(Chapter 2)

(Neal)

Neal woke up with a horrible hangover. He started to roll over when he realized he was lying on the floor and not his bed. He gave an audible groan, feeling his temples as they throbbed with a rhythm all their own.

Neal finally sat up and noticed he was stripped of all his clothes except for his boxers. He shivered slightly as he looked around at his surroundings. The room was plain with sterile white walls and only a few items of interest. There was a small cot in the corner with straps he noticed, a nightstand and dresser next to that all bolted to the floor. He pushed himself up to his feet, noticing something strange. Both wrists and ankles had gray bracelets that fit tightly but not uncomfortably around. He tapped them hearing a light metallic sound. He saw a small hand mirror on the nightstand and picked it up. Neal looked at his reflection and saw around his neck a very thin band like the one around his wrists and several matching small metallic discs stuck on both temples and his chest over his heart. He tried to pry the one off his chest but it didn't budge. He wondered if they glued them on, as he messed with the one at his right temple yanking it ever so slightly when he felt it.

He thrashed suddenly, falling to the floor as a current from the disc flowed through him, his body shuddering in reaction till the charge stopped and he lay there twitching and panting for breath. Neal finally opened his eyes and looked around dazed. His vision swam, blurring in and out of focus, a voice speaking to him from the air.

"Desist from attempting to remove the discs or bracelets, Mr. Caffrey. It will only serve to make you less viable for the game to come if you pick at them." He recognized the voice as the man who had talked to him earlier. Neal shook his head to wake himself and stood up shakily, legs feeling jelly-like, head swimming still. He made his way to the cot and sat down, pulling a thin blanket on top around him as he shivered. The voice spoke again over the intercom.

"Sorry for the accommodations but we needed to be sure you were clear of anything that could be an advantage including your anklet." Neal looked down noticing for the first time it was gone. He had been too distracted by everything to notice. He suddenly wondered how Peter was, standing up and glancing up at the ceiling.

"Where is Peter?" He called out plainly, hoping it was a two-way. There was a moment of silence then a reply.

"Agent Burke is like you... waking up and investigating his surroundings. He had a shocking revelation as well." The man laughed, Neal frowning as he walked around looking for an out. He heard the man chuckle softly.

"You cannot get out, Mr. Caffrey. Trust me. We know your record well enough this room was made with you in mind; But enough 'chit-chat...' Get dressed." Neal blinked at the voice hearing a sound of a panel open and a small package slip into the room before it closed again. Neal walked over to investigate, erring on the side of caution. He heard the voice chuckle again.

"It's nothing that will hurt you, just clothes. We took the liberty of selecting something we know you'd wear. It's from your own wardrobe." Neal looked up at the ceiling trying to pinpoint the source of the voice without luck. He padded over in his bare feet, blanket pulled around him as he took a look at the bundle of neatly folded clothes. He picked it up and took it back to the cot with him, looking around as he wondered how much of him they could see. He wasn't shy but he dressed with the blanket still around him. It felt nice to at least be wearing his own clothes but the creepiness of the situation and circumstances chilled his spirit. He heard the voice speak yet again.

"You and Agent Burke will soon be starting the game. Relax." Neal looked up at the ceiling glaring angrily.

"Relax? How am I supposed to do that when you have us prisoner? I want to see Peter!" He waited for an answer but only heard a soft hissing sound. Neal saw the room filling up with some kind of milky haze. He coughed, trying to cover his face without success as he slumped back across the cot and felt himself reluctantly relax, eyes rolling back as he blacked out.

()()()

(Peter)

Peter was watching the game. It was Sunday evening and he was distracted by the fact that his wife wasn't here. She had left a few hours earlier to drive upstate and visit her sister Ellen. Peter sighed, leaning back against the sofa as he curled up alone and missed his wife. At some point he fell asleep, the remote falling from his now relaxed grip to the rug with a soft thud. He barely reacted, his face calm as he snoozed.

As he slept, he was vaguely aware of the TV flickering in front of him in the dark, only reacting when something moved to block it. He figured it was Satchmo, begging to be fed, the agent opening his eyes to look. His eyes widened as he noticed dark figures with masks standing around him. He blinked a moment to be sure he was awake but they moved in seconds, holding him down against the sofa with strong hands. He struggled but someone pulled a plastic bag over his face, his chest burning as he fought to breathe. The plastic clung to his mouth and nose like a second skin effectively cutting off any air flow. Peter fought but there were too many of them as he felt his last breath, eyes rolling back into his head, darkness swallowing him up.

"Is he dead?" One of the men shook his head and removed the bag as he pressed something that looked like a respirator over Peter's nose and mouth. While this was going on, another figure was systematically binding the agent's wrists at the elbow along with binding his ankles. It took a moment but Peter's body thrashed and shuddered as he started to breathe again, a sputtering cough escaping his lips. The figure smiled, stuffing a rag into Peter's mouth and pulling a piece of duct tape over his lips before lifting him up.

"Let's go..."

()()()

Peter didn't remember much after that. He thought he remembered a black vehicle and then nothing till he woke up in this sterile room. He felt a shiver at the coolness of the air and became aware he was only in his boxers. Peter looked around, a slight blush coming to his cheeks as he realized he was nearly naked. He stood shakily and stumbled to a nearby cot and pulled the blanket around him both for decency's sake and the fact he felt cold. It took him a moment to notice the new accessories he was sporting: two skin-tight bracelets and anklets and a number of other small metallic discs around his body as he checked himself out in a small hand mirror on a nearby dresser. It didn't escape him that the cot had straps on it, something that made him shiver to think why.

"I see you're awake." Peter turned trying to pinpoint the voice.

"I'm sorry to leave you feeling 'vulnerable' but please, get dressed, Agent Burke." The voice spoke again, from the air, Peter looking for the intercom but finding nothing obvious in the flat walled room. He didn't even see a panel for the door until he heard a slight hissing sound as something popped open at the far end of the room. He saw a small bundle slide out and land on the floor as the panel quickly closed and vanished. Peter walked over curiously but cautiously, a chuckle escaping from the voice.

"It won't bite. It's just clothing; Your clothing. We took the liberty of taking an outfit you would feel comfortable in. Please change so we can start the game." Peter looked up at the ceiling, trying to figure out where the hidden speaker was but the walls were smooth, even hiding where he knew the panel had opened up. It was a perfect fit he couldn't feel the line or see its source. He cursed to himself, blanket pulled around him.

"Please Agent Burke, get dressed. Don't make your colleague wait to get started." Peter perked up at the word.

"Colleague? Who else is here?" He tried to think of when he was in the van and he was bouncing around. Someone was with him but he was blindfolded and barely conscious. Who could be here?

"Don't tell me you've already forgotten about your 'pet' convict?" Peter stiffened up at the term used for his partner and friend, Neal Caffrey.

"Damn you! Who are you and why are we here? Let me see Neal!" Peter yelled but the voice was quiet, making him curse as he picked up the clothes finally and made his way back to the cot, looking at the clothes they had left him. He saw a comfy pair of jeans, he normally liked to wear, a white tee and tan polo shirt. They had added to the pile his usual jacket, black socks and some comfortable loafers as opposed to his work shoes. That was something at least. He started to change, dropping the blanket without hesitation.

It only took him a few minutes to shrug into his clothes, feeling warmer once he got dressed. Peter sat and waited, the voice not speaking anymore as he fiddled with the bracelet on his right wrist. Suddenly he felt it give ever so slightly but not before something like a bolt of something sparkled between his skin and the band, his body thrashing as he fell to the floor and flopped. He groaned as his head hit the floor with a thud, the charge ending as he twitched there, curled up beside the cot.

"Leave the bands and discs alone, Agent Burke. We want you viable for the game." The voice spoke briefly, Peter wanting to curse at them but unable to as his body refused to respond. He slumped slightly, muscles continuing to twitch as he fell into a light unconsciousness.

"Relax. The game will begin soon."