The members dragged Steaky through the enormous hallway and around a corner as Alan-a-dale trailed close behind them. The corridor was significantly smaller than the expansive location of before, and the group of kidnapees had to squeeze closer together to avoid the rusting, dusty, mold coated walls. Alan ignored their minor complaints and slowed pace. He was more eager to see how little ol' Steaky would break under the pressure. He had a feeling that this member in particular would be the most fun he'd had in a long while. The group rounded another corner, and descended a short flight of stairs. Every now and then, Steaky would manage to squirm out of their arms for a moment and make a break for it, but would be quickly snatched up before he had the chance to make any proper headway.

The corridor they entered had a low, oppressive ceiling and pipes lining the walls. The doors were heavy and sealed with gargantuan vault latches. The gang came to a halt and Alan motioned to the nearest door. The members hurled the object inside and marched in after him.

Alan stood in the doorway. "I say we start by dealing with that disgusting mouth of his. He must be punished for the vile things that spewed from it. This obscene child requires a Healthier maw. After that, you are permitted to move on to our more traditional education."

Alan left them behind, eased the door shut, and locked them in. He leaned against the wall and relaxed. Now all they had to do was wait.

...

The screaming is the most fascinating part. They always start the same, with begging to stop and promising to do better next time. Of course, that's always a lie. Even if you let them loose at that, they would keep no such promise. To TRULY make sure they do what you ask, you are required to let the message sink in. The child's screaming and shrieking quickly devolved into incomprehensible wails and cries; he probably couldn't talk properly anymore on account of his mouth being deformed, just as ordered. After about 7 hours, the screaming stopped and he went deathly quiet. Of course, he wasn't dead. The members were experts at keeping them alive. If Alan had to hazard a guess, the child was just exhausted. But students of re-education were granted no such luxuries like rest. Not until the educators needed it themselves.

After another hour they decided to retire for the day and continue tomorrow. However, they cycled in shifts to make sure the child stayed up all through the night.

The next day held far more excitement. This was when they'd start TRUE re-education. They had formulated a perfect set of curriculum for all incoming members that they used for this specific circumstance. For the next several hours, they'd make sure he'd associate their teachings with rewards, and disagreement with pain, whether he wanted to or not. It was nonstop, unrelenting, heavy. The rewards devolved into little more than a grin in his general direction, but it was far better than the punishments.

The child was a particularly stubborn sort of kid. Most re-education sessions lasted a few days. His lasted a week. Alan did not fully understand. The faster he submitted, the sooner he would be allowed to rest. But perhaps this was for the best. As the lessons dragged on and on and on and on, the child responded faster and faster every time, but he would still dare to slip up.

At least they'd be sure that he'd be useful. They quickly forced him to associate pain with the snap of the fingers. It was almost hilarious the way such a simple thing could affect one so easily.

On about day six, he seemed to finally understand the curriculum and they could move on to any final incentives. They couldn't have him shying away from violence, so they reinforced the triggers into his psyche to make sure he'd listen. Doubling down on the snapping, and a few backup motions in case that somehow failed, seemed to be working wonders.

Alan-a-dale was assured in the fact that the child would soon be corrupted. Not by the act of re-education itself, but by whatever they'd have him next assigned. He pondered what human name they would give him. He was planning to make an excellent executioner, or rather, butcher out of him. What's a good butcher's name?

Ah, it was finally time for him to walk out.

...

Steaky could not stand up, his body hurt too much. The door was wide open, full of cold light beckoning him forward and he could barely put himself into a crawling position. After a few failures of propping himself up with his elbows, he opted to give up. It was better to lie here and die on the cold metal floor, wasn't it. His mouth hadn't stopped hurting, and he couldn't close it. He knew some of his teeth were missing, and he could feel the skin that had been peeled back to leave nothing but sinew and muscle. Bony hands slid underneath his arms and hooked around him. He someone dragged him to his feet and apathetically guided him forward.

Alan-a-dale was inviting him towards the bright corridor, or did it only seem so bright because the room was so dark? His eyes wanted to bleed and pop out of his skull. Why couldn't he just fall into blindness and never have to see this horrid place and these cruel people again? Steaky shivered and swayed as he was practically dropped in front of the older object. He was inched closer to him.

Something dropped to the ground, landing between his shaking hands. It was a strange, red piece of cloth with strings attached to it. When he didn't react, someone picked it up and tied it around his mouth. Ah, it was a face mask. Was it for protection? Or did they just not want anyone to stare at him. He couldn't see either of those options being true. Steaky picked at the mask weakly. It stung his raw wound.

He couldn't bear to look into Alan's eyes. Could he even lift his head? It was so heavy. It was all so heavy. Even his eyelids were heavy.

"Hm. You all did a magnificent job. He seems absolutely perfect..."

The other members clapped in excitement. It was always so interesting to have a REAL new member. Not one of those fakes that waited on the surface. The claps were like explosions in Steaky's ears.

"You know child, we have big plans for you." He leaned over to face him. "I have been thinking you will make a good butcher. You will need a new name to fit in with us. What do you think is a good butcher's name?"

Steaky didn't respond. He couldn't tell whether he was hearing Alan or not. Part of him wanted to believe he was just hallucinating any words that came out of the elder's mouth.

Alan placed his hand under Steaky's chin. "I think Pete is a good butcher's name, do you all agree?" The others nodded in agreement. "Yes, that is a good name. Pete. Pete the Steak. That is your name."

Pete didn't respond.

"Answer me, is your name Steaky?"

He shook his head slowly. It took too much effort. He had to agree. It would be more effort to survive their anger if he disagreed.

"Very good." Alan drifted away from him, as if he was walking through a dream. "It would be perfect if you all showed him to our REAL quarters."

The group escorted him out the corridor.