The people from Farha-Smith had the power of status on their side. All twelve had the best education possible and years of experience working in senior management teams at major banks and corporations. If Miss Planner wanted to keep them in her corner, she had to treat them well. She gave each of them a private office, a fitted purple robe, a Spiritland season pass, and a personal Pit Razor assassin to use as they saw fit. She stopped just short of handing out gold watches and diamond rings.

Not every Chosen One had such an easy path to success. While Miss Planner was keeping herself busy spoiling her new executives rotten, a group of four students from North Grandebelle High School entered the Tower of the Chosen prepared to endure something truly horrible to prove themselves worthy of becoming acolytes. Miss Planner wasn't there to guide their journey to the top. Miss Planner didn't even know they existed. But maybe she would soon.

Garth Taylor led the way to the Tower's basement laboratory, not wanting to waste any time. He was short with a blonde crop cut and a black shirt with a skull on it. His best friend Chase was right behind him, a mild-mannered teenager with messy brown hair and a blue baseball jersey with his name embroidered over the chest. The muscular Clay and the tan-skinned prankster Malcolm were lagging behind a bit, but Garth kept a steady pace and didn't look back.

The tiny blonde high-schooler scanned his keycard and marched inside the lab's lobby area without saying a word. His three friends quickly followed him inside. Garth took a seat in a flimsy plastic chair with a heavy sigh.

"Let's hope Dr. Tuske comes in on time today. He made us wait forty minutes last week."

Chase nodded nervously.
"Ummm... he told us the lab needed to warm up and stuff before he could measure us, so that might have taken a while."

Malcolm shrugged and shook his head, a slimy smile on his lips.
"He's a real nasty doctor. What kind of doctor's overweight? Can't he get liposuction or something?"

Clay burst out laughing.
"Hahah! What about a boob job? What's the scientific term for that? Breast reduction? Doc needs a breast reduction."

Garth rolled his eyes. He was not amused.
"Enough, you idiots. He's the one responsible for deciding whether we join the Chosen Ones or not. So just keep it to yourselves until we get out of here."

There was a rustling noise from the lab area. The door opened up and Dr. Tuske, an old man in a white coat with glasses and a big, round belly, poked his balding head through. He greeted the four teenagers with a nod.

"Hello, Dr. Tuske." "Hello, Doc." "Hello." "Hiya, Doc."
"Good afternoon, boys. Everything's ready back here. Who wants to go first?"

Clay smacked Garth's back with a crude chuckle.
"Hahaha! Yeah, little Garth couldn't wait to get here today. He's pumped!"

Dr. Tuske frowned at the comment. Garth got to his feet and stepped forward.
"Let me go first."

Clay was still snickering.
"I'm going next, Doc. Hahahahaha!"

The old man laughed softly too, then motioned for Garth to come along. The doctor guided the young man down a hallway into a wide, windowless, concrete chamber that smelled like cleaning product. There were five Chosen acolytes in black cloaks standing around in there operating some kind of cylindrical metal machine that stood upright in the middle of the room. The doctor gestured Garth inside.

"Go ahead and take your shirt off and get in. Today we're going to check your levels, do some bloodwork, give you your dose, and let you go eat. Before we get started, did you notice anything strange this last week? Any changes in weight, skin tone, appetite? Loss of sleep? Loss of energy? Headaches?"
"No, I haven't felt anything weird at all. I mean, appetite’s a given. And I’m pretty sure I'm a few pounds heavier. But that's nothing. I'd be surprised if my weight stayed the same."

Garth pulled his shirt off and set it on a table, then crawled into the metal cylinder. Dr. Tuske looked down and scratched his chin, smiling wryly.
"Hmm. Well. Guess you're right on that one. Your friends are waiting, so let's get started."

Dr. Tuske closed the machine's heavy steel lid on the shirtless Garth. It felt as cramped as a coffin. The device's interior was almost completely dark except for a few faintly shimmering spots of orange on the floor.

"Try not to move, Garth. This might feel a little funny, but it should be quick."

Garth heard someone tapping on a keyboard. The metal tube began to hum loudly. A horrible clicking sound echoed through the young man's skull. He felt nauseous and weak in the legs. Then it really started. Waves of psychic energy flooded his mind, causing a terrible burning sensation inside his head and a violent throbbing in his limbs, almost making him crumple over in pain. The machine seemed to be getting louder, almost unbearably loud. Garth felt his stomach twisting around on itself.

A series of unfamiliar images flashed through his mind: an endless array of tiny rooms stacked on top of each other, a huge staircase that never stopped turning, a shadowy figure sitting on a bare mattress, insects digging a nest inside the walls of a building, and himself, standing alone, lost...

The machine finally stopped. Garth coughed. His throat was sore and he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his side. The lid opened and one of the acolytes reached inside to help him climb out. Dr. Tuske was staring him straight in the face, grinning wildly, as if he had just seen something absolutely fascinating.

"Are you alright, son? Are you feeling a bit dizzy? Here, have a seat. Breathe."
"Yeah... yeah, no problem."

Garth's head was pounding from the psychic energy he absorbed during the procedure. He was still unsteady on his feet. Dr. Tuske guided the young man into a chair and checked his pulse and blood pressure.

"Garth, your readings today were good. Very good. Today's scan was a little more sensitive than usual. We found the area in your cerebellum that's generating most of the new psychic activity."
"The cerebellum?" Garth whispered under his breath. He was having difficulty concentrating.

"It's the part of the brain that coordinates movement and balance. Just sit with me for a moment, here. Do you want me to grab your shirt for you?"
"Please."

"There. You're looking better already. Take deep breaths, Garth."
"Yeah. Thanks."

"Let's give you another minute. Then Joy's going to take you into the next room over to draw your blood and give you your weekly dose. Gil, can you grab the next volunteer for me? Clay said he wanted to go next. Just bring him into the hall. I'll clean the scanner myself."