In the neon-slicked interior of the bowling alley, the atmosphere had shifted from a celebration to a forced march. The only way to stop the visceral, rhythmic beatdown Sono was delivering to the broken Eric was for every freshman to comply. One by one, those who had spent the night clutching their black velvet pouches with trembling hands finally relented. Under the cold, watchful eyes of the seniors, they swallowed the blue pills, the bitterness of the chemical coating a sharp reminder of their own helplessness.
It took only a few minutes for the wave to hit. It started as a subtle warmth at the base of the skull before radiating through their limbs. Suddenly, their feet felt impossibly light, as if the gravity of the room had been dialed back. Their mouths lifted into natural, involuntary smiles, and a wave of giggles rippled through the business department students. The colors of the bowling alley became more vibrant, the music more rhythmic, and the fear that had paralyzed them moments ago began to dissolve into a hazy, euphoric fog.
Yet, beneath the artificial joy, a terrifying realization lingered: they weren’t in control. It felt as if they were passengers in their own bodies, watching from a distance as they laughed and danced. The seniors, sensing the transition, moved in like predators, pushing drinks down the freshmen’s throats to amplify the effect. It was going to be a long, blurred night of forced hedonism.
"This is good. Everything is going exactly how it should," Donto remarked, leaning back against a sleek card table as he surveyed the room. His eyes were cold, devoid of the chemical joy he was peddling. "No disturbances, no more heroes. We know the best way to prevent problems is to make sure everyone is on the same team. Total compliance."
He turned to a group of seniors from the rugby and soccer clubs, his voice dropping to a low, authoritative rasp. "You know what to do with the ones who couldn’t make it today. We can’t have any gaps in the net."
Eventually, the party sputtered to an end in the early hours of the morning. The freshmen were herded back toward their dorm rooms like cattle. Other than the brutal suppression of Eric, nothing else had "happened", no grand speeches, no further violence. Just the pills.
Yovan and Talia barely made it back to their shared dorm room. Their movements were jerky and uncoordinated as they fumbled with the key, managed to lock the door, and collapsed onto their respective beds, passing out before their heads even hit the pillows.
When they finally woke up the next morning, their alarms had been blaring for a solid ten minutes. The sound was like a physical blow to their eardrums. Talia groaned, her whole body feeling heavy and groggy, as if her blood had been replaced with lead. Her head was ringing with a dull, persistent ache that made every flicker of sunlight through the blinds feel like a needle.
They felt terrible, a profound lack of energy that went beyond a simple hangover. Every fiber of their being screamed for them to stay under the covers and hide from the day.
"Talia... you’re okay, right?" Yovan rasped, finally dragging herself to the bathroom. She splashed freezing water on her face, but it did little to clear the fog in her mind.
"I’m up... I just can’t really find the strength to move," Talia replied, her voice hollow. She stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the night. "I don’t think this is just the drinks. I did everything I could to avoid the alcohol. I was secretly pouring my cups into the toilets or spilling them in the corners when no one was looking."
If it wasn’t the alcohol, there was only one culprit: the blue pill. Talia reached into her trouser pocket and pulled out the small black pouch. She peered inside and saw the two remaining blue pills resting at the bottom. As she stared at the vibrant color, a treacherous thought brushed against her mind. She remembered the refreshing, invincible feeling she had experienced the night before, the way the world had felt bright and the fear had vanished. She wondered, just for a fleeting second, if taking another one would make this crushing grogginess disappear.
"They’re clearly some sort of synthetic drug," Yovan said, stumbling back into the room and grabbing her bag. "Come on, let’s get going. We’re already late, and we don’t want to give the seniors another reason to target us."
The two of them headed toward the business department, expecting the lecture hall to be half-empty. To their surprise, as they entered, they saw a weak-looking Steve already in his seat. He was pale and leaning heavily on his desk, engaged in a low-intensity conversation with Max.
"Yeah, so that’s what happened at the event," Steve was saying, scratching the back of his head nervously. "It was crazy, Max. This guy named Eric... he tried to help us, but he ended up in the hospital. The seniors... they’re on another level."
"What are you doing, Steve?" Yovan snapped as she walked over, her irritability heightened by her physical state. "Is there any point in telling this loser what happened? It’s not like he’s going to do anything. In fact, we’re probably all in this mess because he tried to play the hero yesterday. They said it clearly, they’re going to send someone after the ’no-shows’ to make sure everyone knows the cost of defiance."
Max sat quietly, absorbing the information. He recognized the tactics immediately. It was a sophisticated, leveled system of peer pressure, a psychological tool used by certain authoritative figures as a last resort to control a volatile group. Rather than trying to suppress a single rowdy individual, the entire collective is punished for that person’s actions. It turns the pupils into the enforcers, causing the majority to turn on the one outlier to protect themselves.
It was a strategy that only worked if the majority felt they had more to gain from compliance than from resistance. In this case, the "teachers" were Donto’s enforcers.
"You guys... those pills they gave you? Don’t take any more of them," Max said, his voice calm but firm. "They forced you to take the first one but gave you the other two on purpose. They want you to associate the ’high’ with the party and the ’low’ with the next morning. They know you’ll feel like this today, and they’re betting you’ll take the second one just to feel normal again."
Max leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "You might feel superhuman for an hour, or think you can use them to help you pull an all-nighter for your studies, but it’s a trap. Each time, the effect will lessen. You’ll need a bigger dose to reach the same height, and before you know it, you’ll be completely in the seniors’ pockets. You’ll do whatever they ask just to get the next pouch."
If this was Donto’s grand design, spreading this addiction across the thousands of students at this university and potentially others across the country, Max finally had a clear idea of how Donto was generating his massive, untraceable revenue. He wasn’t just a bully; he was a distributor.
"Alright, everyone!" A loud, booming voice shattered the quiet of the lecture hall. "I believe there was a specific individual who failed to show up for the mandatory festivities yesterday. Where exactly is Max Smith?"
The room went deathly silent. Everyone turned toward the door to see Sono, the rugby senior from the night before, standing in the entrance with a jagged, expectant grin. He looked perfectly fine, showing no signs of the fatigue that was currently crushing the freshmen.