A/N: Set in the original cube from the first movie. To me, those other 2 abortions don't even exist. Isaac is an OC. I don't own anything else.
Isaac sat in silence gently beating the back of his head against the green wall. The warm metal was soothing on his bare skin. He was sure if he used a measuring tape, he would find the room was a perfect cube. Unfortunately, with no such tool, he would have to ignore the observation just like the other pointless ones he'd made, like the finger on the floor. He thought it looked more like a thumb, a very skinny thumb, like it belonged to a kid or a really thin person. Where was its owner? How long ago did he or she misplace it? It didn't matter. Why? Because knowing about it was pointless.
Gently, he unbuttoned and removed his grey shirt revealing a white t-shirt he didn't remember putting on before going to sleep. His hands moved up and down his muscled arms. It was all for a girl he remembered. Looking the look is one thing, talking the . . . that's another. He sagged his chin and gazed at the device in his lap. His thumb powered on his calculator. It was an advanced one, slick and detailed, not like those china made things they hand out during a physics class experiment. He looked at the blur of words at the top of the tool. He couldn't read it, but he remembered its name: The Cubic Wizard. It was real funny he thought. They left him his calculator but took away his glasses so he couldn't read it. He wondered why. What did it all mean? What was the point?
Slowly, he stood up facing the wall and put his index finger to the green tile. Pointing. That's what the kids at his school did. Not at him though. He was fortunate enough to be invisible, a shadow. "You should speak up Isaac!" His mother would say. "How do you expect to go anywhere in life if you don't speak up?" He wanted to lock himself in his room and never have to come out. Well, he got what he wished for, minus the comfy bed and deafening rock music. How long had he been here? Hours? Days? He reminded himself it was all meaningless. He would be lying in the same spot hours from now, days from then, starving and weak. He wanted to scream. He wanted to let out every bit of frustration and anger inside. Telling himself he'd feel better after, he inhaled deeply and shouted, forcing all the air from his lungs. As his booming voice echoed through the room, he felt his body jerk, and a flicker of blood was all he saw before his mind went black.