Jarvis grunted and kept still.

Ryan was expecting to be dragged again, but was startled by warm breath at his ear.

"Fucking idiot," Jarvis whispered. "I was trying to help you out. Now she's got you. Probably cycle you, 'n' you deserve it. Don't kick a gift horse in the teeth, fucking idiot."

The breath was gone, and the tug of his ankle signified the dragging was resuming. Ryan was relieved the floor was so smooth, or there could have been damage done to his back. With the rate of movement, any imperfection in the surface or loose piece of grit could cut into his flesh. The floor appeared to be, somehow, spotlessly clean. There wasn't even a layer of dust to slide through.

How did they keep it so clean? He had to ask.

"Done when you sleep," Jarvis said angrily, as if the question irritated him.

"It'd wake us, surely, wouldn't it?"

"You sleep the sleep of the dead, fucking idiot. The doc makes sure. You wouldn't hear a bomb go off. Bradley makes sure."

The intercom emitted the screeching sound of feedback, which cut off abruptly. It made Ryan wince, and the ringing from it lingered in his ears.

"Stop asking 'n' I'll stop telling."

The feedback must have been a warning, he surmised. Jarvis was saying too much, and they'd made sure he knew to shut the hell up.

Good. He'd given something away.

It had to be the sleeping. Bradley makes sure they sleep like 'the dead.' Was it drugs? How would they be administered? A gas? That would get them all at once. Effective. But why? What did it matter if they all slept at different times? They couldn't go anywhere, as was made clear by his current predicament. He'd tried and failed. Now he was going to pay.

In the meantime...

Bradley was making sure they slept as one. That would be why nobody was responding to the turmoil he'd caused. It also implied something was done while they were all out for the count. He'd have to have a conversation with her to find out what. He'd also ask what cycling was. He had a feeling he didn't want to know the answer.

At the infamous door, Ryan took the opportunity to speak quickly to Jarvis.

"I'm sorry."

He almost meant it, considering what the man had said about trying to help. It couldn't hurt.

"Fucking idiot. I try to help and you say sorry. You think that makes it all good?"

Well... yes?

"Not at all. I just wanted to tell you before... whatever comes next. I didn't know you were helping me. I had to try and get out."

Jarvis sighed and closed the door he'd opened only slightly.

"OK, idiot. Don't do it again. You know why?"

"Because I'll regret it?"

"No. But yes, you will. But no, because there's no point. You're never leaving."

Jarvis sniggered and reopened the door, fully this time. Before he took Ryan through it, he brought up the foot he was going to kick him with and brought it down on his face.

Ryan awoke to somebody working at his wrists. When he opened his eyes, Jarvis and his... twin...? were locking him into handcuffs. Ryan tried to struggle, but found they'd already fastened his ankles in place. This time, he wasn't lying down. He was upright, with his back against an indentation in the wall. Around it, bolted in place, were rings and bars, points where all manner of other manacles or devices could be attached. Connected to an opposing pair was a thick band that ran across his chest.

Had he travelled back in time to the dark ages of torture?

"What's going on? What are you doing to..."

Jarvis, one of them, slapped his face hard enough to make the skin sting.

"Not so rough with him," said someone behind them.

"Sorry, Doc," said the twin that hadn't hit him. "You know he gets carried away."

"I don't give a fuck, Jarvis. He's pissed cos you fucked up. Now he's scared, so he's taking it out on our guest."

The men glanced at each other. Jarvis looked apologetic, and the other seemed furious, but held his tongue.

"Kravitz. Show our guest what happens when you disappoint me, and make no mistake, I am disappointed."

Bradley. The voice was unmistakable, though she remained unseen.

Kravitz, the Jarvis who preferred to hit rather than help (although the real one hadn't been averse to striking out) smiled before taking a small step back. He opened his mouth and Ryan almost vomited.

Where there should have been the held tongue was a roughly hacked stump.

"He says he wants you to disappoint the doc," said Jarvis. "He says please."

Ryan looked between the two of them. Kravitz hadn't said anything. Couldn't say anything. Wasn't there something between twins where they could know what each other thought? Or was that a myth?

Or was that what Kravitz thought a 'miss' was...?

"Something funny, fucker?" Jarvis asked, his brow furrowing.

Ryan shook his head, realising he'd been smiling. It was an unkind joke, not that Joke was the right word, and he didn't think he was the sort to make them, normally. Nothing about this was normal. He'd put it down to being mentally messed up. He'd squeeze humour in places it didn't deserve to be. He... he could remember it. Laughing at a funeral. Choking back the giggles and hiding them behind a tissue. Being comforted and feeling a cheat.

"Allow him his fun, Jarvis," Bradley said. "He'll have so little of it in his future."

The twins stepped away, each taking up a position on either side of Ryan. Jarvis' gaze lingered on him for a second longer than his brother, but both then stared directly forward, not even looking at their employer.

"Relax, gentlemen," she said. "It's all good. The thing about disappointment is, it can quickly become indifference, particularly if it's met with often."

She was seated in a high-backed office chair, with her legs crossed and her hands clasped over her knee. This wasn't the same room as he'd been in before. There was no gurney or table. A large painting on the wall opposite wall showed a landscape. It was a forgettable piece where the brushstrokes were broad and gave the picture an indistinct look, mixing detail with implication, just not with an effective aspect.

"Do you like it?" Bradley asked.

He could lie and tell her yes, it was lovely. He could ask where she bought it from. How much was it, hmmm?

He could.

He didn't.

"No," he said. "It looks a fucking mess. I don't know why someone would put that on their wall, let alone why someone would paint it and think it was art. I hope you kept the receipt, 'cos you should take it back."

He heard Kravitz move and prepared for the hand to slap his face again, but instead, the doctor held up her own. Kravitz returned to his position.

"Like I said, boys. Let him have his fun." She looked at him and leaned back in her chair, smoothing her tunic down along her thighs and picking at an errant thread Ryan couldn't see. "You're not a fan, then?"

"I'm not. Maybe a child painted it, and they'd be better off with some crayons?"

"I painted it."

Ryan gulped. Ah, shit.

"I... I mean, it's OK. I just don't get art, that's all."

"You don't know what you get," she said calmly. "You don't know what you like or hate, so you're welcome to shut the fuck up, OK?"

He nodded. He wasn't in a position to disagree.

"You're welcome to your opinion, though, so don't worry about not being keen. Each to their own. Just because I painted it doesn't mean you have to like it."

She stood and nudged the chair away with the backs of her knees. She wasn't a tall woman, but she did cast an imposing figure.

"No, I was rude. It's... it's a decent picture. Ignore me."

"It's a fucking painting. It's irrelevant to whether or not I ignore you. It's there to give you something to look at. I don't actually care if you like it. If I did, then that'd imply I gave a shit about you."

She took one step forward, leaving her still a few feet from him. Her imposing manner, though, made it feel as if she'd suddenly put her face right in front of his. He recoiled.

She smiled.

"Don't be afraid. That's what I should probably say to you, but I don't give a fuck if you're scared or not. I think you should be. It'll keep you alert. It works better when you're alert."

"What does?"

"Oh, everything." She started to pace in a small oval that kept the doctor on her side of the room. "I should probably tell you," she said. "The jury's still out on whether that makes a difference. Our research doesn't lean either way, so it's up to me, really. I don't know which is worse for you. Knowing or being oblivious."

Having no idea what she was talking about, Ryan remained silent. She wasn't entirely speaking directly to him, so speaking could interrupt her flow.

She stopped pacing and faced him again.

"Do you want to know?"

Ryan nodded. Of course he did. He knew nothing, so anything was something!

A door he hadn't noticed, as Kravitz hid it fromhis view, burst open and Pedra ran in.