Deep within the bowels of the empty FedExForum, Abel Unstable sat down alone in a storage room with his bounty. His haul today was from a concession stand, which included stale popcorn, sour patch kids, and a bag of Coca-Cola concentrate.

It had been days since his escape at Gold Strike 6, and he was simply trying to survive. Survive… and stay free from arena security.

The single lightbulb in the storage room hung overhead, and occasionally blinked on and off.

His raggedy green mental patient clothing was dirty and stained, and off to the side in the storage room was a makeshift bed constructed with an extra sheet of GPW curtain and a couch cushion for a pillow.

However, for Abel, it wasn’t his circumstances he found most interesting in his time away from the doctor. It was the evolution of his mental state.

Dr. Dean had always told him that the medication was to help control Abel’s violent impulses. The same violent impulses that had gotten him committed to the Greater Memphis Psychiatric Institute. And every time Abel was taken off the medication, he did indeed become violent.

The first day in hiding was difficult, to the say the least. During Abel’s initial 24 hours without medication, he found himself crying and lashing out in emotional anger within his storage room hiding spot.

The broken assortment of cleaning supplies in the corner of the room proved it.

But then, the rage and instability began to subside.

Abel gorged on the sour patch kids, but immediately stopped. He heard footsteps coming down the hallway, a possible security guard making rounds. He sat in silence hoping the person wouldn’t notice the light shining from under the door.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the footsteps passed the door and continued down the hallway.

As he sipped on the Coca-Cola concentrate, he considered that after a couple of days without medication, he actually felt… good. Something was going on with Abel’s mind and body, and he had his theories of what Dr. Dean had been doing to him.

What the medication had been doing to him.

Abel wasn’t sure of how the backdoor of the van had opened by itself, but he didn’t care now.

He knew that the mental fog he had been living with was now lifting.

Now he was thinking clearly.