The mind is a wonderful thing.

The mind is a hidden part of our inner selves, without substance, that is able to control our whole lives. It can define us, with its idiosyncrasies directing our outlook on all that envelops us.

It is like a child standing in the middle of the seesaw in a playground. On either side, laughing with carefree hysteria at the frivolities they are enjoying, were other versions of the youngster. Or the same version divided. Or, they were the angel and devil that would usually sit on either shoulder, all the better to whisper in each ear. The central child would sway with each opposing lift and lower of the seesaw's beam, doing their best to keep balanced. They'd also be pushing their foot to try and force the rising side back down and, so, speed the game up.

The seesaw is fixed in a way that makes it possible to rotate in place, giving the children an additional level of joy.

Except, the spinning and rising and falling of the ride can be nauseating. Unsettling. The child standing in the middle can become unbalanced.

They can fall.

As can the mind.

In absolute darkness, the mind can be an inventive fool that, once it has fallen off the teeter-totter, can choose to be inventive. It can concoct sounds and sights that don't exist. Or might not, but you never know for sure, do you?

He listened to the sleeper and mentally walked into their dream.

If only he could. He'd stroke their troubled brow and ease them into more pleasant lands. As that was impossible, he could only imagine he was walking into their reverie.

He tried to envisage pulling a light cord hanging from a ceiling too high to see initially, but that came into view when needed. Rather than making the scene claustrophobic, it made it contained. With the pull of the light cord, the walls materialised. The shadows were cast out, hammering their futile intentions to gain access against the exterior of the newly created room.

The light was warm and welcoming and came from every surface, banishing the dark thoughts that had disturbed them so. Once they were settled, a door would appear and they would open it, to be greeted by a bright sun shining down on sprawling fields of wheat and rapeseed. There would be birdsong. Someone, somewhere, would be baking fresh bread, although a building couldn't be seen in any direction.

The sleeper would feel free and would run gleefully off, disappearing quickly into the distance.

His make-believe comfort wasn't going to work. It couldn't. He wasn't, to his knowledge, psychic, not least because he didn't believe such things were real.

How did he know that?

The thing was, it could, couldn't it? Even without the paranormal aspects, some people just knew you were thinking about them. They could tell. Twins over distance and strangers close together would often be aware of the thoughts of each other. Not fully formed, but a feeling at least. The inclination or intention.

So, perhaps, the sleeper could actually be calmed by the mental aura from him.

The soft murmur and grunt increased in volume, and he snatched his mind back.

Well, that didn't work, unless it exacerbated the issue.

The grunt became a moan. The murmur a groan. The person moved and some part of their prone body banged against the bars of their cage. It disturbed them, but not enough to awaken them.

"No. N... N... no. I don't like... Yes please... I will... No... I don't... NOOOOOOOOOO!!"

They were shouting yet, somehow, still asleep. The last, word was on its way to being a scream. Gasps could be heard further out. Hushed, nervous warnings were hissed and cut off as the utterers realised their folly. The entire room was alive with a vibe that shrieked SHUT THE FUCK UP!

It was then that they woke.

"Erm... What...? Where...? Shit!"

Realisation hit with the force of a sledgehammer in the face, and was emphasised by the opening of a door. The former sleeper stopped making any noise, but it was too late. Footsteps from multiple sources stomped purposefully across what appeared to be an uncushioned concrete floor. They were walking in lieu of voicing warnings. The boots on the hard floor said all that was needed.

DO NOT SPEAK

DO NOT MAKE A SOUND

YOU KNOW THE RULES

DO NOT BREAK THE RULES

OR ELSE

He assumed breathing was permitted, but held his own anyway.

The footsteps came closer, then stopped nearby. The now non-sleeper's voice was choked off at the sound of a key in a lock. It started once again when they were being dragged out of their cage.

"No! Please! I was sleeping. I didn't know! Please, leave me..."

There was a short, sharp stab of lightning, blinding in the darkness, and the pleas ceased. After a pause, the far door opened, revealing the silhouettes of four people, two of them dragging an unconscious form.

The sleeper to non-sleeper was sleeping again.

The door closed, and the light was snatched from his grasp. It did, though, leave an afterimage on his retinas as a reminder of its brief appearance. As closing and reopening his eyes made no difference to what could be seen, the afterimage was clear either way. It was fading quickly, with the light's essence knowing it shouldn't still be available to the guests, but he had time to analyse it.

Four people. One was wearing thick padding that suggested, based on a surmised diet of action films, a soldier of some sort. They held something in their hand that was possibly the lightning emitting taser. Two of the others were extremely tall and slim, and the light reflected off their bald heads. Each held one of the captive's legs as they dragged his unaware body along.

The fourth was roughly as tall as the soldier. She, given her attire that, even in silhouette, was feminine, walked through the door first, but the soldier held it open for her. The woman made no attempt to thank him, and her gait was that of someone in charge. Someone who expected open doors and did not expect to show gratitude for it. Her head was high, her back straight and her walk precise.

The soldier waited for the two bringing their prize to pass, then went through the doorway himself, pulling it shut behind him. And locking it, three times.

Turn and slide and click.

Turn and slide and click.

Turn and slide and... pause... slide again, then again, more forcibly, and click.

He thought his breath had been held for the entire time, but it had managed to sneak out while his attention was diverted. His lungs were in and exhaling shallowly, as if afraid that stealing air would bring the captors back. He took a long, though soft, breath in and let it out slowly, allowing his lungs to return to their normal routine.

He could hear that he wasn't the only one breathing. The previous silence wasn't banished, but it was invaded. Faster, frantic breaths. Ragged gasps. A 'huh, huh-huh, huh' from someone trying to subdue their sobs. They butted through the quiet, but not enough to announce themselves and bring the taser wielding soldier. Or soldiers.

How many were there? There was no way to know, so it was foolhardy to expect the one he'd seen, and those with him, had been all the employees. There would be other staff.

That they were staff was clear. This was no rag tag band of thugs, semi organised enough to kidnap innocents for their valuable innards. This was organisation. A review of the all but gone afterimage showed the woman had been carrying something. A digital tablet. The screen had been off, but the shape was obvious. It wasn't a clipboard or purse. There'd been another glint as light skated across its metallic back.

What was the purpose of that, if not to record what was happening and who they were taking? Who had broken the rules?

And what they were going to do to them?

He laid down, relishing the hard floor. Its pressure against his back told him he was safe in his cage. For now, at least. He closed his eyes and listened to the breathing of others. It served as a white noise lulling him to sleep.

Perchance to dream.

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