Back to the darkness.

The journey back to the cage was a silent one, but not because Ryan was unconscious. Rather, the thick tape covering his mouth prevented any speech. The handcuffs around his wrist stopped him lashing out and the taser pushed against his temple ensured any thoughts of doing either were pushed decidedly from his mind.

Besides, his vision was blurred from the blow from Jarvis. It was a precise punch that landed at the very top of his nose, right between his eyes. His head was throbbing and his eyes were struggling to see through the thick sheet of pain.

Jarvis, with one hand, lifted Ryan from the floor he'd been dragged across and threw him into his enclosure. He landed against the far side, the bars feeling as if they were equally slamming against him. Jarvis crouched low and entered the cage, causing his captive to shuffle quickly back, with nowhere to go.

"Hold still," he said, brandishing the taser. "Behave and you'll be fine. Got it?"

Ryan nodded. He thought about kicking out to return the favour of the fist in his face, but thought better of it. He would only end up with further injuries, or worse. He was surprised to be able to see his guard and glanced around. The illumination was coming from the bars themselves. They were glowing slightly from within.

Jarvis, keeping the weapon ready, reached forward and pulled away the tape. It detached with the sound of tearing and the feeling that the tear was of Ryan's flesh. He grunted, but the other's stare choked the sound back.

No noise. Make no noise at all. There'd be consequences.

Next, the orderly, for that seemed to be his actual role, if this was a hospital of some sort, took hold of the handcuffs by a central sleeve covering the chain. He squeezed and the cuffs fell open.

Ryan rubbed his wrists and stared at Jarvis. The latter saw the stare and ignored it.

"Maybe you'll play nice next time round," he said.

As he backed out, his eyes fixed on the captive, Ryan spoke. He had a question.

"What do you eat, seeing as you don't have a mouth?"

Jarvis stopped, and his eyes darkened with anger. After a second, he relaxed and, again, his eyes betrayed a smile.

"Blood," he said. "Human blood."

He closed the cage door, which locked with an audible click, and the lights went out. Ryan heard his footsteps recede and saw the door open. Jarvis went through without looking back.

Ryan breathed a sigh of relief. He knew it had been a risk to ask such a thing, especially when he was obviously being facetious. He could have been jabbed with the taser, switched up to full, but Jarvis had done nothing except answer.

An unsettling, hopefully false, answer.

He sighed again and settled back. The metal rods were uncomfortable, in a comforting sort of way, and he pushed against them, his eyes closed.

What was he thinking? Why be so provocative when it could lead to serious punishment. Injury. Even death. He wished there was someone else to talk to. Anyone. He thought about calling out to see if anyone was brave enough to respond, but didn't. He'd already been responsible for the suffering of one other when he arrived. Now he knew what happened, he was more reticent to allow a repeat.

He could hear them sleeping, anyway. There was no movement. No sound apart from the occasional snore.

How were they so accepting of so much bullshit? They could join together. If they made enough noise, Bradley and her leeches would never able to cope with them all. But, some would no doubt die, and no one wanted that. Well, perhaps they did. Some may have been in there for so long, death was their only escape. They might take any out offered.

Given that possibility, did it make it a more inviting proposition? Stay here and have the world think you're dead, or do your best to get free, even if it meant you might not make it?

Wait for them to wake. Think about it until then.

He closed his eyes. His intention was to wake the rest the next 'morning' and, somehow, make them understand their limited options. They would want his help. They'd welcome it. There was no plan, so they'd create one as they went. While he waited, he would go through different scenarios to see which was the best choice.

As for Bradley and her lot, they'd have no idea what was coming.

Of course, he slept. His mind grazed over a number of different outcomes from his plan of mass protestation, but only lightly. It couldn't manage to settle on any specific course without drifting onto a different one. There was no focus and, so, no defined direction. When he eventually woke, he felt refreshed and his headache was gone, but his mind was a mess of ideas, spreading like the crazed roots of a tree. They crossed over each other, ran parallel for a time, shot off in random branches that went nowhere. It was a mental entanglement Ryan had to discard lest he became lost in its labyrinth.

He could still hear the heavy breathing of sleeping forms around him. He couldn't have been asleep for long, so perhaps he should try to rest some more so he awoke with the rest, rather than dwell on things he couldn't define. His failure to concentrate on the desire to bring everyone together didn't concern him. He was in strange circumstances. His brain would still be trying to work through his identity without adding more into the mix. That was fine. He'd 'wing' it.

He might die in the process, but did that matter? They couldn't let him, or anyone else, go, in case it brought the authorities crashing down upon them. Ryan was there to stay.

He could wait it out. See what happened. See what mistake Bradley or one of her minions might make that would give him an advantage. They would be bound to eventually, wouldn't they? No one was perfect. He could then seize it and be gone before they realised anything was wrong.

So, wait for the end that would eventually come, as, when they were done with him, he'd be expendable, or strike now. Bring that end sooner or wait for its eventual and unquestionable arrival.

If he had some clue of his identity, it might make it easier to decide. Which way would he normally lean? He couldn't tell, and he was standing perfectly straight right in the centre.

Fuck it.

"I'm Ryan, I think," he said.

His voice sounded flat in the silence. The darkness sucked any essence from it, and he wasn't sure it had enough about it to reach to the other cages.

"I'm Ryan," he said again.

He dropped the 'I think,' as it didn't matter what Bradley told him. He'd adopted the name now until he discovered his own. 'Ryan' may be his, anyway. He didn't think it was, but that didn't mean it wasn't.

Nobody answered. The deep breathing and light snoring continued. He wondered if some of it was fake, falsified by those who heard him, but were too afraid to respond.

That was what he wanted to put an end to!

He'd give them the chance to wake up on their own, rather than by him calling out. They might be more forthcoming with support in that case.

OK, fine. Lay on the mattress. Close your eyes. Just a little more sleep.

He could hear a voice. It was young, a small girl, and vibrant with unrepressed life and the joy of it all. She was laughing, well, giggling, about something she'd seen. What was it? What could she possibly have seen in the prison that could elicit such a response? Ryan sat up, no, stood up, and looked around.

The room was no longer in complete darkness.

He could see everything.

The room was immense. Much bigger than he'd expected. The ceiling was high and had massive lights hanging down, with a maze of ducting threaded through for ventilation. Ryan had to rub his eyes, shocked that the ceiling was actually visible at all. There was no roof to his cage blocking his view. Only the vertical bars set into the base were there to prevent his egress. They were perfectly smooth and twice as high as he was tall, but still gave the sense of space and freedom.

Around him, in perfectly even rows, spread approximately two metres apart, were the other cages. They were roofless, too,

He looked in the direction of the door he'd been taken through and saw there were at least a dozen different ones, all against the same wall. Above them all, stretching almost the full length of the room, was a window. Only the middle section of the glass was clear enough to see through. The rest was mirrored, and Ryan sensed there would be people standing on the other side, watching what he and the other captives were doing. Whether they were at that moment, he wasn't sure, but they would be the audience, and those below would be the stars of whatever warped show they were taking part in.

The sense of being in a show was emphasised by the number of cameras set around the walls and in various places of the ceiling, trained on, and covering all parts of the room.

Where, and who, was the girl?