Enjoy My Three Hundred Volts

On the first morning of mandatory campus ROTC drills, I realized my medical exemption slip had someone else’s name scrawled across the intake line: Chase, our department’s golden boy. When I tracked him down by the bleachers, he only scratched the back of his neck, flashing me an easy, sheepish grin that was entirely devoid of shame. "My bad, man. I was rushing through check-in and signed the wrong waiver. But you’re an easygoing guy—you wouldn’t really hold that against me, would you?" I reached forward to take the official clinic voucher back from his hand, but before my fingers could graze the paper, my girlfriend, Courtney, shoved me back. "It was an honest mistake, Russell! Why do you have to be so difficult?" Her voice carried across the turf, sharp and defensive. "Look at you—you’re built like a tank. An hour in the sun isn't going to kill you. What’s the big deal about letting Chase have the waiver for the day?" A few classmates nearby chimed in, tossing amused smirks in my direction. "Yeah, Chase is just scatterbrained sometimes. He didn't mean anything by it." "Don’t be so petty, Russ." I swallowed the bitter burn in the back of my throat, keeping my voice low and taut. "That slip isn't just a basic pass to sit in the shade. It’s tied directly to a specialized clinical treatment program at the university medical center. It has my case number on it. It’s non-transferable." Courtney rolled her eyes, grabbed the clinical referral slip, and stuffed it straight into the front pocket of Chase’s track jacket. She let out a dry, dismissive laugh. "Oh, stop the dramatic routine. You just wanted an excuse to lounge in an air-conditioned room all day. Chase taking your spot isn't going to hurt anyone." Chase caught my eye, his brows lifting in a smirk so subtle nobody else noticed. "Yeah, Russ, just stay here and get a good sweat in. Don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take the treatment for you." I looked at Chase’s smug grin, then at Courtney, who stood squarely in front of him like a bodyguard, and finally at the ring of peers mocking me under the sweltering August glare. A cold, furious humor bloomed in my chest. He was fighting me for an appointment tied to chronic epilepsy management? Fine. Be my guest. Let him go enjoy that three-hundred-volt welcome package. … I wasn't about to stand there and plead. I lunged forward, intending to snatch the voucher right out of Chase’s pocket. Electroconvulsive therapy and high-voltage neuro-stimulation protocols for neurological disorders weren't a spa day. Hooking a healthy brain up to that machinery was an absolute disaster waiting to happen. "You’re really going to put your hands on him?" Courtney barked, stepping into my path and planting both hands firmly against my chest to shove me back. "You’ll invent whatever sick fantasy you can just to slack off! I’m warning you, Russell—back off and leave Chase alone!" Tucked safely behind her, Chase put on a wounded, saintly expression. "Russ, look, I didn't realize this small thing would set you off like this. Don’t yell at Courtney. If it’s really that big of a deal, I’ll just go back into the sun…" He made a pathetic show of turning toward the open field, but Courtney instantly caught his wrist, pulling him back under the canopy. "Don’t you dare give in to him! What illness could he possibly have? He’s just lazy. A few days out here doing hard conditioning is exactly what an attitude like his needs!" The whispers from the rest of the platoon grew louder, fueled by her righteous indignation. "Chase didn't do it on purpose. Taking some sun isn't going to kill him. Why act like he’s the victim of the century?" "If you want to cut corners, just say so. Faking some obscure medical issue is pathetic." Before I could fire back, the heavy crunch of combat boots on gravel silenced everyone. "What’s the circus over here?" Sergeant Cooper barked, his barrel chest practically blotting out the horizon. "Fall in!" The ranks snapped straight. I took a half-step forward, desperate to cut through the noise before the heat triggered something dangerous. "Sergeant, sir. I have a preexisting neurological condition. I’m medically cleared to sit out high-intensity endurance drills. My exemption voucher was taken—" "He’s lying, Sergeant!" Courtney cut in loudly, fishing a sheet of paper from her folder. "Here’s the baseline fitness record from registration. His vitals are completely normal. He grew up coddled, and now he’s making up stories to get out of basic conditioning!" I stared at the bogus summary she handed over—God only knew when she had swapped the files. Sergeant Cooper scanned the page, his heavy brows knitting together in disgust. "Cadet, your paperwork shows clean marks. Fall back into rank. Now." Chase immediately raised a tentative, polite hand. "Sergeant, sir… I’ve been feeling really light-headed this morning." The sergeant glanced at the clinic voucher Chase was clutching. His tone softened. "All right, son. Fall out and rest under the oaks." Chase gave a meek nod, but as he turned to walk away, his lips curled into a victorious smirk pointed straight at me. I ground my teeth, forced into formation beneath the merciless midday sun. Thirty minutes into standard attention drill, the humidity felt like wet wool pressed against my face. Cold, clammy sweat poured down the back of my neck, pooling at the base of my spine. The edges of my vision flickered, rimmed with a dull, silver static. I forced my arm up, my fingers shaking as I caught the instructor’s eye. "Sergeant… I can’t hold this. Requesting a five-minute breather." "Give it a rest, Russell," Courtney’s voice drifted over from the front flank, laced with disdain. "You see Chase resting in the shade and your ego can't take it? Can you stop being so selfish? You’re the only person in this entire company acting like a coward." Sergeant Cooper’s face darkened instantly. "Everyone else is enduring this heat without a single complaint, and you think you’re special? Put that hand down!" His voice echoed off the concrete bleachers. "This camp isn't a country club!" I drew in a ragged, trembling breath. "Sergeant, I’m serious. My body is shutting down—" "Oh, please!" someone down the line snorted. "He was hauling forty-pound water jugs up three flights of stairs in the dorms last week without breaking a sweat. Suddenly he’s made of glass?" "Clean physical, zero real issues, but he’s acting like a Victorian invalid. Is he auditioning for a daytime soap?" "Probably just terrified of getting a tan." Sergeant Cooper had heard enough. He stepped up, pointing a thick, calloused finger directly between my eyes. "I’ve dealt with your type every single year. Shirking discipline, playing games. If you’ve got enough energy to put on a show, you’ve got enough energy to run. Step out!" He pointed across the burning black expanse of the track. "Ten laps. You don't rejoin this unit until every single one is finished." Swallowing the metallic taste rising in my throat, I dragged my leaden boots toward the red lane lines. One lap. Two. Every stride felt like stomping through thick, wet clay. By the fifth turn, the world lost its color, washed out in blinding white glare. The rhythmic thumping in my ears collapsed into a high-pitched, deafening whine. My knees dissolved beneath me. In the final split second before the dark swallowed me whole, I saw Sergeant Cooper’s mask of stern authority shatter into sheer panic as he sprinted across the field toward my collapsing body. ... When I opened my eyes, the smell of sterile rubbing alcohol hit me first. I was staring up at the white acoustic ceiling tiles of the infirmary. "Doctor said it was just a mild hypoglycemic episode," Courtney said from the side of the bed. She let out a long sigh, sounding more annoyed than relieved. "Honestly, Russ, your temper is out of control. Just because Chase accidentally took your slip, you starved yourself into low blood sugar just to stage a faint?" I stared at her, the dull ache behind my temples throbbing in steady pulses. I didn't say a word. "You scared Chase half to death out there," she continued, crossing her arms. "Here’s what we’re going to do: you post a short apology in the company group chat, admit that you overreacted and faked the collapse, and then I’ll go smooth things over with the sergeant so you can rest the rest of the morning. We call it even, and everyone moves on." A bitter, incredulous laugh scraped against my dry throat. "Are you out of your mind? I collapsed because my nervous system was pushed to the brink, and you want me to confess to a lie?" "Because you made Chase feel terrible!" Her brows pulled together in sharp irritation. "He was already feeling guilty, and you had to go and turn this into a public tragedy." "Russ… are you still mad at me?" Chase poked his head into the room from behind Courtney, his eyes wide and brimming with staged regret. "It was completely my fault for messing up the intake form. I really, truly didn't know this would happen…" I locked my eyes on his polished, rehearsed remorse and cut through it like glass. "If you know you signed my name on that paper, great. Walk out that door, tell Sergeant Cooper you took an exempt student’s clinical voucher, and give it back." Chase froze, his apology dying in his throat. "Why do you have to be so small-minded?" Courtney immediately shielded him, rounding on me with bare fury. "Can’t you see how bad he feels? Do you have to twist the knife over an innocent mistake?" "An innocent mistake?" I rasped, sitting up slightly. "He stole my referral for scheduled therapy." "If you make him go to the sergeant now, you’re forcing him to humiliate himself! You know how sensitive he is about his reputation. Why are you so calculating? Why are you trying to ruin him?" "Enough!" I snapped, every muscle in my jaw aching. "He stole my medical waiver, and I’m supposed to preserve his delicate feelings so he doesn't get yelled at? You two deserve each other. One of you is an idiot, and the other is a vulture." "Don’t you push your luck!" Courtney stepped right up to the edge of the mattress, thrusting a manicured finger into my face. "If you don't apologize to Chase right now, we’re done. We are breaking up." She held her chin high, waiting. For the past year, that threat had been her trump card. Whenever we clashed, she held our relationship over my head like a guillotine, and I was always the one who scrambled to apologize just to keep the peace. I looked straight into her cold, entitled eyes. "Fine," I said, my voice entirely flat. "We’re done." She blinked, stunned. "It saves me the trouble of being dragged down by a disloyal fool who helps another guy step on my neck." Courtney’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson, shock giving way to raw humiliation. "Fine! You want to play the tough guy? Just you wait, Russell. You are going to beg me to take you back!" She grabbed Chase’s forearm and stormed out, slamming the infirmary door so hard the glass pane rattled in its frame. I sank back against the thin pillow and let my eyes slide shut. Regret it? We would see who ended up regretting what. ... When I marched back onto the training grounds that afternoon, the glances thrown my way were dripping with condescension. "Look, the fainting artist is back." "Passing out cold just to skip calisthenics—honestly, you have to admire the commitment to being lazy." I pulled out my phone and unlocked the screen. The campus forum had already blown up. Someone had taken a clip of my legs giving out on the track, edited it with circus music, and looped it into an insulting meme that was spreading through every freshman group. Beneath the pinned video, Chase had commented with a laughing-while-crying emoji: "Russ really went all out just to get a break, huh?" Dozens of replies echoed his sentiment, praising his kindness and mocking my weakness. I squeezed the metal edges of my phone, forcing down the violent surge of bile, and slipped it into my pocket. "Tweet!" A whistle pierced the air. Courtney stood at the center of the formation, clapping her hands with brisk authority. "Listen up! Sergeant Cooper has a staff meeting this afternoon, so I’ve been assigned to run drill inspection! Fall in! Today we’re doing parade march drills, and nobody cuts corners!" The platoon shuffled into their lines. "Russell! Knees higher! Did you skip lunch?" "Russell! Lock those elbows!" "Your angle is completely off—reset and do it again! You’re the only one out of sync. Are you intentionally dragging down our company score?" She didn't look at anyone else. For forty-five minutes straight, Courtney singled me out, barking corrections, forcing me to repeat isolated movements while the rest of the squad chuckled behind their hands. I ground my teeth, my uniform soaked through with sweat, the blazing asphalt radiating waves of nausea straight through the soles of my shoes. Sitting on a cooler under the awning, Chase took a slow sip of an iced sports drink. He called out in a falsely concerned, singsong voice, "Is Russ feeling sick again? Be careful, man—don’t go collapsing on us twice in one day!" Laughter rippled through the ranks. Right then, a sharp, electric spike detonated behind my left eye. A familiar, terrifying numbness spread instantly from my fingertips toward my elbows. "No. Not now." It was the prodrome. The aura. An impending seizure. I broke rank without permission, spinning toward the perimeter where our gear was stacked, frantically pulling at the zipper of my backpack to reach my prescription anticonvulsants. My hand dove into the side pouch. Empty. My stomach dropped into a bottomless void. The amber bottle was gone. "Looking for this?" Chase was standing a few paces away, twirling the small plastic prescription vial between his fingers. I stared at the white label bearing my name, the world tilting precariously on its axis. "Give it back to me." Chase took two steps backward, widening his eyes in theatrical innocence. "Come on, Russ. You know company rules—no sneaking candy during drill hours. You need to build discipline, not look for quick treats." My fingers were already curling into involuntary claws. The gray fog was closing in at the edges of my sight. "That’s not candy! Give me the bottle!" I lunged forward, desperate, reaching for my medication. "Hey! I caught you breaking rules and now you’re getting violent?" Chase yelled, jumping back. Before my hand could reach the plastic, Courtney collided with my shoulder, shoving me with all her weight. "Have you completely lost your mind?!" My uncoordinated legs betrayed me. I hit the textured rubber track hard, the coarse gravel tearing through my trouser knee and gouging deep into the flesh. Warm blood immediately seeped through the fabric. Chase leaned toward Courtney, his posture shrinking into textbook victimhood. "Courtney… I just told him to focus on the drill. Why did he try to attack me?" "You have no home training! You’re completely unhinged!" Courtney scolded, her voice dripping with maternal tenderness as she patted Chase’s back. Then, she picked up my dropped prescription bottle from the grass and hurled it viciously against the concrete curb. The plastic cap cracked open. Thirty white tablets spilled across the dirt, trampled into the dust and grit. "Couldn't even last thirty minutes without your little performance, could you?" she sneered. "Zero willpower. Look at Chase—he isn't even required to drill, but he knows the regulations better than you do!" The strength was draining out of my thighs. My right wrist began to jerk rhythmically, independent of my will. A guy in the front rank shifted uncomfortably. "Hey… he actually looks pretty bad. His hand is twitching…" "You’re really falling for that?" Courtney snapped, waving him off. "The act never stops! There is nothing he won't do to get out of sweat!" She crouched down an inch from my face, her voice dropping to a harsh, vindictive whisper. "Stop playing sick to guilt-trip Chase. He has a soft heart—if he thinks you’re hurting, he’ll beat himself up over it. Is that what you want? To make him miserable?" I clamped my teeth down hard on the side of my tongue. The sharp, coppery pain of blood gave me one last anchor of conscious control. I didn't have the breath to argue. Dragging my heavy torso forward against the rough track, I reached into the dirt with shaking, spasming fingers. I picked up three crushed, soil-caked tablets and shoved them past my bloody lips, swallowing them dry along with the grit. Chase took a theatrical step back, scrunching his nose in performative disgust. "Gross, man. Russ, you’d seriously eat dirt off the ground just to keep the bit going?" Courtney looked down at me with pure revulsion. "What mystery junk did you just swallow so you can fake another seizure? Let me make one thing clear, Russell: everyone here has eyes. Chase hasn't laid a single hand on you. Don’t even think about pinning your drama on him." Chase strolled over and crouched casually beside where I lay panting. "Russ, Courtney’s right. Your mental fortitude is just weak. You really need this conditioning. I’m doing you a favor by letting you build some character—no need to thank me." He pulled the folded clinical exemption slip from his pocket and gave it a triumphant flutter. "The university clinic shuttle is here to pick me up. I’m off to relax. Keep it up, champ!" Courtney looped her arm through his, escorting him toward the front gates with half the class trailing behind them like an adoring entourage. "Rest up, Chase!" "Don’t let certain miserable people ruin your afternoon!" Nobody looked back at the boy lying facedown on the sun-baked rubber track. It took twenty agonizing minutes for the emergency anticonvulsants to kick in, slowly dulling the spasms firing through my motor cortex. I used the chain-link fence to drag myself upright. Courtney walked back from the gate alone. When she saw me leaning against the wire, she crossed her arms and let out a short, mocking laugh. "Still playing dead? The shuttle already took him. If you do the math, he’s probably checking into his private room right about now. He’s sipping cold juice under a vent while you’re out here stewing in your own sweat. Jealousy isn't going to get you anywhere, Russ." I lifted my chin, staring into her smug, pretty face. "You think he’s going to a resort?" I said, my voice hoarse. "He walked into a neurological clinic with my file. He is going to experience a living nightmare. Call him right now. Tell him to admit he forged the paperwork. It is his only chance to walk out of there under his own power." Courtney scoffed, utterly convinced I was bluffing to salvage my bruised pride. "You’re still trying to scare me? You’re so pathetic it’s nauseating." She whipped out her smartphone. "Fine. I’ll put him on speaker right now so you can hear how comfortable he is. Maybe then you’ll finally shut up." She dialed Chase’s number. The line rang. Once. Twice. Five times. Nothing. Her brow twitched, and she dialed again. It rang out to voicemail. On the third attempt, the call finally clicked through. Chase’s bright, breezy voice came crackling through the phone’s speaker: "Courtney!" Courtney let out a visible breath of relief, tapping the speaker button with an arrogant smirk aimed squarely at me. "Chase! How’s the clinic? Everything comfortable?" "Courtney, it’s incredible here. An absolute dream!" Chase laughed, his voice ringing across the quiet field. "Private room, freezing AC, and the orderly just rolled in a massive lunch cart with fresh fruit and pastries. The treatment here is five-star!" The students who had lingered nearby gasped in envy. "Are you kidding me?" "Man, I should have faked something too. Chase is so damn lucky!" Chase’s tone grew even smugger through the receiver. "Honestly, my mom always told me that good things happen to people who don't pick fights. I stayed humble, didn't make a scene, and look what fell into my lap." Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. "Oh, by the way," Chase added, chuckling, "I didn't forget about you guys. I spoke to the department rep who checked me in. I requested permission for the whole platoon to come by for an official hospital visit tomorrow morning during drill hours! That way, everyone gets half a day off from the sun, and we can show the administration how unified our class is." A cheer erupted around the bench. Courtney locked her eyes on me, her expression dripping with cold triumph. "Did you hear that, Russell? Still want to claim he’s suffering? Put that pathetic, bitter scowl away. You look grotesque." On the other end of the line, Chase deliberately pitched his voice higher: "Is Russ still out there sweating through his uniform? Well, tell him not to worry. He’s a big guy—sweating a few pounds off will do him good! Tell him I’ll gladly take every single one of his scheduled treatments for him! He should come by with the rest of you tomorrow to check out the place!" The call clicked off. Courtney pocketed her phone and stepped up to me. "Tomorrow morning, you’re coming with us. And you are going to stand in front of the entire company and apologize to Chase for every miserable thing you said." The corner of my mouth twitched into a pale, humorless grin. "Sure," I whispered. "I wouldn't miss it for the world." I was going to be there. Because I wanted front-row seats to watch him swallow the poison he had fought so hard to steal. ... The next morning, the entire class boarded the cross-campus transit to the university medical center. The entire ride over, Courtney and her circle took turns taking shots at me. "Faked an illness for three days, and Chase ends up in a VIP suite. Must burn, huh?" "Wait until we get there and see him kicking back watching cable. Try not to cry in front of the nurses, Russ." I stared out the window at the passing gray oaks, completely calm. "Don’t worry about me. As long as his heart can take it, I’m fine." Courtney’s jaw tightened. "Are you still pushing that garbage? We’re pulling into the parking lot right now, and you’re still trying to intimidate people? When we see him, you’re bending at the waist and admitting you acted out of pure, ugly envy." We entered the east wing of the hospital complex. Courtney marched up to the central nurse's station, chin held high. "Hi, we’re here to visit Chase. He was admitted yesterday afternoon from the ROTC unit." The ward nurse tapped a few keys on her monitor, glancing up over her spectacles. "Patient Chase isn't in his recovery room right now. He was transferred to Clinical Procedure Room 2 twenty minutes ago." "Procedure room?" Courtney paused, then gave a knowing smile to the group. "Probably some specialized therapeutic hydro-massage or physical therapy. Come on, everyone—let’s go surprise him!" The students giggled, whispering among themselves about snagging some of the complimentary fruit baskets in the suite. Courtney led the pack down the corridor. She blew right past the red-bordered warning placards hanging on the reinforced metal doors: "RESTRICTED AREA: CLINICAL NEURO-STIMULATION IN PROGRESS." She grabbed the chrome lever, threw the heavy double doors wide, and beamed back at the crowd. "Everyone, come on in! Let’s see how much fun Chase is having!" The students pushed forward, laughing. Then, every single laugh died in their throats. Courtney’s face went completely, horrifically gray.