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And the story contiues my friends...!

His body screamed and his body screamed for him to speak, to raise his voice in fury. He felt his lips open and close, like a fish out of water and allowed to lay in the Sun, baking to its Death. He felt everything was crashing down on him.

He couldn't do it. He… just… couldn't… do it!

He felt weak and very small; a forgotten, dried-up autumn leaf lost to the giant pile. Of course, he's only seen those images from old photographs they find. But the feeling was all the same. He felt small and bursting with emotion.

The emotions banged against the walls he put up. They were putting up one hell of a fight too; he shoved and pushed them down, trying so hard to stay depressed. It was easier to deal with depression in his cell than anger. But he couldn't win this battle.

His lips bled as he bit into them and suddenly, the roar gurgled in his throat and he felt rush up his chest. His voice came back to him in a head-spinning rush. He howled like he was in pain and tried to stop spinning. He touched the floor and viciously shoved himself off it, banging and pounding the walls. He howled and screamed; he shrieked till his throat was dry and his head was pounding with his ears ringing.

He cried as his body slowly drifted towards unconsciousness. They rolled down his cheeks, leaving wet trails of sadness behind them. He didn't bother to wipe them away; he knew if he did, they would just keep coming anyway. He watched them drop off his face and slowly float beside him until they touched his clothing, soaking into the fabric.

He felt like it was a hundred years until they came. But his head told him it was the middle of the night; how long was he asleep? He did not care. He knew he was at his end. He slowly peeled his eyes open then squinted towards the door, knowing what was hiding behind it. His fingers twitched at the thought of them; his fingertips burned in fury and there was an awful taste on his tongue.

Hatred. Pure hatred.

He felt like he could kill them with his bare hands. He imagined, with his eyes closed, his hands wrapped around their throats and gripping with wide, almost white eyes and a victorious and insane smile on his face. He felt his body spinning and floating in his cell and when he opened his eyes, he realized he was curled and his arms slightly outstretched, his hands wrapped around the invisible throat.

He squeezed his hands until they interlocked and he imagined the life draining from their eyes, their lips turning blue and their nails scratching into his hand's skin, making them bleed. He would kill them. He was hell bent on it.

He howled again and repeated the other day's actions. Pounding and banging; he felt his body protest as he slammed against the wall, roaring nonsense at the world in his little cell. He screamed and shouted at the top of his lungs, feeling his body slowly pulse with pain.

The pain was awakening something in him. A terrible beast that imagined Death in its head and didn't care it would never achieve that. He growled and gritted his teeth, his hands turning into fists as his sides. He stopped pounding and allowed the antigravity cell to pick him off his feet.

He became like a laying statue; his eyes could've burn holes into the ceiling above them if he stared just a bit harder. So much pent up emotion was in his body that his mind had no idea how to deal with it. The emotions gathered up in his gut and twisted and churned his stomach acids; it made him sick but yet he would not give in. He fought the bile in his throat till it back was where it belonged and his face glistened from a thin sheen of sweat on it.

His breathing was hard; his throat burned every time he breathed, whether through his nose or through his mouth. It reminded him of reality, how he only gets one water container at each meal time and has a limited time to drink it and no refills. His lungs were red hot; it felt like he had sniffed burning hot sand into them.

He had never dealt with such raw emotion, even when he was free before his imprisonment. It was completely maddening and he needed to get out of here. He swam towards the glass, pounding on it with a small, pale fist. He screamed, pressing his cheek to the cool glass and let the ear shattering shrieks exit his mouth despite the protest in his body.

Maddening… purely maddening…

As the first prisoner slowly drifted back into unconsciousness, they moved in. White masks obscured their faces, to protect their identity from the prisoners. The government wasn't completely positive how sane the prisoners were in the core and didn't wish for any of their men and women to get hurt because the prisoners chose to stalk them after they saw the faces of the people who worked for the "enemy".

The uniformed people turned off the antigravity in the cell and the first prisoner fell to the floor. He woke with a jolt, his eyes widening in realization what was happening. He scrambled up but stumbled and wobbled so wildly he collided with the floor again and the air whooshed right out of his lungs.

He screeched angrily as the uniformed people entered. He crawled to his knees, cowering like a cornered and caged animal. He curled his lip and hissed, using the wall to his left to stand up. His hands turned into fists and he noticed the glistening needle in one of their hands. He wanted to take a step back but the wall stood behind him and the enemy stood in front of him.

An old saying came to his mind I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. That saying was older than he was! Though he considered very early thirties young.

He stared at the people, whom were closing in on him and he lounged at them, only to realize a second too late that was a bad idea. He saw the needle glint in the light of the cell; he felt the metal slip into his skin and his muscles tightening as the liquid inside of it was shot into his body. The first prisoner fell like a rock to the floor.

When his body did hit the floor, it made a low and deep thud noise. The uniformed people glanced at each other and nodded in unison before they bent down to examine the body. One pulled out a foldable stretcher from their pocket and pressed the little silver button on it; it unfolded itself and they carefully picked up the body of the man before they placed him on the stretcher and left the cell.

The second prisoner's antigravity was cut off long before the uniformed people came and got him.

He sat right in front of the window, his ankles crossed and his big arms wrapped around his legs with his chin resting on his knees. He felt so alone and was watching what he was thinking very carefully. He was trying to avoid thinking the government turned off the antigravity because they were going to get rid of him.

He shuddered; it was a ripple effect through his body. His head shook and then his neck hair stood on end; his spine tingled and his fingers twitched. It was like a little spasm inside itself, he supposed. He sighed heavily and tilted his head, so that his cheek lay horizontally on his knee.

He heard the footsteps outside the door; it was so deadly quiet in his head and in the cell. He turned around as he heard the door slide open. His face was pale and his eyes were hollow; the uniformed people stopped in the middle of the cell, realizing how broken this man was.

The one before still had fight inside him. This one seemed completely forgotten and destroyed.

But suddenly, there was a flash of anger in his eyes. A flash of anger that seemed to turn his once gentle, sea blue eyes into a dark raging storm blue; suddenly, there was this deep burning fury inside his eyes. He stood up, craning his neck to show the muscle that had yet to disappear from his body.

His breathing became uneven. His heart sputtered out heartbeats as the adrenaline pumped through his body. He thought out the steps to attack them; the dark fury was consuming him and he randomly thought he was always the rational one of the trio. Apparently he was just like his friends and for once, he didn't seem bothered that he wasn't thinking rational anymore.

It felt good to feel a bit insane, a bit intimidating because they didn't know what to expect from him.

His lip twitched but he couldn't bring himself to pull it into a smirk or sneer. He stared at the people before them, waiting for a sign of something. One of them uncapped a needle, nodding to his or her comrades. The second prisoner felt his nostrils flare at the sight of the gleaming metal needle. The pale green liquid inside sloshed inside of it, against the clear glass where it was contained.

A few beads of sweat rolled down his forehead and the person holding the needle, gave a grin. That was a big mistake.

With a big breath, he screamed and attacked the person with the needle, able to land a strong punch onto their nose and feel the satisfaction as the bone crunched underneath. The person wailed underneath him and the prisoner heard the clink as it rolled away from their hand, onto the ground. He pounded and pounded on the person; it could've been a woman, it could've been a man- he did not care.

The person below him was the enemy. The person below him was no longer seen as human anymore. They worked for the very inhuman government; the men who ran the world and were heartless and soulless. They cared for no one but themselves. The person below him and the people surrounding him were guilty by association- whether that was fair or not.

The needle was injected into his shoulder and he felt his upper body go completely numb; his hands and arms went limp and hung from his side. He slumped over and fell to the floor, his eyes wide open and his mouth ajar as if he was going to speak.

The uniformed people were panting from their frenzy panicked mode. The person still laid on the floor, rolling on their back and groaning, their hands covering their bloody and broken nose. Another person walked over to them and helped them up from the ground, patting their shoulder to comfort them.

Anger pulsed through the uniformed person and he swung his leg back and landed a kick on the shoulder of the prisoner. It would be a big nasty bruise by the time the man would wake; he would wake up with a throbbing pain. As the uniformed person brought up his foot to pound onto the man's chest, two of the people grabbed their arms and dragged the person out, kicking and flailing around.

The two people, who were left, shrugged at it and brought out the second prisoner same as they did with the first prisoner. Out on a little stretcher and they struggled at the numb and heavy man's weight but got him to the hospital wing in time to sit down and to catch their breath before removing their white uniforms.

After stripped of the snow white outfits, it was revealed the two last people were a man and a woman. They moved to the first prisoner first, removing his shirt to examine his chest. Bruises covered his left side; small ones but showed imprints of the wall. They were already turning an ugly yellow-brown color; they could be left unintended besides some balm that would hopefully make the bruise less tender.

The woman shook her head slightly. But then moved onto his chest; no broken ribs and no bruises covered his skin there. But little scars were seen all around his body! Just little ones; like paper cuts that ran one centimeter too deep and scarred. She sighed and glanced at her assistant. He nodded and with a little breath mask, he covered the man's mouth and pumped anesthesia into him so they could perform surgery.

The doctor knew that rebels loved their scars and as she stared at this man, he would not be the man he was with the scars should she take them off. She held the silver knife, gleaming like new polished metal. She stared at his body and glanced up at her assistant. He waited, to see if he was needed. She shook her head and placed the scalpel down; the man immediately took off the mask from the rebel and did not worry on how much was already in the man's body.

She checked his eyes, mouth, ears; his mouth seemed unusually dry. She squirted a silver liquid into his mouth and the man rubbed the first prisoner's throat to have him swallow it. The liquid would give him a damp enough throat and mouth to speak hopefully. They moved onto his back.

Carefully, they flipped him gently over. The woman ran her fingers over the man's tense back, her eyes blank of any expression or emotion. The man stood on the other side; he was the assistant not the doctor. She glanced at him.

"Relax his muscles."

The government said to soothe anything that needed of soothing treatment. The doctor only assumed this fell into the category. They soothed the muscles, massaging them into relaxation; the sweet scent from the liquid they used was making their head spill so they took a moment to move to the next man.

It was mostly the same thing, except for the bruises. And when the woman shined a little light into the man's eyes, she knew that the medicine they probably needed the most was inside the head and they weren't allowed that. It had to remain physical, they told her. Something that would heal or soothe or whatever the case may be, on its own.

After the rest of the examination, she passed them as healthy. Her assistant looked at her, his eyes hidden behind the glare of his glasses. She waved him away, to go get the others and she stayed in the room, alone with the men.

She pitied them. They were up against a formidable force; the government had the most weapons, the best organized army and the supposed best intelligence of the world. These men had lost their leader, barely had any good weapons, were spread across the whole world in little bands and the only ones who were capable of leading where the true leader left off were laying right in front of her.

She sighed. She wished them the best of luck. After all, her sister was somewhere in the southern-east corner of the world; she was part of the rebellion, her sister was. The doctor didn't think it was the smartest idea- after all, there was a high possibility of the government winning and all the rebels being put into prison for the rest of their lives- but she loved her sister and would do anything to keep her alive.

So did she consider herself a traitor? No. More like a double agent, really. She brought her watch to her pink lips and licked them nervously before pressing the almost invisible button on the side of the silver watch. She spoke slowly.

"Co-leaders in the wing. Repeat, co-leaders in the wing."

There was a beep in response and she took off the watch, dropped it on the ground and slammed her heel into it. The watch shattered like glass and she stomped on it again and again, until it was almost like chunky dust particles lying on the tile flooring of the hospital room, in the hospital wing. She swept it up quickly and poured it into the sink; she turned on the water and watched the stuff disappear in the water right before her eyes.

The rebels never told her about the metal the watch was made out of besides that it was very fragile and almost magically disappears in the water, communication devices inside of it and all. The doctor shrugged, trying to shake the slightly guilty feeling she was getting away. For her sister, she told herself. For her sister.

And now she prayed that the rebellion was ready for what they were about to face because even she didn't know what the government had in store for these two men.

As she turned away from the prisoners, her assistant brought in the two people who would dress the men in the citizen uniforms that people of the full city (no one knew its real name anymore) had to wear. Of course the government would take every chance it could get to humiliate the men.

They were full jumpsuits. The coloring consisted of mainly smoky grey with silver fabric where the zipper in front was and the fabric underneath the zippers on the breast pockets of the jumpsuit. There were little pockets on both sides of the chest. There was also a small and short collar at the base of the throat.

They were just generic jumpsuits. Rarely anyone wears them nowadays except when the work rules called for them. But nonetheless, the government made these men- great men, the doctor was told by her sister the last time she saw her; men who would change the course of the world and universe- wear them.

The doctor looked at the two men who finished dressing the prisoners and they turned to her.

"The government invites you, Doctor, to come see what their scientists have been experimenting with," one man spoke. His voice was monotone and low. She nodded, agreeing to come; she knew her voice would give away her guilt and nervousness. She, with her excited assistant (there was a little line of sweat on his brow and he always sweated when he got excited), followed after the two still uniformed men.

She gave one last fleeting glance at the men in the hospital wing and she saw four more uniformed men (they couldn't have been women; they were far too burly and thick) come and pick up the stretchers. She watched them carry the two co-leaders away. For the doctor, that would be the last time she ever saw those men.

She was brought to a room and left there when the government's highest officials came up on a big screen in the room. She stared at it in awe as she listened to them. They knew she was a traitor- as they called her- and that she was being given the capitol punishment for it. She was still in awe as two officers came in, in their specific dark blue jumpsuits, arrested her and brought her underground.

She had been working at the hospital at the core for years and never once knew or even heard a rumor about a secret underground maze system going away from the core. As the officers pushed her into the room and slammed the heavy metal door shut, she looked around. She notice a small black camera, with a little blinking green button to let her know it's on and working, in the right corner of the room. She knew the whole government was watching; they were behind the little evil black box.

The reason for the underground rooms and hallways were that they were used for a secret way of dealing with traitors and other high ranking criminalists. Of course, these were the criminals who weren't quite worthy of the core.

The underground maze used to kill those people because no one ever heard their screams of pain as the lasers burned away at their flesh…