This story was written for my muse Brook, who wanted to hurt the curly one! But I couldn't resist damaging them both - sick huh? WARNING - the subject matter may upset some. If you are sensitive, please dont read!

As usual. feedback is craved, and appreciated - but remember its only a hobby!

Disclaimer - I don't own them but I sometimes play with them a little

Chapter 1

The dark, curly haired man prowled the perimeter of the room, his bare feet leaving no sound on the slightly cushioned floor. He'd been walking around in that fashion now for the past….how long had it been? He couldn't remember. Time seemed to have no meaning in that room. He couldn't remember how long he'd been there, or how he'd actually gotten himself into this mess, but he was sure as hell certain that he had no idea how to get out of it.

His head ached. Not a thundering headache, but it was there, in the background; enough that he was constantly aware of it and he rubbed absently at his temples as he brought himself to a ragged halt and the ache increased. Finding that standing still increased his anxiety, he commenced to prowling again, back and forth across the back wall of his prison, like a wild cat in a zoo and with the same predatory grace. Needing to be somewhere and do something, but with no way to attain his goals. He kicked out at the wall in temper, achieving nothing but a sore foot, but the pain felt good. Somehow it had a comforting effect; at least he was doing something – anything. He replaced his foot with his fists and punched again and again at the dumb wall until his knuckles bled and left red smudges on its smooth surface. He stopped himself from further damaging himself and stood with his forehead against the cool wall, panting and sweating as he got himself back under control.

The room was white. It had white walls, a white ceiling; white floor. But no furniture. There were no paintings on the walls and the only colour in the vicinity was his blood, bright against the white wall like some Kandinski or Warhole modern art piece. There were no comforts of any description, and more ominously, the whole of one wall was a large window, the enormous pane of reinforced glass like an evil eye out onto the world outside. Not that he could see anything from the window. Just a white corridor. Bu he felt like an insect in a glass case, or an animal in a zoo. He was there for inspection for anyone who walked along the corridor to look at him – the prize exhibit in this crazy place.

He looked down at himself again, wondering again if there was anything about him that could lend a clue as to who he was or where he'd come from. Not many clues to be gleaned from his clothes. He wore only white drawstring pants with no marks or pattern on them. Idly he thought that if this was some sort of hospital, the pants would have the name of Memorial stamped on them.

Memorial? Where the hell did that name come from? Was it something from his past? He had to have had a past! He couldn't have been here all the time, could he? And how the hell did he know that much about hospitals anyway? He shook his head and the drops of sweat from the ends of his ebony curls flew in all directions.

His bare chest was covered in dark brown, curly hair, dense enough to disguise the dark nipples which peeped out. The chest was muscular and the abdomen flat, the muscles there defined and toned. Hard. His arms were similarly furred to the elbow and the upper arms again were well muscled although not overly so. He stared at the wide silver coloured bracelet circling his right wrist. It was perhaps 2 inches wide and fit snugly against his skin, although there was no hint of a clasp or hinge. It seemed to be permanent and there was a pale red welt at both the top and bottom of the bracelet, showing that it had been there long enough to abrade the skin.

It was plain silver, but it contained the only decoration to be found in the room. It proclaimed two things.

Designation – Blue 1

Wins - 4

Just what the words meant, the man had no idea, although they sent shivers down his spine each time he looked at them and read them.

He continued his methodical search of his own body, desperate to try to pierce the impenetrable fog which bound his mind to the here and now. He ran his hands over his torso, wincing again at the huge bruise marring his otherwise unmarked frame. Fingers searching, he found again the small area of dimpled skin above his left upper chest. He knew it was a scar from a bullet wound, but how did he know that? And when did he get it? Fingers searching further, he crested the rise of his shoulder and searched the top of his back, feeling a larger scar mirroring the one on his front. So, the bullet entered there and the front wound was a surgical scar. Curious!

Any more marks, he wondered? His arms were free of blemishes, although there seemed to be a slight indentation around his left little finger. Had he worn a ring? Where was it now? Did it symbolise something?

Too many questions.

The man gave up his pointless pacing as he got to the corner and turning his back to the wall he slid himself down and onto the floor, knees up and arms draped over the top. His head hung down in exhaustion. He felt like that a lot now. Always tired. Except for the other times. The times when he felt elated and powerful. But those times scared him because with the power came pain. He massaged the blue/black bruise over his right ribs and snorted hysterically. He couldn't even remember how he'd gotten the bruise in the first place.

Was it during one of the "not tired" times? It must have been, although try as he might he couldn't seem to remember when. All he knew was that he'd been locked up in this white room for as long as he could remember and that once in a while men would come. Then he'd be some place else. There would be noise and smells again instead of the quiet and the ionised air of his room. But with the noise and the smells would come the exertion and the power…..and the pain.

The man shook his head and for the millionth time tried to remember what this was all about. Wearily he closed his eyes and tried to relax back against the hard wall. What he wouldn't give for a bed. Any bed But most of all he wanted his own bed – the one with the…the….He cried out in pain and held his head in his hands.

Shit! Thinking hurt. But he needed to remember. There was something else. Something before the white, there had to be.

He slowed down his breathing and cleared his mind. There had to be something, if he could just get past the pain. He let his mind go blank, staring through closed eyelids at the blackness inside his head. Slowly he descended into it, not thinking, just following the progression of the patterns his mind threw up into his consciousness.

Blue.

Blue shirt.

Blue jeans.

Blue eyes

Hut…..

He cried out despite himself at the lancing pain in his head that threatened to plunge him into a more permanent blackness if he didn't stop thinking. Clutching his hands to the sides of his head with fingers that had turned to claws, he concentrated through the pain on that one name.

Was it a name?

It began with H.

Hut….the pain increased

Hutc….Oh my god, make it stop…make it stop…too much. Need to remember.

HUTCH, he yelled at the four walls as the pain took him and shook him and his sweat wet, limp and unconscious body slipped sideways onto the floor.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

'Increase the dosage'

'He's almost at maximum now'

'I know, but these two new ones are really quite resistant. Just increase it by another mil and we'll observe the results'.

Hands manipulated the equipment, drawing up some blue liquid into the barrel of a syringe which looked more like a gun. The man advanced on the bound body on the examination table.

The brunette looked back at his captors, his indigo blue eyes defiant as they approached.

'NOOOO' he yelled at them and tried to struggle against the medical restraints holding his wrists down to the sides of the cold metal table. His ankles were similarly bound and there was a broad leather band across his hips. The cold of the metal robbed his almost naked body of the little warmth he felt and the hard surface dug at he bones of his spine.

'For Gods sake, I can't treat him like that! Secure him!' the unknown voice said.

Blue 1 continued to struggle, more so now that he caught sight of the two orderlies approaching him. As one held his head in a vicelike grip, the other threaded a tough leather strap across the brunette's throat and another on his forehead, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

The bound man had come to the end of his human reactions. He was lost, bewildered, hurt and alone. Not only did he not have the comfortable touch of a human companion to ease his fears, he had no memories to fall back on. His mind was an empty void, filled only with dark and pain and any effort to try to penetrate the darkness ending in a pain which felt as though his eyeballs were being sucked out of his head through his ears.

He felt the sharp prick of the needle in the crook of his arm and tears of forlornness came unbidden to his eyes. He squeezed them closed. He wouldn't give these suckers the satisfaction of seeing just how hurt and sacred he was.

He was a man, not an animal ripe for experimentation.

The drug was beginning to take effect and he could feel the fire coursing through his veins. The more he tried to think, the worse the burning became and he struggled again against his bonds, writhing on the table as the neck strap threatened to cut off his breathing.

He was a man.

He was an individual.

He was no number.

He was….

He knew he was….

As he opened stormy indigo eyes and stared defiantly at his captors, one word came unbidden to his lips. He licked them, gathering his strength through the fast acting drug and yelled at the familiar face of the doctor bending over him taking notes.

'STARSKY'.

'Really?' the doctor made a written comment on the chart he held, holding a cold metal stethoscope to the heaving chest.

'But for how much longer huh?' he said calmly as he walked away, leaving the body on the table shaking, panting and sweating.