The Dab Experiment

Chapter One

 With the combination of the bags under my eyes from only getting two hours of sleep last night and the already half-drunk cup of coffee gripped in my hand, I gave off the stark impression to my coworkers not to be talked to. Not that I was complaining, anyways- I really didn't want to talk to anyone just as much as they didn't want to talk to me. I was exhausted, and I really, really didn't want to be at work.

And yet here I was, pushing open the door to my office. I scanned the room briefly, immediately feeling like something was off. There were incidents in the past of coworkers pranking each other by stealing items or moving things around, but I didn't feel like this was that. Besides, my coworkers never played around with me anyways. They knew better than that, because if someone touched my stapler, I'd touch their delicious home cooked meal sitting in the break room fridge. I don't play.

No, the thing that seemed so off, I discovered quickly, was the bright white piece of printer paper that was sitting neatly on my office desk. I sat down my coffee next to the paper, picking it up after. The writing on it was nearly chicken scratch and was clearly wrote with a damn near completely dry black Expo marker:

"Shilo - come to my office ASAP, will be assigning you a new client."

Taking in a deep breath, I crumpled the paper and tossed it in the bin next to my desk. I wasn't supposed to be getting a new client- at least not to my knowledge. I was assigned to Kiki Chanel a few weeks ago - a woman who had somehow wound herself in jail for one of the dumbest possible reasons - and was told to just focus on her. Not like I had any clients to drop, usually they complain about my bluntness and ask to be switched to another therapist.

Oh, yeah. I guess I never explained my work, did I? I work as a therapist in the city of Los Santos for citizens who have been sent to prison, or jail, or even just held in custody. My actual job is to try to get criminals to confess to murders by acting like I understand their pain, but no one wants to admit to that. However, we are there for all criminals. Ones who have already confessed, ones who haven't, ones who have told me to my face that given the chance they would blow my brains out. Immediately. With no doubt, whatsoever. A lovely job, really.

With those thoughts of my past clients on my mind, I headed towards my boss' door. I debated whether or not to tell him that I wanted to keep my current client or not. I actually quite liked Kiki, she had a sort of fiery attitude about her, and the way that she held herself was a refreshing sight to see. Plus, she was fucking hilarious- sessions with her made it hard for me to remain professional. In another life, maybe we were good friends. At the end of the day, though, it isn't like I really had a choice to begin with. I got assigned to whoever I got assigned to, and they can be switched or replaced with whoever my boss deemed fitting.

After turning a few quick corners, I reached his door. I reached to push it open, but almost instantly he was standing on the opposite side, opening the door for me. "I am so glad to see you!" He said, nearly with a cheerful tone. "I bet you are," I replied, stepping into the room and taking a seat in front of his desk. I almost felt like a child at the principal's office, although I didn't know quite why.

"So, about your current client." He began immediately, maneuvering around his desk to sit down at his own chair. "What's her name again?" For a split second, I took him serious, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward a few seconds after he spoke. "I'm kidding. Kiki Chanel, right? Feisty little thing, ain't she?" He whistled, rubbing his chin. "Yeah," I simply responded, surprised that he had the chance to interact with her. "I'm assuming I'm being replaced?"

At that, he raised an eyebrow. "What, replaced? No! It's not like that. We just found someone better for you to take on as of right now. Kiki won't have a therapist until you're able to take her on again." He eyed my reaction carefully. "She likes you. She wouldn't wanna talk to anyone else anyways, even if we gave her someone new." I scratched at the peeling leather near the armrests of the chair I was sitting in. "Is there a specific reason why I can't have two clients at once? I've done it before, multiple times. Why is this any different?"

At that, he nearly scoffed. He turned towards his monitor and keyboard and began typing quickly. "This isn't just any client that you're going to be working with. He's going to need your full time and attention, trust me." A list of possible names ran through my head. Was Eugene arrested again? I had a few sessions with him throughout my career, nearly being spat at each and every time. I didn't do well with him. Was it one of the Bikers? Prune Gang? Could it be-

"Today is going to mark a monumental milestone in your career, ain't that exciting?" I dug my nails into the soft foam under the leather I'd been picking at, not really sure how to react to something like that. Should I be? "I bet I would be more excited if you would, you know, tell me where I was going to be today, and who I'll be speaking to." He smirked, leaning forward. "Max security," he said, then gestured towards his computer monitor as he turned it towards me. I swallowed hard. The first thing I focused on in the mugshot that was being shown to me was the man's eyes. "And Maximillian Thoroughbred."

"Yung Dab?" Was the first thing to fall out of my mouth, my voice clearly showing how surprised I was. "And The Gnome." He added, turning the monitor back towards him. He continued to type. "He's been in there for months, so why now is someone being assigned?" I asked, unable to wrap my head around why I was ditching Kiki for someone like him. "As you know, Kizzy was his therapist some time ago, before the huge arrest." Again, he turned his monitor towards me. Now it showed his complete psychological profile that Kizzy had managed to gather while being his therapist. I leaned forward and read through everything as fast as I could.

Strengths: networking, seduction, charisma, honesty, quick-wittiness, creativity, and persuasive.

Weaknesses: his rap game, insecurity, naivety, shamelessness, cowardice, two-faced, Gladys, selfish, being conspicuous, and poor investment choices.

"He's recently been given a new sentence of life in prison with the possibility of parole at Bolingbroke Penitentiary, instead of just rotting in one of the MRPD's maximum security cells." He said, switching the screen to now show his sentence. "He's still currently in the cell, though, until they decide the date on when to switch him." His eyes flicked up from the screen at me. "He's not someone you can just load onto a bus." I sucked on my teeth. "I know."

Looking back at the screen, he continued speaking. "I'm assuming that you also know that he has already confessed to his crimes, damn near all of them if not all of them." I nodded. "You aren't being assigned to get information from him. You are being assigned to simply, uh, be his friend. Someone he can confide in, tell his thoughts to. Only until he gets switched over."

All I could do was nod. I wasn't going to not accept this- like he had said, this would be a huge milestone in my career. No one had been allowed access to see him since after he was first locked up. The only people that he saw on a daily basis was the police officers that was assigned to keep watch on him twenty four hours a day. "When do I start?"

"That's the best part," He said, lowering his voice. "Basically right now."