Dedicated to @just_like_a_tree because they introduced me to this song, which reminds them of the book!

I have suffered through far too much jolt-awake moments lately, I think irritably as yet another one washes over me and my eyes snap open, heart pattering wildly. Not that I can even properly jerk upright because of my...

Straitjacket?

I stretch my newly freed arms and look around.

I am lying on a twin-sized bed to the side of an incredibly sterile room. Everything is pure, clean white. The brightness of the light shining off of it all hurts my eyes.

Across from me is placed a desk and matching chair. The chair is attached to the desk and is swiveled outward slightly as if somebody has just been using it.

To the immediate left of the desk is a large mirror. It doesn't look like normal glass for some reason, and I realize that it is some sort of plastic material. Instantly, my brain analyzes the situation - glass can break and cut easily. Wherever I am, the people in charge know what I am capable of.

I attempt to stand and collapse. My legs are not strong enough to keep me upright whatsoever. With a shock, I realize I haven't actually used them - at all - for close to three years. The nearest I got was being propped up to be showered - and even then, I wasn't supporting my own weight. Was their goal to weaken me so severely?

I try to stand again and my legs fold once more. At least with the Voice around I know that I will heal quickly from whatever bruises I just earned - it has always repaired me faster than any normal process could. Glancing desperately around me, I inchworm myself over to the chair and heave myself into it. Sighing, I lean back, my arms burning even from the slight physical exertion.

On my left, set in the wall beside the mirror, is a small porthole window. I cannot see much through it. There is pure, undulating darkness dotted with pinpricks of light. So I'm still in space, then. This is a spaceship.

And it likely isn't one of ours.

To my right is a strange-looking exit. It resembles an automatic door - if automatic doors were also heavily fortified against attack - made out of some sort of dark metal. It's the only thing in this room that isn't pure white, probably so that I can see where it is in the otherwise seamless wall.

I am dressed in a thin, hospital-like gown. It matches the monochrome of the room. My body is completely clean and I notice that I smell wonderful. I must have had another shower, then. Two showers in as many days when I hadn't had a proper one in years! Most of the time they just drugged me up and dunked me in water repeatedly, or sprayed me with a less-cruel (and effective) version of the hose they used before my departure.

I only know this because sometimes the Voice would wake me up for the process. It found it...amusing.

Luckily, whoever gave me a shower this time around used a different tactic, to get me so sparkling clean. They even washed my hair, as is evident by its equally fresh scent.

My hair, I realize delightedly. My long, blond hair is braided, as I discover when I pull the long rope over my shoulder. It feels soft and is wonderful. I used to take so much pride in my hair. It was my one quality that didn't contribute to my rebellious-emo-teenage appearance. I spent hours learning how to French braid the length of it, properly care for it, style it in various outdated and modern fashions, and constantly attempt to grow it just a couple inches longer. When the Voice took over, that all changed, of course, and I haven't let myself think about my hair in as long as my roommate had been here.

As I am absentmindedly feeling my hair, which is so much longer than when I last cared about it, the halves of the door retract into the walls with a corresponding whooshing noise. Jake bursts in. He glances wildly around the room, finding me instantly in the small space.

"Oh, thank goodness," he breathes, and I notice that he, too, is freed from his former restraints. "I thought I was alone here." Then he registers that I am no longer confined in a straightjacket and takes a few steps back.

"Relax. I'm not going to kill you," I assure him loftily, as if he is foolish for assuming such a preposterous thing.

"How would you..." he begins before trailing off, obviously not wanting to follow that logic. I answer his unfinished question regardless, the Voice trickling in.

"Easy. I would make you mad at me or something, lure you over here, and then jab you in the eyes. While distracted by the resulting pain, I could either try and push you to the ground - while the odds are not in my favor, there is a slight possibility that I would be successful - or proceed to kick you where it hurts and further incapacitate so from there I could find...something...to kill you with." I frown as I look around the room. "Okay, not easy per say. I would have to somehow kill you with my bare hands. All of my murder sites had a lot more stuff to use...I mean, how many action figures can one little boy need?"

Jake looks like he's going to be physically ill and I realize what that must have sounded like. "No, no, the kid wasn't home! I didn't hurt the kid!" I exclaim. "Just his parents, grandparents, and slightly older but still condemnable young cousin," I finish under my breath.

"Have you ever killed a child?" he demands quietly, and I freeze mid-thought. The Voice is gleefully threatening to take over, to describe every detail of every single one of my horrific crimes to him, but she's weakened. Again. What is happening?

"Have you ever killed a child?" he repeats, his voice gaining more gravity and dragging my attention back to him. I glance down at the floor. The front of the dress ends just below my knees but it cascades down to my ankles in the back. I'm completely hair-free except for my eyebrows and eyelashes, which feels weird after so long. At least they also left the hair on my head.

Sage, focus. If you don't concentrate, the Voice is going to take over and then...

Nicole, of all people, saves me. Jake stumbles into my room as if he has been electrocuted and I see that she is standing behind him, one finger outstretched to tap his back. "Baby," she mutters scornfully at his reaction, dropping her finger. Her voice is low and throaty and a bit hoarse, as if she has a head cold. Most likely, however, her voice is simply a cause of her not having spoken for a while. Like me, she's obviously fast at recovering. Her teeth, I see as she smiles coldly, are filed into deadly points. It plants the disconcerting thought of a shark in viewers' minds.

Or a vampire.

Nicole strides over to me and I gaze up at her. I'm not scared. If I was here to die at the hands of one of my murderous peers or whatever force brought us here, wouldn't I already be dead?

"Hello," she greets me, holding out a hand.

I beg the Voice not to take over and simply shake her hand - it gives her the advantage and compromises my overall safety, but I doubt she actually wants to hurt me, at least for the time being. Instead of worrying about the odds of this, I stare at her palm. Her skin is rough and calloused. From what? I wonder.

"Why are we here?" she asks without further preamble. Something in her voice tells me that she honestly expects me to have the answer to this.

"I don't know," I reply, oddly defensively. "I didn't plan this. I was gearing up for a cozy existence on Mars, same as you. Just me and four of my closest maniacs."

"I say we go exploring," Nicole says as if I hadn't spoken, a strange glint in her eyes. "I'm hungry."

Jake and I both stare at her, silently concerned, until she rolls her eyes and clarifies icily, "For human food. I don't actually drink blood, you guys."

"If you don't mind me asking," the Voice asks, "what did you do with all that blood?"

"Experiments," Nicole responds easily.

Oh, she's screwed up. I instantly feel more comfortable around her.

"I was just looking at stuff that scientists and doctors have already discovered, of course, but that mainly involved messing around with temperatures, hot and cold. That kinda stuff."

"You took their blood to play?" Jake breathes, sickened.

"I hate how you're acting like you're some do-gooder  when you killed so many people with your bare hands," Nicole fires back disdainfully, barely sparing him a glance. Jake fumes, massive hands forming two boulder-like fists.

"So, you wanna come?" she asks me, obviously assuming Jake will have no interest in exploring this strange place.

"I can't walk at the moment," I reply slowly.

Nicole's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"I haven't stood up in roughly three years. Turns out that kinda weakens your leg muscles."

"They kept you in a straightjacket for three years straight?"

"Usually even to wash me. They'd just dunk me in soapy water while I was unconscious and call it good."

Nicole's eyebrows raise slightly and I get the strangest feeling that she respects me for all I've done and been through. The thought sickens me, but the Voice is positively beaming.

"Jake, carry her," she orders suddenly, turning on her heel and leaving the room.

Jake still looks apprehensive while approaching me. "Oh, please," I say exasperatedly as he inches nearer. "I'm not going to bite you. I'm Sage, not Nicole." I grin at my own joke and hold out my arms.

Sighing, Jake turns around so I can climb onto his back. I summon my strength, lunge for his shoulders, and promptly slide off onto the ground. "No arm strength, either," I point out dryly from my uncomfortable position on the floor.

Positively growling, Jake scoops me up and carries me like an infant. I am dwarfed in the shadow of his massive form.

And suddenly, something odd happens

The Voice completely backs off.

I would have expected her to rejoice in this chance to make the situation awkward for everyone involved - but no. She's choosing silence.

Probably to rest, now that I think about it. I can't be the only one out of the two of us who's noticing her strange, sudden weakness.

The hallway outside of my room is also glaringly white. There are no decorations, windows, or deviations from this monotony. The effect, though I once preferred quirky patterns, is actually soothing - apart from the uncomfortable brightness. I can't even tell where the light is coming from, let alone know where it would be most helpful to shield my eyes from.

Jake begins following Nicole, who is swaggering down the middle of the hallway like she owns the place. But what is said place?

I know that we're in space because of the view from my bedroom window. If we were on a planet, I would be able to see something outside instead of the inky void. My guess is also that my room was designed for someone dangerous, someone like me. The furniture didn't so much as budge as I fell onto it, so it must have been tightly fastened to the floor. The desk chair was attached to the desk, so as to make it impossible to be used as a weapon. Even the mirror was forged out of non-lethal plastic.

Which leads me to my next question: was that room built specifically for me?

We are arriving at the end of this hallway. Before either Jake or Nicole can move forward to motion the door open, it does so with a woosh and a bald, albino woman steps into the hall in front of us.

"Welcome, patients," she greets us in a gentle, singsong voice.