearing his arm back and striking 479 in the side. 

The trainee stiffens with the blow and chokes out, “One.”

“Good boy.” Dennison wants to fuck up 479 so bad that the jackass of a prospective, Levi Katz, won’t want him anymore. But he values his job too much. 

Dennison delivers another hit to the trainee’s back, and one across his shoulder blades, earning the correct numbers in response. “Good. Seven more.” Another hit.

The trainee’s voice wobbles. “F-four.”

“Steady, sweetness. If you’re good, I’ll take care of you after.” That doesn’t mean Dennison’s going to go easy. He slams the baton into 479’s ribs, and the trainee almost topples over, fighting the urge to lower his arms to protect himself. 

He doesn’t move, though. “Five.”

Dennison smiles wide. 479 takes the final hits well, his voice high pitched as he cries out, “Ten!”

“Relax, 479. Good job.” Dennison ruffles 479’s hair. “I’ve got you.”

“Thank you, Handler.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you on the heating mat, okay? You were such a good boy today.”

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.” 

Leo steps down to where her ankles need to be fastened to the end of the dental chair, leaned back slightly. The girl’s legs are exposed in her black shorts: welts from James Hanford’s baton, a grotesquely swollen left knee, and bright red chafe marks from the metal restraints normally locked around her ankles. Leo winces at the sight, and buckles the leather straps more than a few notches loose. 

James stepped out of the room to grab Patrick Dennison from his lunch break to see this display with 501. Leo’s been put in charge of prepping the trainee for today’s test. 

She flexes her hands into fists, the only movement. Sometimes, he thinks she’s dead, how she barely moves. 501 just watches and waits for the right time to fight back. 

Leo doesn’t blame her. Not with the way James treats her. 

He slides his tray over to her and picks up a needle. “Okay. I’m going to start looking for a good injection site, alright?”

She stares stonily at him. With James, she’s a little more of a spitfire, but being away from her bonded puts her on edge. 

Leo puts on purple latex gloves before feeling around her hand. She’s been under the needle a few too many times this week, and her hands are showing it. He frowns when he can’t find a good, unblemished spot. He tries the other hand. Nothing. Both elbows and feet. Nothing. He would call the medical team, but they’re not allowed to interact with 501 unless she’s heavily sedated, and that would disrupt today’s training plans. 

Leo pulls out his keycard and holds it to the sensor on 501’s collar. With a faint beep, it comes undone, and Leo puts it on the table. 501 shudders at the loss, turning her head side to side.

“Hey, hey, stop that,” Leo says, putting a hand on her cheek. “I took your collar off, so you won’t get in trouble. It was my decision. I’m going to do the injection in your neck, okay?” His throat locks. “If you stay still, I won’t have to get Handler Hanford.”

He hates himself more every day he does this job. Every time he has to say pets instead of people. When he has a girl who’s two months younger than him, just barely nineteen, tied to a dental chair to be hurt. 

The girl narrows her eyes at him but goes still, baring her neck. Leo presses around with two fingers before finding a vein. “There we go. Stay still.” He cleans the site up with a cold antiseptic before pressing the needle in. 

She doesn’t flinch. He thinks it’d be better if she flinched, or cried, or did something to show that she didn’t like it. 

Leo tapes it down and makes sure her restraints are still comfortable, just as the door swings open. 

James and Dennison walk in. Dennison is almost half a foot taller than James, and a lot more muscular, but Leo supposes that James makes up for it in fury. 

“I’m sorry, I had to do the injection in her neck,” Leo explains. “She’s had too many IVs and drugs recently. And I ungagged her too, she was drooling so much the electrodes wouldn’t stick.” The second one is a lie, but James is never going to know. 

“Yeah, well, she shouldn’t have forgotten position 13 four days ago.” James leaves the door unlocked. “Greco might come by later when she’s out of it. Scare the shit out of her.”

Dennison walks over to the dental chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“We’re not doing much today,” James says. He rolls a machine out from the corner and starts untangling the electrode wires. “Put some of these on her head. Leo, push twenty milligrams of the green stuff.”

The hypersensitivity drug. It’s still in the testing phases, no one has any idea of the long term affects. But 501 hasn’t had any adverse reactions to it yet, so she takes a full dose. It’s supposed to make every single feeling the trainees experience even more powerful, pain, pleasure, the clothes against their skin. Makes 501 half-crazy.

Dennison sticks electrodes onto the girl’s forehead while James puts them on her stomach. 

501 is already sweating, shifting around in her restraints as her pupils blow wide. 

“I should try this on my boy,” Dennison says with a faint smile. 

“Yeah, see, but you’re boring. You’d be all soft and cuddly and shit. We’re just gonna shock her until she cries.”

“My boy’s a masterpiece. 501 is…”

James laughs. “Yeah. You don’t need to tell me that she’s a fucking disaster.”

Leo shifts around, torn between saying something to defend the girl or staying quiet. Either way, she’s still getting shocked. He’s already on thin ice with James after being caught giving 236 extra scraps of bread from the employee lounge and giving 501 painkillers and letting both of them catch a thirty minute nap while James was at lunch and…

He sees the point. 

James puts more electrodes on 501’s arms while Dennison works on her legs. She’s whining when the men touch her. It must feel like fire on her skin, the way she’s sweating and squirming. 

Leo is glad he left the restraints loose, otherwise the leather on her chafed skin would be hell.

The last of the electrodes go on, followed by her sharp whine from James pinching the girl’s skin. 

Dennison laughs. “Shit. Now you’re really making me want to try the green stuff on 479. He’d sound gorgeous.”

James moves to stand by the source of the electrodes, his jaw clenched. There’s a dangerous look in his eye, spitting fire down at the weak trainee. “I don’t care about her sounding pretty. I wanna hear her fucking scream.”

Leo takes a step backwards, colliding with the table. Isn’t there supposed to be a clear reason to hurt them? The trainees, the pets, whatever Leo is supposed to call them? And shouldn’t there be a system to make sure that the handlers don’t get to take the…the pets on a joyride? 

Not for Senior Handlers Dennison and Hanford, both with spotless records and friends among the higher-ups. 

“Charging,” James says, switching on the machine. “We’ll start at five and work our way to ten.”

The green stuff doesn’t take away a trainee’s lucidity, so 501 whimpers as she registers their words. Leo is shaking and desperately wishing he brought earplugs so he didn’t have to hear her scream. 

“Five more seconds,” James mutters.

Trainee 501 bolts up, knocking her head against Dennison’s. The man stumbles back, blood gushing from his mouth. “Fuck!” he yells. 

501 slipped her restraints. 

501 slipped her restraints because Leo didn’t tighten them enough.

The electrodes rip from her skin as she stands up, shaking herself out of her ankle restraints. She jumps on Dennison’s back, clawing at his neck. 

“Shock her!” James roars at Leo. 

His heart is pounding, he’s terrified of 501 and James and what happens after. “I can’t! I took her collar off!”

When 501 only manages to draw a little blood from her short nails, she bites down on the man’s neck while kneeing him in the spine.

Leo took the gag off 501. 

Dennison makes a strangled noise, sounding more animal than human. 501 pulls her head back and spits something on the floor. 

501 bit a chunk off Dennison’s neck because Leo took her gag off. 

She jumps off his back, but maintains her grip on his shoulders to kick him hard in the back. Dennison folds like a card, his head slamming against the floor. 

“Dennison.” James says softly. 

He doesn’t answer. 

501 retrieves his shock baton from his belt and starts approaching James. 

Leo wants to go invisible, he wants to pretend this isn’t happening. 

James pulls out his baton. “Stand down, puppy,” he says with a nervous glance back at Dennison.

The man isn’t getting up. 

“Not…your…fucking…puppy!” 501 yells, launching forward with a strike. 

Hypersensitivity is hell. 501 must be dying, all those feelings on her skin, a single bead of sweat could be short-circuiting her brain. But it’s also making her more alert. 

James should be able to take her down with one strike. He does taekwondo on the weekends and he’s widely known for being able to subdue even the unruliest of Guard Dogs. But somehow, each of his attempts to stop 501 is blocked easily by the girl. She pushes forward with an extra surge, swinging from a block to hit James in the side with the baton at full power. 

James screams like his throat is being ripped out and falls over. 501 kicks him in the groin, and at that, he sobs and curls up, giving 501 the chance to strike him in the head so he’s too dazed to move. 

There’s a split second pause while 501 catches her breath until she turns to Leo. She walks forward, and Leo’s heart is hammering into his ribs, she’s going to kill him—

She swings the baton down on the machine over and over and over until it’s just a mess of parts and cracked plastic. 

She’s moving again, closer and closer. 

Just to slam the baton on the remaining vial of the green stuff, spilling the liquid everywhere. 

501 drops the baton. It clatters to the floor amidst the chorus of safe safe safe safe in Leo’s brain. 

He’s going to be okay.

501 reaches out to him, and Leo smiles reassuringly.

Her hands wrap around his throat and his eyes fly open. She has to reach up to get to his neck, but she’s choking him, her grip strong and unyielding. 

It doesn’t matter what he does. He’s always going to be a handler to her. 

Her pupils are blown out, almost completely obscuring her irises. She must be suffering so much in there, Leo can tell from how much she’s trembling and breathing heavily. 

“Stop,” he croaks out. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

She puts more pressure on his neck in response. 

It takes longer for him to go limp than he thought. They stare at each other for several minutes as Leo’s vision starts to go and he loses feeling in his limbs.

501 drops him when his vision is completely grayed out and he can’t move. From his sideways, blurry angle on the floor, he sees 501 pick back up the baton and start walking out the door. 

He has to get up.

Dennison is unconscious and James won’t be moving for a while and it’s up to him to go get 501 back. They’re both fucked. This never would have happened if James did the restraints. He’s going to be reprimanded severely. He might even get reassigned. 

Nothing compared to the pain 501 is going to get for escaping. Good trainees sit there and take it. 

Leo takes deep breaths. Bruises are already forming on his pale, freckled skin, almost like a collar.

He should have left the collar on. He should have left the gag on. He should have tightened the restraints all the way and even added some. 

Slowly, Leo manages to drag himself to his feet, bent over, and he holds onto the wall and makes his way into the hallway. 

There’s a loud commotion going on down the hall. Leo makes his way to the source of the noise, wheezing pathetically. 

501 is being held in the air by five different Guard Dog handlers. Four of them have one of her limbs each and Handler Greco is holding her head, fitting a thick leather muzzle over her face as she thrashes and screams. Once the muzzle’s on and she’s quiet, Greco reaches in his pocket to get a syringe of powerful sedatives, enough to knock out a Guard Dog twice 501’s size. He pops off the cap and jams it into 501’s neck. 

The handlers relax, and one picks up 501’s limp body and slings her over his shoulder. 

Greco lays eyes on Leo and his nostrils flare. “What the fuck did you do, kid?”

Leo’s face is bright red, not just from being strangled. 

“Shit. James and Dennison.” He takes off down the hallway towards the training room. Leo limps behind to follow him, but he’s farther behind. When he gets back to the training room, Greco is on his knees next to Dennison, talking on the radio. 

“We need medical. Two stretchers, and I’ll be sending someone else down. Three handlers injured, two in pretty bad condition. The trainee was fine. She’s in solitary now.”

“On our way.”

“10-4.” Greco sets his radio down and looks up at Leo. “You fucked up, didn’t you?”

Leo nods. 

Greco sighs. “Alright. Walk your ass down to medical. You’re going to stay there until you’re cleared and we put together the Committee to review this. And, you know. When James comes to.”

“I’m sorry,” Leo whispers, running his hand over his throat.