Lily shrieks with pain, acute piercing pain. Dr. Andrews, writing meticulously on his sanitized clip board, looks up and purses his lips, then turns back to writing. Electric shock therapy, that was the way to go. It took ten seconds for Lily. Five for the waves to lick hungrily through her body and another five for it to reach her brain. And that was on the low setting, the high had not been tested yet. The guests sat all together on the stainless steel bench, stomachs sitting somewhere in their throats. Regretting walking through the door. And Dr. Andrews, hand and pen flying across stiff white paper, snickering inwardly at their cowardice but outwardly silent. The electric waves stop. Lily’s hands drop down and dangle loosely from her restraints. The red light goes off. The waves, which are the crowning glory of the physical phycology department, have caused Lily to scream and her body to jerk violently- these waves gradually disappear from her skin, flickering once or twice before dying out. These waves, unlike their primitive ancestors, have actually done a job of work, have been sickly responsible for a reaction. Thin air leaks from Lily’s dry mouth. The warm probes stuck on her skin buzz slightly for a while and then stop. The small pocket of her sanity unwarps itself little by little, serving as a small light in her ocean of black pain and confusion. Across from her, in the secure observation room, the watchers’ stomachs slowly begin to sink.