Baby Brendon 3
#3 of Baby Brendon
The final chapter! Find out what happens to poor Brendon as his second childhood comes to an end. :)
This contains whipping and rape, but if you've read the previous chapters, you won't care. No serious injury or death befalls any of the characters, and all characters are old enough to consent... Even if they don't. :)
Once again, Brendon lay awake in the quiet morning twilight, waiting for his mother to come through and begin the day. This time, however, he was scared. He had been scheduled for a detention after school with the evil Mrs Holden.
When the school bus had dropped him off at his street corner the previous day, his mother had been waiting for him and beaming.
"Brendon! Did you enjoy your first day of school?"
Her smile had faltered a bit, however, when she noticed the enveloped letter tied with string around her adoptive son's neck. She read the letter, and her smile disappeared completely, to be replaced with a look of anger and disappointment.
"Just wait until your father hears about this!"
He was taken home quickly - his mother careful to avoid any other moms who might ask her what the shameful letter was about. Upon arriving home, he was strapped into his high chair (after his hands were un-cuffed and reattached to the front of his collar) in the kitchen where he remained for the entire afternoon until his father arrived home from work. His mother went about her usual business more brusquely than usual - giving her son an evil glance every time she came into the kitchen. Brendon was not given his usual mid-day bottle, and no other daily routines were observed either. He just sat silently in his high chair - the day's lashes still stinging on his torso.
When his father did arrive home, his mother wasted no time in showing him the shameful letter. Brendon didn't know what it said, exactly, but he assumed it announced his detention the next day.
His father was angry.
"Detention! On the first day of school! Is this how you repay us for lovingly taking you into our home - by bringing shame upon us? What must your teacher think of us to have raised such a delinquent?"
These people behaved as if Brendon had intentionally done some great mischief, and not simply been unable to answer impossible trivia questions in a stupid quiz. He had no idea whether his crazed teacher had lied about his actual offense in the letter, or if his parents were simply as mad as she was, but neither possibility would have surprised him at this point.
"No bottle today! You'll go to bed hungry. No... In fact you won't go to bed at all! You'll spend the whole night in the incubator!"
Brendon swallowed. His punishment was beginning already and he wasn't even at the damn detention.
"What's more, we're going to do exercise tonight and I'll make it twice as long!"
So Brendon was exercised for two hours instead of one. His father also seemed to whip him twice as hard as he shuffled around that damn pole in the backyard. Brendon managed the two hours without collapsing - somehow - but he was crying with pain by the time it finally ended. His shuffling had slowed from exhaustion, but his father's whipping had not. Brendon had no way of verifying it, but it felt as if the skin on his back and thighs had been whipped clean off. He'd urinated into his diaper twice involuntarily, and had also dry-heaved into his gag. Fortunately there was nothing in his stomach to vomit up.
He was given a bowel-cleaning and diaper-change, but wasn't bathed. They strapped him into the incubator and left him, with no bottle or liquid of any kind to drink - as promised.
Already exhausted from running, the incubator was unbearable. Despite the maddening abuse to his prostate, exhaustion, hunger and dehydration eventually lead him to lose consciousness and drift into a light sleep in the sweltering heat. He drifted in and out of this state - bobbing painfully on the thrusts in his ass. He only regained full awareness - finally - when the incubator was opened the next day, and the rush of room-temperature air onto his mostly-naked body seemed like an arctic blast.
He had not enjoyed a good night's sleep, to put it mildly. He had a raging headache, an ache in his gut from 24 hours with no food or liquid of any kind, and his entire backside had gone unsettlingly numb from a whole night of being rattled and abused by his butt-plug.
His parents were still angry at him, evidently, but they condescended to give him a bottle to drink. Sweat heaven. He never thought he'd enjoy that rich baby formula, but on that morning it tasted like god-sent ambrosia. It made him feel infinitely better, but he was still terribly tired and sore. He still had a whole day of school to go through, and then detention.
His mother cuffed his hands behind his back and led him to the street corner with the pole-leash as she had yesterday, although she was now in a fouler mood. She'd also tied an envelope around his neck with string, just as Mrs Holden had done the day before, however this one contained no letter. In the envelope, she dropped the small key she used to deflate and remove Brendon's rectum-plug. Brendon didn't want to dwell on why his teacher would need it...
His mother said nothing to him the whole way to the corner, although she whispered to him just before he boarded the bus.
"I'll have to come and pick you up at five o'clock when your detention is over. See you then."
Then he was onto the bus, chained to his seat and away.
Mrs Holden arrived to greet her captive audience in usual style; after all, it was only one bad student out of about twenty-five which had caused her to lose her good humour. Her whip swished audibly as she gesticulated her monologue to the class.
"Hello my little friends! I hope you're all bright-eyed and well-rested for today!
Brendon felt about ready to pass out, truth be told.
"We're going to be doing fun things today. First, we're going to watch a movie! Isn't that much more fun than regular school?"
She flourished a DVD box enthusiastically as she said this. What did she expect? Her bound, gagged class of idiots (and Brendon) to leap from the seats they were shackled to and shout for joy? Brendon did however, notice some of his canine colleagues wag their tails half-heartedly behind their seats.
The class was darkened, and the movie displayed via projector. It was, Brendon thought, without a doubt one of the strangest videos he had ever watched. Scenes of peaceful natural beauty - mountains, the sea, forests and so one - were randomly interspersed with scenes of adult "babies" doing various things and performing various tasks, diapered and bound as was normal in this world. It showed a fox "baby" being cuddled by his "parents", then sitting chained to a seat in a classroom just like the audience currently was, and writing some sort of test - being awarded 100 out of 100 for it and being petted by a smiling teacher who walks past without having to use her whip on him. The video went on for over an hour - no dialogue at all; just a melancholic, repetitive soundtrack.
The movie doesn't come to an ending, as such, but Mrs Holden eventually switches it off and turns the lights back on.
"Wasn't that a nice movie? Unfortunately, it's time for us to do some actual work!"
The rest of the school day was spent listening to Mrs Holden teach. She covered basic arithmetic (2+2=4), basic grammar and some more very basic history. Brendon used the time to zone out. He couldn't believe that anything this woman said could have much relevance to the sort of tests they were given to answer. He wondered if, perhaps, there had been a mistake in the system and he had been given a test for a much more advanced class. However, the questions had been so diverse and trivial that they seemed more appropriate for a game-show in which no one ever wins anything. In any case, it was a moot point, since he couldn't very well voice his concerns to the teacher.
Brendon was thankful that his teacher didn't decide to give them another test for him to fail miserably. She just droned on and on about the most basic concepts. None of her students could ask questions or be asked questions, or course, and so her "teaching" was really just a rambling monologue of the mundane. Brendon stared into space, poked his tongue around the gag in his mouth, got uncomfortable in his bonds and shifted position, urinated into his diaper and felt it cool against him (he was used to this by now), studied the back of the wolf who was sitting in front of him, and wiggled his toes against the polished wooden floor to try to deal with the boredom. It was mind-numbing, but he was suppressing a feeling of dread about that afternoon. He knew that each second which passed brought him closer to whatever hell was waiting for him.
Eventually, Mrs Holden wrapped up her lesson and Brendon felt his heart sink. He shivered in his bonds.
"Okay, well that just about does it for today! I'll see you back here tomorrow. There's going to be a test on the movie you saw today, so be sure to think on it hard!"
Oh gods. Another test. Still, Brendon had more immediate concerns. The security guard was called in to chain the students together and lead them to the bus home, but Mrs Holden stopped him when he got to Brendon.
"Not this one. He's got a detention with my today."
She smiled grimly at Brendon. He swallowed behind his gag. He had vainly hoped for a moment that Mrs Holden had forgotten (and remembered, with irony, that teachers never forgot - in this crazy world, or in the one he'd come from). The security guard just nodded and skipped Brendon - chaining the rest of the class and leading them out of the classroom. Mrs Holden and Brendon were left alone. She closed the classroom door.
"Brendon, you know why you're here."
She flicked her whip as she spoke. She hadn't used it on anyone today, and perhaps it felt restless.
"I know you're a clever little boy. I can only surmise that you intentionally failed yesterday's test because you think it's cool to get bad marks in school. I know you orphanage types."
This woman was crazy. Brendon tried as best he could to indicate to her that he had not failed it intentionally. However, his stiff collar prevented him from shaking his head very convincingly, and his grunts of protest apparently did not impress Mrs Holden.
"Be quiet when I talk to you!"
She lashed him across his exposed belly. He stopped grunting.
"I will teach you that it is not cool to get bad marks in school, starting with today's detention."
She walked around Brendon slowly as she spoke - he still being bound helplessly to his chair.
"You got eight answers correct out of one hundred, Brendon. I gave you twenty lashes yesterday because I did not want to humiliate you in front of your classmates. I still want you to make friends."
How on Earth could the students at this school make friends with each other when they couldn't even talk? Brendon never ceased to be amazed by his teacher's insanity.
"That means that I still owe you seventy-two lashes. Of course, that will not be your entire punishment. Lashes punish ignorance and motivate innocent students to learn. You weren't just ignorant, Brendon. You were deliberately obstinate. I will give you your seventy-two lashes here, now, in private. However, don't expect it to be all that you will suffer today."
She walked around to Brendon's right, so that he could see her gently fiddling with the two, short leather tails on the whip which would apparently now cut into his chest and belly no less than seventy-two times. The tails were only about seven inches long and a few millimetres thick - they didn't do real damage - but he still had stinging welts under his fur from the twenty hits he'd received the day before. He gulped, and almost started crying before his punishment had even begun. Mrs Holden bent over him and gently removed the envelope which was still tied around his neck - she took out the key and slipped it into her pocket, throwing the envelope away.
"I will give you six lashes in quick succession, and then switch over to your left side. I will repeat this twelve times, until all your lashes are paid up."
She did as she said she would. The whip's twin tails sliced through the air and reported loudly against Brendon's exposed chest. They left lines of fire in their wake, and he jerked in his bonds slightly - gritting his teeth against the hot pain. And this was going to happen seventy-one times more?
Mrs Holden took her time flogging Brendon. She paused for about three seconds between each of the six strokes she gave in "quick succession" - making sure that she did not tire herself out, and that each strike was accurate. The three-second gap was just long enough to allow the pain of each lash to develop its own identity. Each stroke landed over a different part of Brendon's torso - from his chest down to his belly.
Once six strokes were delivered, she slowly walked around to Brendon's left side - swishing her whip as she did. Brendon had begun to shed tears as he squirmed against the pain. The six lashes were, on average, harder and more deliberate than those he'd been given the day before. They had also struck those welts which had developed under his fur, and these burned brightly with a renewed vigour of their own.
She paused for about ten seconds after the first six lashes, to allow him to savour the pain. Then she began the next six from his left side. Again, she worked her way over the front of his body - this time from his stomach up to his chest. Brendon had begun to grunt and jerk with each lash - as if he could somehow escape from the hard plastic and metal chair he was handcuffed and shackled to. Hot tears ran down his face and landed on the classroom's wooden floor.
In the silence of the empty classroom, the loud "thwack" of the whip on Brendon's naked body reported loudly. Aside from that, the only sound was his grunting with each strike. After the first eighteen had been delivered, he had begun to moan softly between lashes. After thirty, he began to sob behind his gag. Nothing slowed the steady pace of Mrs Holden.
By forty-two lashes, Brendon had begun to scream into his gag. He was seeing stars. One lash on its own from the tiny double-whip was not much to speak of, but each successive stroke seemed to build on the pain caused by the last - lines slowly swelling into thin welts were broken and broken again by new strikes - burning with a newer and more fiery pain when they did.
By sixty lashes, Brendon had cried and screamed and grunted and wiggled, all to no avail. The lashes just kept coming. He wished he could just lose consciousness, or something, but he was not allowed that mercy. Truth be told, the tiny whip wasn't doing him much harm. It was specifically designed to cause significant pain without permanent damage - obviously that wasn't a desirable outcome of primary education. It could have fooled Brendon, though, who felt like his skin was being removed slowly with a potato peeler.
He lost control of his bladder at around sixty-six lashes, but then this is why little babies wear diapers. Finally, the seventy-second strike landed across his navel and Mrs Holden put her devilish little whip down on an empty chair and leaned back against it.
The flogging had taken about ten minutes to execute, but it had seemed like hours to Brendon who now lay collapsed in his hard school seat, whimpering softly behind his gag.
Mrs Holden walked to her desk and returned with a tissue, which she used to gently wipe a few spots of blood off Brendon's chest. Normally the whip would never even break the skin, but after seventy-two strikes it had popped enough welts for there to be a few red spots on Brendon's dye-blue fur. He winced as the tissue touched the broken skin.
"Hopefully that will help motivate you to learn."
She left him again to drop the bloody tissue in the dustbin.
"Of course, I don't think your real problem is with learning. I think you are an obstinate, rebellious little orphan brat, and while lashing may help... It will not cure that. We still have your real punishment to mete out."
Great gods above. Hadn't he been hurt enough yet? What more did this crazed teacher plan to do with him?
She unshackled him from the chair and led him - using a short length of chain attached to his collar - into a small room adjacent to the classroom. He had previously assumed it to be a storeroom.
In the centre of this room was a raised metal table with shackles on it for securing a victim in place. Mrs Holden summoned a strong security guard who removed Brendon's handcuffs and hobbles, lifted him onto the table and shackled him face-down so that his ass was up in the air and his hands were secured between his spread knees. Brendon felt his diaper being removed, and the cold rush of air against regions which were normally not open to the elements. Said regions were still wet from urine. His butt-plug was unlocked and removed with the key Mrs Holden had been given by Brendon's mother. The security guard was then handed a contraption by Mrs Holden with instructions to "insert" it.
The contraption in question was a modified handle for a floor-polishing machine. The thick handle was inserted into the anus of its operator, and large metal rings locked around the base of his thighs and stomach - securing it firmly in place on his hind-quarter.
Brendon moaned into his gag as his anus was unceremoniously pushed open with a cold, gloved hand and the dry plastic handle was inserted roughly. He also felt the guard fiddle with his ball-sack; two wires were attached to his scrotum with small crocodile clips. With the contraption locked in place, he was unshackled and removed from the table. His handcuffs and hobbles were then reattached by the security guard.
The pole emerging from Brendon's ass was supposed to be attached to a small floor-polishing machine - the kind with spinning brushes which one pushes on tiles, linoleum or polished wood to keep it polished. Of course, one pushed this particular model with the handle held firmly in one's ass. The machine was retrieved, and Brendon was attached to it appropriately. He was led out into the empty school corridor - dragging the deactivated machine behind him.
Mrs Holden explained the particulars of the machine to Brendon.
"We will plug this in, and you will polish the floor in this corridor by pushing the machine in your bum. If you stop pushing on the pole, the machine will give you a nasty shock. If the machine stops moving for more than a second, you will also be shocked."
She turned to the security guard.
"Thank you, Derik. I'll call you if I need any help, but I should be able to manage him. I'll keep him here until about three, and then we'll go to the gymnasium. Call your boys over then."
The security guard laughed at this.
"Don't worry, ma'am, we're all looking forward to it."
Brendon wondered what the guard meant, but he didn't have much time to ponder it - Mrs Holden plugged in the polishing machine and its brushes began to spin on the linoleum floor - it produced a soft whooshing sound as it polished. The handle in Brendon's ass also began to vibrate noticeably.
Brendon yelped into his gag and jerked as an arc of electricity slammed into his scrotum from the crocodile clips attached there.
"Start pushing you stupid boy. Keep pushing it, too, unless you want another shock. It will also shock you if it stops moving, so don't think you can just push it up against a wall."
Brendon moved back against the machine and started moving it - walking backwards with it behind him. It was a heavy machine, and the pole in his ass was shoved up and in deeply as he pushed. The handle was vibrating as powerfully as his butt-plug - if not more powerfully - and Brendon moaned as it throbbed and bounced against the sensitive parts within him. They were still feeling bruised and painful from his entire night in the incubator. It didn't help that pushing the heavy machine meant that the pole was shoved up further into his ass than anything he'd had in there before.
He made his way slowly backwards - unable to see where he was going, but knowing that he had to keep the infernal polishing machine moving if he wanted to avoid a paralyzing shock to his genitals. They were still throbbing from the first one he'd received.
Eventually he ran out of corridor, and the machine bumped hard against the wall. Brendon gasped as this shoved the pole further up into his bowels. He gasped harder as a bolt of electricity slammed into his nutsack without warning. Of course... He had to keep the damned machine moving.
He walked forward, hoping that he'd be able to drag the machine behind him, but was slammed with another paralyzing shock when he tried this. He had to *push* the machine to prevent it from shocking him, it seemed.
Awkwardly, he turned around as fast as his hobbles would allow. Once facing the right direction, he started to push the polishing machine back up the corridor, but not before it zapped him with another shock. He jerked, and tears began to run down from his eyes again. His nuts felt like they'd been kicked. He moaned again as the handle was slowly shoved higher and deeper into his gut.
His dick - free from a diaper for the first significant time since his arrival in hell - began to get hard from the vibrating handle massaging his prostate. He cursed his member silently to himself. He was not enjoying this, no matter what his body thought.
At the other end of the corridor, he managed the process of turning around with only two electric shocks - one for slowing down and one for taking pressure off the pole. He moaned loudly into his gag in anger, and wished he could huddle into a foetal position around the aching in his genitals.
This was all incredibly perverse. He was now totally naked, some infernal cleaning machine shoved up his ass, pushing it backwards down primary school corridors with his dick held high before him.
He managed the next turn-around with only one electric shock. His nuts weren't feeling good at all, and he was beginning to wonder at his hypothetical chances for children in the future. Purely hypothetical, of course, because he certainly wouldn't be having any if he was stuck in this hell.
He managed the next turnaround with no electric shocks, and the next. Apparently he had mastered the dubious art of polishing a corridor with the machine held in his rectum. It didn't help that it kept vibrating maliciously inside him, though. Pre-cum began to ooze from his penis, and he felt it cool in the quiet afternoon air of the school. The only sound was the gentle humming of the machine behind him.
He didn't spend much time on that corridor before Mrs Holden emerged from her classroom and deactivated the machine. Brendon vainly hoped that his polishing might be finished, but she led him to another corridor where he was left to do the same thing as before. The first shock upon activating the machine seemed unavoidable, but he managed to keep subsequent shocks to a minimum.
Ultimately, Mrs Holden had him clean every corridor in the school, and most of the classrooms too. The classrooms were worse than the corridors, because he had to manoeuvre around seats and desks - he was shocked many times, but eventually managed to acquire a good technique for even this task.
It was literally hours before he finally came to clean the school's gymnasium - one of the last rooms left in the complex. His ass had been brutalized by the vibrating handle inside it, and his disk was positively dripping precum. The gym was huge, but relatively easy to polish due to there being few obstacles on the large, wooden surface. However, Brendon started becoming a bit concerned when security guards - a large number of them - started filtering into the empty gymnasium and watching him polish.
"Mmm. Nice ass on this one. Gonna have some fun with him."
"I always like little cats."
Brendon didn't know if he wanted to know what they meant.
By the time the floor of the gym was polished, about fifty security guards had filtered into the gym - a great many of them watching Brendon and passing comments. Brendon noticed two of them setting up some sort of device in the middle of the gym floor, but he couldn't get a good look at it as he pushed the polishing machine.
Eventually Mrs Holden deactivated the polisher for the last time. She led him over to the device that had been set up in the middle of the gym floor.
"As the last part of your detention, your job is to make our staff happy. I don't think I need to explain this. You are a clever boy. Hopefully, the lessons you've learnt today will help inspire you to make the best use of your talents."
The device which had been set up on the gym floor looked to Brendon very much like a medieval stocks - where people would be restrained with their head and hands through a wooden block and have rotten vegetables thrown at them by an angry mob.
It was a stocks. This version also had shackles to keep the prisoner's feet in place on the ground, and his ass in the air. There were no rotten vegetables involved, but there was a mob... They seemed more excited than angry, though.
His hands were uncuffed and his hobbles were removed. He was made to kneel down, and the stocks were closed around his collar and wrists - holding his head and arms immobile. His legs were shackled to the ground at the knees and ankles - holding them immobile too. The infernal floor-polisher was removed from his ass, finally, and pushed away - leaving his naked hindquarter raised and vulnerable to anything that might assail it.
Mrs Holden knelt in front of Brendon and held his chin in her clawed hand. She inserted the key his mother had given her into the multi-purpose notch on the front of it. She turned it, and the gag expanded - opening up into a wide ring. For the first time in his hell, Brendon was able to breathe through his mouth, and he gasped great gulps of air. The gag still didn't let him speak, though - it pushed his tongue down and back. He couldn't swallow anymore, and saliva began to pool unpleasantly in the bottom of his jaw. As a final touch, Mrs Holden pegged a clothes-peg over Brendon's small nose - closing it painfully. Now he could only breathe through his mouth.
"Alright, Derik, I'll hand him over to you. Have him cleaned and in my classroom by four fifty-five."
"Yes ma'am."
Mrs Holden left, and Brendon was left to his own devices with the school's large, well-built security compliment.
"Alright boys, you know what to do. Split yourself into two lines - those who want his head and those who want his ass. You're welcome to as many helpings of either as you like. You have an hour and a half. Let's go!"
Some of the fifty-odd security staff cheered, and they ambled their way over to form the two lines - one at Brendon's head and one at his tail.
They were going to rape him. All fifty of them - huge German shepherds and lions and bears! Brendon began to moan - louder now that his mouth was forced open, but his cries were cut short when a large wolf, having dropped his pants, grabbed a fistful of Brendon's black head-fur and shoved his long, hard, knotted penis into Brendon's gaping maw.
Brendon gagged on the huge member in his mouth. With his nose pegged, the dick blocked off his only means of drawing breath. He heaved at the unexpected asphyxiation, and the wolf who owned the monster dick moaned with pleasure at the stimulation - beginning to thrust his huge meat in and out of Brendon's ring-gag.
Meanwhile, a paw behind him roughly grabbed his tail and bent it upwards - sending a bolt of pain up Brendon's spine. Things did not improve as an anonymous dry cock - also huge - began to manoeuvre its way into his anus.
Brendon began to choke on the meat in his jaw. His vision narrowed, and he'd begun to gag and heave helplessly by the time the cock's owner came and spilt his thick, salty seed into Brendon's throat. He withdrew his cock after an eternity, and Brendon had no choice but to hastily swallow the seed in his mouth and gasp for breath like a dying fish through his wet ring-gag. He didn't have long before another cock would fill his mouth and choke him.
Meanwhile, the cock in his ass came too - warm seed spilling into Brendon's bowels.
The process repeated itself. Another cock filled his maw, and Brendon began to choke again. Another one invaded his ass, and began to tear away at the fragile tissues therein. Bolts of pain shot from Brendon's hindquarter as he began to choke again on the meat in his jaw.
Security guard after security guard used Brendon. Trails of cum and saliva dribbled from his mouth to the polished floor of the gym, while trails of cum tainted with blood trailed from his broken sphincter. He was crying when he wasn't choking. Tears flowed down his face to join the other mixed bodily fluids beneath him.
He began to pray silently to himself to any gods which may have been listening. He prayed for them to release him from this hell.
The prick in his maw spilled its seed, which he quickly swallowed so that he could gasp for breath before the next one invaded. He sobbed desperately, and begged anyone or anything that was listening to release him from his torment.
"Will you ever smoke cannabis again, Brendon?"
What?
"Will you ever smoke cannabis again, Brendon?"
Was one of the guards asking him this? He realised that he couldn't see well anymore - he could only feel the suffocation of the cock in his mouth, and the pumping in his anus.
"Will you ever smoke cannabis again, Brendon?"
No! Jesus, god! I won't! I won't smoke anything ever again! I'll do whatever you want! Please god, let me out!
Blinding white light. He could breathe again - great gasps through his mouth which was no longer gagged in any way. The thrusting in his ass was also gone. As a matter of fact, he was lying flat on a soft hospital bed.
"Oh god... oh god..."
"Easy, Brendon. It's over. We let you out."
"What... What? Who are you? Where am I?"
A figure began to materialize out of the blinding whiteness. A cougar wearing a white doctor's coat. Brendon recognized him as the doctor from the orphanage.
"You! What are you doing here! What's going on!"
"Easy. Just take it easy. It's natural that you'll be disoriented. I am Doctor Friederich, and I work with the Federal Minor Drug Offences Rehabilitation Unit. You are Brendon Scott, and you were sentenced to be rehabilitated here after you were arrested with a kilogram of marijuana on your possession last week."
"What... No. What I just saw..."
"What you just saw was a dream induced by your own imagination with the help and enhancement of our special rehabilitative drugs and the NURO machine you were connected to. I don't know what you saw, but whatever it was... It was unpleasant, yes? It was supposed to be punishment."
"I was... I was weeks there."
"You've only been out for forty minutes. Time is perceived very differently when under the treatment. Just relax in the knowledge that you've served your sentence - only forty minutes of your life in real time - and that you will be free to go as soon as we're satisfied you've become re-oriented. And... That you've been rehabilitated. So... Tell me, Brendon. Will you ever smoke cannabis again?"