p0k3ts1z3

        It took every bit of the mental training from years past to control my mind at that point. They called it "Baptism", funny, I remember my father telling me stories about his baptism years ago. A celebratory event, a congregation standing around as you receive encouraging words before getting submerged in a comfortably warm bathtub. Not this. The high-pitched whistle of a bone-drill spinning at the base of my skull turned my stomach inside out. Like the brother from my childhood was standing over me with an extended finger chiming "I'm not touching you" in that obnoxious tone he always made. For this to work I had to remain calm and qu