The cage.

To be back there, in the welcoming embrace of thick, suffocating darkness. Why would someone wish for that?

When the alternative was psychological gaming, needles and tasers shoved between the legs, the world ceasing to exist for a time was preferred. It gave him the chance to contemplate on the doctor's words, and her actions.

Dr Fio... Bradley could well have been honest with him. She was, possibly, a decent human being, torn between her nature and her duty. She flicked between good doc. and bad doc. like a freshly caught fish wondering had just happened. They were going to the park with the kids. They'd packed a picnic and their children were so excited about the fun filled day ahead. Then Daddy Fish was caught and thrown into the basket. They hadn't even been given the chance to say goodbye, so flipped and flapped in protest and shock.

Perhaps he was closer to Daddy Fish than she?

No. He wasn't fooled. Dr Bradley's inability to settle on one side of the temperament coin was pure theatrics. There had been a steel edge cutting across her eyes that she couldn't mask. She might have tried to hide it with her flippancy, but he saw it anyway.

So. Ryan. That was his name, or that's what she'd told him. She might have been, as she said, bullshitting him. He spoke the word softly, with hardly any sound leaving his lips. He wanted to try the shape. The feel. The sound of it in his head.

Ryan.

There was nothing familiar about it, he thought, sighing. Surely, if it was his name, it would taste like it. The flavour of the letters on his tongue would tug at his memory, making faint images appear to indicate recognition. It was still blank, however. As empty as the room when he looked around. The room was far from empty, but it seemed to be.

The darkness hid a world of sins.

The doctor had asked him why he didn't want to remember. He didn't understand that because, obviously, he was desperate to! His past could have been filled with a spiritual darkness as complete as that facing him. He could have been a murderer. A swindler. A nasty, wily individual whom people crossed the street to avoid. He didn't believe that to be the case, and there was no way to prove otherwise. If it were the truth, he still wanted to know.

He would hate himself, if so, but at least he'd know. He could change. His experience could be learned from, and he could improve!

He would try to convince Bradley the next time they met. He'd play along in the hope she'd give him information in return.

In the meantime, he would wait. He'd examine himself. He'd explore his surroundings and the limits of the cage.

He'd been thirsty before, but was no longer. Saliva flowed freely in his mouth, and his throat felt as if had been lubricated recently. He was also not hungry. When was the last time he'd had anything to eat? Nothing had been given to him since his capture, and Bradley had spoken of the week since their last meeting. They must have been feeding him while he was sleeping, somehow. No, while they had him under sedation on their table in the laboratory! That must mean Bradley had lied. He recalled – ah, a memory, almost! – that the body could survive around 3 weeks without they had water. Or was it two months? Whatever. He could potentially have been fed the previous he'd been in the presence of the doctor. That would mean he'd be starving, though. His stomach would be cramping. He'd be weak. He'd be a fortnight, too weak to move. He wasn't.

Ryan felt adequately healthy.

When, then?

If they'd given him sustenance whilst he slept, it would have woken him. Water being poured into his mouth would have disturbed any dreams he could have been enjoying. A bacon butty with lashings of melting butter and a splash of black pepper (why was his imagined foodstuff so specific?) would have been the stuff those dreams had been made of. He was aware of neither being given to him.

It didn't make sense.

He should have been ravenous! He should have felt as if he was being desiccated from the inside out! He was neither.

Ryan felt, as far as he could tell, healthy.

He filed away the question of how he was being fed for another time. Perhaps the answer would show itself. If not, he'd find out somehow. If not, he'd just be happy he wasn't desperate for food or water. He needed to be happy about something.

Being more awake and mostly aware, he placed his fingertips on the floor beneath him. He wasn't sure what substance it was. It was warmer than he'd initially thought, and not as completely hard as expected. There was a very slight give, one only apparent if he pushed hard against the surface. There was no break in the evenness of the material to indicate it was made up of anything other than a single piece. In fact, when he reached through the bars to feel for an edge, he couldn't find one. The gaps between were too close for him to push his full hand through, so he could only extend his fingers out as far as possible. Nothing.

What would be the point of building a cage with excess floor space? It would be a waste of building supplies. It was a secure prison, so the floor only needed to end just a few millimetres past the bars. Anything else was redundant.

Did that mean the floor to the cage was also the same floor that ran across the whole room? It reached to the unseen walls and through the equally concealed other cages? If it was so big, and unless the room had been built around it, there had to be a join at some point. It was simply too rigid to have been brought in any other way. Hopefully, though he didn't know what hope might bring, that join could be close to him. Within reach, not of his hands, but some other utensil he would do his best to seek out.

What use it might be would become clear once he had access to it. Possibly nothing at all, though he did imagine creating a lip that one of Them tripped on. They'd fall against his cage, and he'd grab them. Strangle them. Steal their keys and taser and escape.

But not before showing Dr Fiona Bradley what an electrical charge to the groin felt like.

Ok, so. The bars. They were close together, their circumference not quite thick enough to prevent his finger and thumb from meeting. His previous attempt to reach beyond them puzzled him. He'd held his hand palm down and tried to push between the vertical rods. Why did he not turn his hand by 90° to match the bars? It fitted through without issue, then, though he could only go as far as his lower forearm. Why hadn't he done that in the first place, instead of going for the more difficult option? He could turn his arm and angle it down, reaching further away.

Ryan paused before touching anything. He was waiting to see if he was being watched. Cages were meant to keep people inside, and there were multiple ones. He wouldn't be the first to try this, so They would be aware of it. Would there be repercussions?

Did it matter? He could see no out, and to find one, he'd have to prompt interaction. Maybe reaching through the bars would do that.

He'd find out.

There could have been monsters outside the cages, prowling around. They could be looking for rule infractions such as this. His arm might be their lunch, breakfast, or dinner. It could be just snack time. What form would they take? Huge snakes, ready to strike? Enormous rats, preparing to bite chunks from his flesh? Zombies, feasting on him and turning him into one of their own?

Or nothing at all.

It was probably the latter.

He pushed down, feeling for the floor. It was cooler the further away from the cage he felt. Perhaps the floor beneath him was heated, though only meagrely. Pulling back towards himself, there was still no lip, but the temperature change was definitely noticeable. He ran his fingers outwards. Was there a slight difference in the texture? A merging from the smoothness beneath him to a rough one?

Yes!

Stroking the floor like a lover's spine, he struggled to tell where one ended and the other began. There wasn't a definitive line. It was gradual, and he wouldn't have known if he hadn't dared to venture out.

No one approached him. No doors opened. No tasers shot their hate through his groin.

He was safe.

"It's not safe."