Stan didn't remember going to bed, though judging from his pounding headache, he didn't need three guesses to figure out why. It felt like his skull had been chosen as the site for a permanent flash mob. It wasn't his usual hangover though, he didn't feel nauseous, just quite dazed, and all his muscles ached. He tried to remember the night before, but there was nothing there. The day on the other hand he could remember perfectly: Kyle had kissed him. Not for the first time, that had been on the Monday, when he'd suddenly done the thing Stan had spent years trying to build up the courage to do. They had kissed six times now, not that he was keeping count. The day of lying in Kyle's room watching crap movies and holding each other was possibly the best of his life. Right now though he needed aspirin for his head badly, before the feeling of railroad spikes being pushed through his brain got any worse.

He was careful to open his eyes slowly; usually he woke up at around noon after a night of drinking, and being blinded by the midday sun coming through his curtains wouldn't exactly help his condition. He was more than a little surprised to find his room was pitch black. In fact, although he couldn't see he got a strange feeling that this wasn't his room at all, it felt somehow...too big. Trying to feel around his arms felt weak and tired, and he was certain now that this wasn't his bed. Though waking up somewhere else wasn't unheard of for him, it wasn't exactly commonplace either (unless you counted Kyle's house). Something was seriously wrong here, with this strange hangover and his complete mental blank about the previous night. There was something agitating his nose as well, but when he reached up to relieve the itch his fingers met something plastic. Stan panicked. He tried to rip off whatever was attached to his nose but the sudden movement sent him crashing off the bed, hitting the ground with a dull thump. He tried to move but his arms and legs felt heavy, as if the blood coursing through his veins was now molten lead, pinning his limbs to the thin mattress.

"What the fuck was that?! Wake up!"

"Relax, I think your friend just fell off the bed. Kevin, grab the light." Stan couldn't move, but he could just about hear what was being said. He'd wondered if maybe he was at Hell's Pass, in hospital, but that was clearly not the case. He had a horrible feeling that the first voice he'd heard was -

"That fag's not my friend, just leave him on the floor and we can go back to sleep. He's a fucking vegetable anyway." Cartman.

Then a strange whirring noise started, at first very quiet then building to a high pitched mechanical hum, before the room suddenly lit up in a flash of white agony and Stan's eyes shut. He waited a second and tried to open them slowly again, but the light that crept in was still unbearably bright, making him groan with pain.

"Is he awake?" Stan heard a female voice ask faintly.

He wanted to reply, but 'yes I'm awake' came out as unintelligible moans.

"Oh my, sweety help me get him back onto the bed." Spoke the female voice, who he now recognised as Liane Cartman. He felt someone grab under his arms and another at his feet as he was hoisted up onto the bed. He tried to open his eyes again, lasting a little longer this time before he had to clamp them shut again. He felt something else disturbing him, and under the night gown he seemed to be wearing he felt a plastic jug of some kind, again held in place by tape. It must have been some kind of basic substitute for a catheter, but it had come loose from his fall so he managed to knock it free and away from the bed. He felt totally and utterly petrified, and violated by it all.

"Well this is surprising. It was worth the effort after all." Stan still wasn't quite sure whose the third voice was. His pupils finally adjusted enough for him to look around, and he realised the light that had been 'blinding him' wasn't some floodlight or neon bulb; in fact, the whirring noise he'd heard should have given him a clue...it was one of those windup, battery-free torches. It was pitiful, but had been enough to render his eyes useless for a good few minutes. The room was still so dark he couldn't see beyond the couple of empty beds either side of him and some plastic containers on shelves directly in front. He looked to see who was holding the torch, and could barely believe it when he saw Dr Mephesto standing next to his freakish son Kevin. He tried to claw the tube away from his nose again, his mind flooded with terrifying images of kidnap, drugging and scientific experimentation on his listless body.

"What the fuck is this?!" Stan screamed, the words coming out as hoarse yelps but managing to convey the message. He had been drugged and taken here, by Cartman most likely, to be part of some sick experiment. His back was drenched in sweat now, and he felt like his heart was straining as it tried to keep pumping at a furious rate. His body was telling him to run, this was fight or flight, but he could barely lift his arms.

"Ssh it's okay, we're trying to help you, you're safe." Liane whispered, having slipped away at some point and returned with a cup, filled with just a tiny amount of water. "Here take a drink. No one is trying to hurt you." For some reason Stan was calmed by that, possibly because as much as he could envision Cartman doing this to him – whatever 'this' was – his mother didn't seem to have a dangerous bone in her body. After a couple sips of water Stan tried yet again to muster the strength to remove the breathing tubes, which must have been used to administer some kind of drugged gas making him immobile. Dr Mephesto reached over and began to help him, slowly removing the strips of tape which held the apparatus in place. Something that looked a bit like a drip was removed from his arm as well.

"Don't look so worried young man," Dr Mephesto began, following the clear tube with his hands as it led away from Stan's face. "Look!" He pointed to the other end, which he was now holding in the air. It wasn't attached to anything. Just then the whirring stopped and the room was returned to utter darkness.

"Oh he must be so tired!" Stan heard Liane say, and after a brief pause the noise – and then the light – returned, only this time Cartman's mother was the one turning the crank on the side of the torch to keep it functioning, while Kevin stood next to her nursing his aching arm. It was all so bizarre that he just couldn't make sense of any of it in his head. He wondered if this was maybe some trippy nightmare, but the pain behind his eyes was far too real.

"They were only used for air." Mephesto continued, the slightly wild look in his eyes undermining any attempt at being reassuring. "Well, oxygen rich air. You were having problems breathing so we had to make sure you were getting enough. We left them in so we could reconnect you quickly if necessary, but you were only on the air tanks for the first few days."

"Days?!" Stan spluttered, his mind spinning. He coughed dryly with the effort of forcing another word out.

"You were in an accident sweety." Liane added, sensing Stan's inevitable confusion. "You were hit by a car..."

He tried to open his mouth to ask more questions: to find out how long he was out for, why they didn't take him to the hospital, whether his parents knew, but his breathing was ragged and his vision started to blur. His heart was still not easing, almost smashing against his ribs with every throb, and now he was panicking that this was because of them, because of something they did to him while he was passed out. Then he felt his eyes closing, and though he knew he should fight it, or else maybe he'd never wake up again, he simply couldn't – it was like the rolling in of the tide, so Stan gave in to the inevitable.

When he woke again, he was genuinely glad to find himself still in that hell hole, it meant he was alive at least. He didn't buy the 'hit by a car' story one bit, not just because he was generally a cautious pedestrian or anything trivial like that, but because it didn't even begin to explain why he was kept here and not a hospital, or why they were keeping him in total darkness, or why Cartman and his mom were still here. No, something bad was happening here, and he had to lay low until he felt strong enough to make a break for it, since at least he wasn't tied down.

He lay there as silently as he could, just tensing and then relaxing his muscles one by one, trying to get some life back in them. They had all gone back to bed, judging from the lack of noise, so he didn't know how long he had before this opportunity would be gone. Eventually he could notice the difference, and his legs were some way back to being normal, able to be moved without the enormous effort it required earlier. It felt to Stan like a few hours had passed, so he figured he was running out of time to make his move. Silently he turned and lowered his legs onto the floor, slowly adjusting to the feeling of bearing weight on them. He looked around, but it was pointless, he couldn't see his own hands let alone where an exit might be. The best idea seemed to be heading for a wall and feeling his way to a door, so Stan began to move, his arms outstretched and grasping at the air as he tried to navigate. He made sure to breathe slowly, in through the nose and out through the mouth, to keep his nerves under control and his heart rate down.

"Hello? Stan is that you?" Stan bolted as soon as he heard the voice, running and just hoping it would lead to a way out, praying for the bit of luck he was due. In reality though his feet couldn't keep up, and he stumbled, slamming into something solid and falling to the ground, followed by a crescendo of high pitched crashes as unidentified glass broke around him.

"Aw Jesus Stan, what the fuck!" He heard Cartman shout, and the whirring of that stupid wind up torch started. He was hauled to his feet as they cursed about the damage around him, and Stan could feel the warmth of a trickle of blood running down his arm where some glass had embedded itself.

"What were you doing? Trying to run off?" Liane asked, appearing at his side and touching his shoulder gently.

"Let me go!" Stan yelled, but it came out more of a desperate yelp than an assertive shout. "What do you want with me?"

"Nothing!" Dr Mephesto said, completing the party surrounding him. "You're free to go if you please." He was speaking loudly compared with his usually frail sounding voice.

"Alphonse!" Liane exclaimed, her surprised remark reminding Stan of Mephesto's first name.

"However," the doctor continued, "you should know that we were only trying to help you, and if you leave now you will not survive."

"What the hell are you talking about? What's wrong with me?" Stan asked, exasperated by his own confusion. He could feel his certainty that they had been trying to harm him ebbing away though, as hearing them speak he struggled to find any malice in any of their voices.

"There are some things you need to know, but it's too much to overload you with now. You need to relax, have a little to eat, and then we can start trying to explain this to you." They were speaking in total darkness again, as Cartman muttered some complaint and wandered back to his bed, leaving the light from the torch to slowly dim and disappear.

"Either you explain now or I'm walking out of here." There was a silence after that, like the pair were trying to communicate with each other somehow and decide how to respond.

"You're sure this is what you want Stanley?" Liane asked, gently reaching through the nothingness to touch his shoulder.

"Tell me everything."

X

Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter, everyone who has been enthusiastic about this story has gotten me really excited about where I'm going to go with it! So thanks. FluffyBunny2K11, Montana-Bob, N, 24601 I'm looking at you ;)