As a reminder, the guards only know the prisoners by number and refer to them that way throughout the study. It can get confusing at times, so here’s the line-up of prisoners, guards, and the prisoners’ numbers for your reference.

The Line-Up

Nick - Prisoner 137 - Guarded by Sebastian Smythe

Jeff - Prisoner 138 - Guarded by Sebastian Smythe

Kurt - Prisoner 219 - Guarded by Blaine Anderson

Puck - Prisoner 378 - Guarded by David Karofsky

Sam - Prisoner 474 - Guarded by David Karofsky

Groupthink: The tendency of a decision-making group to filter out undesirable input so that a consensus may be reached, especially if it is in line with the leader’s viewpoint.

Singing seemed to have triggered something within Kurt. He was starting to re-evaluate his role. Maybe he was a fighter, like 378 had said after all. But how could he continue to fight? Kurt desperately wanted a way to show the guards that they didn’t own him. He was resolved that he find a way to show everyone involved with the study that Kurt Hummel wasn’t the victim anymore.

He allowed his eyes to slip shut, exhausted from the long day and even longer evening. As he drifted to sleep, the only thought in his head was this. I know my worth. You haven’t broken me yet, and you never will. Whatever you’ve got, tomorrow I’ll be ready for it, so bring it on.

Kurt woke up the next morning determined to come up with an idea to stand up to the guards. He needed to find a way to show them that they didn’t own him. But he’d promised his dad that we would stay safe, so any type of physical confrontation was out of the question. Kurt mentally reviewed the rules; They had certainly gone over them countless times during the counts, so he could recite them from memory. Which rule would be easiest for him to break and hardest for the guards to fight? He landed on the rule about mealtimes – he had to eat everything, right? That was it. Kurt resolved to go on a hunger strike. The more he thought it over, the better idea it seemed. He’d read about many people who had gone on hunger strikes in protest. Besides, the food they were being served wasn’t that great anyways.

Too soon, the guards were blowing their whistles, waking their prisoners. Anderson unlocked his door, avoiding eye contact as he spoke. “All right 219, time for breakfast.”

“No,” Kurt said, as mildly as possible. He sat on the bed, staring at Anderson, who appeared to be flustered. Anderson was about to reply when Smythe walked by, herding his prisoners into the dining room.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked. “It’s time for breakfast, move your sweet ass.”

“No,” Kurt answered again. “Not hungry, sorry.”

“All right, sweetheart,” Smythe tried again. “Very funny, ha ha. But seriously, you need to eat. You remember the rules, right?” Kurt just gave him his patented glare, waiting for what was next as calmly as he could.

By then, the other prisoners had crowded around his cell, and Karofsky was glowering behind them. “If you’re not gonna move, I will make you move. I will drag you to breakfast kicking and screaming if I have to. I don’t give a fuck what Doctor Cohen says.”

“Leave him,” Anderson said. “He’s mine, I can take him.” Kurt was pretty sure that the bravado he was showing around the other guards was for show, given the trepidation he seemed to be showing as he walked towards the bed and sat next to him.

“Look,” Anderson said, almost in a whisper. “You really, really need to eat. I mean, it’s not like we’re giving you very much to begin with, and you know how those counts get. Is everything OK? Are you sick? I can get the doctor if you want.”

Kurt wasn’t sure if Anderson was faking it or not. It was hard to be sure with him; at least with the other two, they consistently hated him. But Kurt knew what he had to do, despite the lingering suspicion that Anderson was acting out of genuine concern.

“What do you care, Anderson?” he spat, glaring at the crowd.

“Oh, just let him starve!” shouted Karofsky. “He’ll be ready to eat by lunchtime, and if he isn’t then we force him.” And with that, he motioned for the other prisoners to follow him to the dining room. As the others passed, they each shot Kurt a look, 474’s eyes lingering longest. Their looks were seemed to burn through Kurt’s skin. The stares of the guards he could handle, he could understand. Kurt supposed that he had unwittingly increased the punishments for the others with his hunger strike, but he’d perhaps naively hoped that standing up to the guards might help rally the other prisoners to his side. He settled back against his bed, resigned to the fact that he’d be fighting this battle alone.

Anderson stayed back for a moment, and when he was sure the others were gone, he leaned over to whisper a quiet encouragement to Kurt. “I do care. Get some rest, all right? And let me know if you need anything,” he finished before running to catch up with the others.

As the day wore on, Kurt refused lunch as well, and Smythe and Karofsky became more and more determined to make him suffer. The counts were getting even longer, and Karofsky in particular seemed to take perverse pleasure in coming up with new ways to humiliate Kurt. The other prisoners were forced to participate, and he was forced to ignore their angry stares, which had only increased in frequency and intensity. But Kurt endured it all with the straightest of faces, speaking only when necessary, and trying to ignore the hunger pangs in his stomach.

Prisoner 474 stopped Kurt as they were headed back to their cells after the latest count. “You’d better get it together. All you’re doing is making it worse for everyone,” he said in a terse whisper. His expression dark, his eyes flashing, and Kurt suddenly found himself wishing for a return to the blasé prisoner from the day before.

Kurt took a deep breath, fighting hard to keep his growing guilt and nervousness from derailing his plan. He’d been so determined to win some of the other prisoners over to his side, to get them all to band together to fight back against the guards. But the reality was that the prisoners continued to ignore one another for the most part, except for 137 and 138, who seemed to be clinging to one another more with every passing hour. And while Kurt knew that what he was doing needed to be done, he was starting to doubt his ability to play the role as leader of the prison rebellion. He’d certainly seen enough movies to know - wasn’t there supposed to be a rebel who banded everyone together in prison movies? Wasn’t he supposed to be the leader who got everyone on his side and then helped to plan their escape? What was keeping everyone else here? It was a job, nothing more, nothing less. Or at least it had started out that way. He had a feeling that he might be the only one not desperate for the money that they stood to make if they completed the study. And money could be a powerful motivator. Despite his guilt and confusion, Kurt was resolved. He understood the need the others had to keep silent and follow orders, but it was equally important to Kurt that he continued to do what he could to fight back. If not for the others, then at least for himself.

As Kurt was still mulling this all over in his head, Anderson came to the cell door, alone this time. “OK, 219, you’ve got to be starving. Just come out and eat something, please?”

Karofsky, who had been walking 474 out of his cell across the hallway, suddenly wheeled around and turned on his fellow guard. “What the fuck are you doing, Anderson? You think that if you just play nice you’re going to keep order here? If this little fuck doesn’t want to play by the rules, do you know who looks bad? We do, especially you since he’s your prisoner! It makes us look like we don’t know what we’re doing! Do you wanna know how you’re supposed to deal with people like this one? I’ll show you how we do it!”

Karofsky took the sausages off the tray that Prisoner 474 was holding and shoved them through the bars into Kurt’s mouth. “Eat up, homo. I bet you love eating sausage, don’t you?”

Kurt spit out the sausage as fast as he could, and dropped the rest on the floor, all the while maintaining the hard yet smug look, staring at the guards as if to say What else have you got?

Karofsky’s face turned beet red as he raised his fist in Kurt’s direction. Smythe pulled him back, but once Karofsky broke free, he turned his attention to the open cells behind him. He ran into the cell shared by 137 and 138 and threw the sheets off the bed, then stormed into 474’s and began to kick the bed, scattering the sheets, before finally overturning it.

“There!” he roared. “You see that? You think it’s so funny, don’t you? Let’s see how you like it when everyone else has to suffer. “He pointed to the other prisoners. “Against the wall! Let’s go!”

The other three hurried to obey, standing in their line, facing Kurt, as he willed himself to disappear. They’re not going to break me. I’m in control here.

“Why don’t you all tell your friend here what he did?” Karofsky was telling them. “Prisoner 219 did a bad thing. Tell him that your cells are now a mess, because of what he did. I wanna hear you all say it loud and clear, ‘Prisoner 219 did a bad thing. Because of what Prisoner 219 did, my cell is a mess.’ Ten times. Let’s go.”

“Prisoner 219 did a bad thing. Because of what Prisoner 219 did, my cell is a mess,”the others droned, over and over. To Kurt, it sounded like there was only one of them, but he forced himself outside of the situation. They’re talking to Prisoner 219. Not me.

When the chant had finished, Karofsky had each of them go up to the door in turn and bang on it, saying “Thank you, 219,” as they left for dinner. “Well,” he asked when all three prisoners had finished banging on the door. “Had enough yet? Will you be joining us?”

Kurt sat back down on the bed. “No, not hungry, sorry”, he said, using the same mild tone he had used at breakfast.

“All right, we warned you. Into the hole, now. And pick those sausages off the floor. You’re going to hold onto those sausages and sit in the hole until you’re ready to eat them.” And with that, Kurt was dragged into a small dark closet and forced to sit down, still carrying the food he refused to eat.

It took Blaine nearly 30 minutes to convince Karofsky and Sebastian that he could handle the night watch and that they should get some sleep. Thirty minutes of worrying, waiting, and wondering. Thirty minutes of Prisoner 219 sitting alone in the dark. Blaine wondered if he was cold. Hungry? Sad? Scared? Blaine wasn’t sure, but he knew that he ached with the need to find out and make it okay.

Finally, when Blaine was certain that Sebastian and Karofsky were sleeping, he ventured towards the dark closet currently serving as solitary confinement. He carefully opened the door, making sure it didn’t creak too loudly before peering inside.

Prisoner 219 was sitting at the back of the small closet, his back against the wall, and his knees drawn up to his chest. His hands were tucked beneath his knees as he curled into himself, looking much younger than his 19 years.

“Hey,” Blaine managed simply. “You okay? Everyone’s sleeping so you can come out now.” He tentatively offered a hand to help Prisoner 219 up.

Prisoner 219 blinked rapidly against the harsh fluorescent lights of the hallway, squinting up at Anderson who offered him a hand. “No, I’m fine,” he replied tersely.

“Everyone else is in bed. C’mon, you don’t need to stay in there all night. Aren’t you hungry?” Blaine asked, confused.

Prisoner 219 sighed heavily. “I told you, I’m fine. Go away, Anderson. I can take care of myself.”

“You need to eat something at least. I’ll bring you some food,” Blaine offered, feeling as if he was starting to get whiplash from Prisoner 219’s sudden shifts in mood. Were they friends or was Blaine the enemy? He could never predict which it was going to be.

Prisoner 219’s eyes grew hard at Blaine’s direction. “You too? I’m not eating. What don’t you get about that?”

“No, no, no…” Blaine hurried to correct, holding his hands up in surrender. “Not like that. I’m not here to force you to do anything. I just want…I need to understand. Why aren’t you eating? Are you sick?”

“Of course you don’t understand,” Kurt said bitterly, although some of the harshness had left his features and eyes. “How could you?”

Blaine was growing frustrated. He was trying, really trying, but getting shut down at every turn. He understood that there was trust to rebuild after the cruel words he’d said to Prisoner 219 two days earlier, but how could he earn Prisoner 219’s trust if he wouldn’t talk to him?

“Look, I may not understand, but I’m trying. That’s got to count for something, right? You can talk to me. Just tell me what’s going on.” He looked down at Prisoner 219, suddenly feeling uncomfortable about looming over him while he sat in a shivering heap on the ground, a visual reminder of the vast difference in power that each had. Without thinking, he knelt down, sitting himself on the ground beside his prisoner in the small space that the closet allowed, his khaki covered knee resting beside Kurt’s bare knee. God, he must be freezing, Blaine thought, feeling how quickly the cold from the tile floor leeched through his thick khaki pants. Wordlessly, Blaine slid off his well-worn OSU fleece jacket that he’d zipped over his guard uniform, attempting to ward off the dank chill of the basement prison. Knowing that Prisoner 219 was unlikely to accept any assistance were it directly offered, Blaine simply laid the jacket over 219’s shoulders. 219 looked up as if he planned to protest but after a particularly violent shiver, he stopped, sliding his arms through the arm holes and sinking into its warmth gratefully.

Prisoner 219 finally made eye contact with Blaine, giving him a questioning look. Blaine shrugged, knowing instantly what he was implying. “What? You wouldn’t come out, so I’m coming in instead. Now tell me what’s going on. Why aren’t you eating? Are you sick? Or is it something else?”

“No, I’m not sick,” Prisoner 219 started, his voice soft and a bit shaky. Already, Blaine’s mind started racing. He sounded…weak. Blaine’s stomach tightened as he began chewing on the inside of his lip, noticing the sharp copper taste of blood almost immediately as he opened the same gash from where he’d been worrying his lower lip between his teeth all day.

“Then what?” Blaine asked, honestly confused.

“You’ve seen what it does to them,” Kurt responded simply.

“Who? Sebastian and Karofsky?” Blaine asked. Almost immediately, he realized his mistake. “Oh shit,” he groaned, clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Sebastian huh? He would have a ridiculous name like that,” Prisoner 219 chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m not going to tell on you,” he continued. “But yeah, I was talking about them. You saw how they reacted when I refused to eat.”

“Yeah, they were furious. But what do you get out that, besides the obvious? I mean, doesn’t it just mean that they punish you even more? And aren’t you hungry? You can’t honestly be planning to not eat for the next week and a half?” Blaine asked, still confused.

“If that’s what it takes,” Prisoner 219 answered instantly. “Look, I’m sure this is hard for you to understand, but what they are doing isn’t okay. Someone has to stand up to them. And this is the one thing that I can control that affects them. They need to know that they don’t own me,” he spit out, building up steam. He glanced up to Blaine, taking in Blaine’s khaki uniform. “All of you need to know…you don’t own me.”

Blaine flinched visibly as Prisoner 219 said “all of you,” thus lumping him in with Sebastian and Karofsky. That hurt. Yet again, it felt like two steps forward, one step back with 219. “I’m well aware that I don’t own you,” he said simply, trying for restraint. “I just don’t want you get hurt. I do have your best interest at heart, whether you believe it or not.”

Prisoner 219 simply shrugged, looking away. Blaine could feel the chill in the air, this time having nothing to do with the temperature of the basement.

“So I’m guessing that I’m not going to convince you to eat something now? No one will know but me, I swear,” Blaine tried one last time, sensing the futility.

“No, I’ll be fine. The food is disgusting anyways,” Prisoner 219 said, failing to suppress a yawn, looking exhausted.

“And you’re not going to come out? Don’t you want to sleep in your bed?” Blaine coaxed.

“No, I’m fine here. Really, Anderson. You don’t need to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Blaine sighed. “I’m sure you can, but that’s not going to stop me from worrying,” he replied honestly.

Prisoner 219’s eyes softened a bit. “I’m good. Really.” He looked down at the jacket still wrapped around his shoulders. “Thanks for the jacket,” he continued, starting to slide it off his arms.

“No, no…Keep it,” Blaine insisted. “You need it more than me.” He rose to his feet, sensing that the conversation was over, brushing dust from his pants as he stood.”

Prisoner 219 gave him a shy, grateful smile, zipping the fleece jacket up once more and snuggling into the folds. He rested his head against the wall, feeling a creeping exhaustion pulling his eyelids shut, even as he fought back another yawn.

“You should get some sleep,” Blaine encouraged, seeing Prisoner 219 fighting to keep his eyes open. “So this is goodnight, I guess?” he asked, feeling suddenly awkward and overly formal.

“Goodnight Anderson.”