To say that the room was a curtain of darkness would imply that a light source could penetrate the room, removing the stifling shadows and aura of fear emanating throughout the air. Thus, one must say the room was an impenetrable, soul-sucking, life-stealing darkness that even the brightest light couldn't penetrate.
But that wouldn't be true.
Saying that would only cast hopelessness and despair upon those inside and outside the curtain, and once one's hope gets extinguished, one's will quickly follows.
That is the only reason why the young sand mutant keeps a positive aura around himself, because he knows what it's like to have your light extinguished, silently watching the smoke rise from the hot embers, their futile efforts to stay alive almost pitiful in the end.
For being trapped in a cell, surrounded by darkness, the only sound quiet, terrified whimpers from those entrapped in the curtain could drive any man mad.
Any mortal, sane man, that is.
He's not implying that all mutants in this curtain are insane, no, no, he's simply implying that they mayn't count as mortal, or sane, since fear is the dominate force behind all people and their actions, wouldn't you agree? And plus, implying that they are insane would mean an absence in empathy, in self-control and in moral thought.
And that wouldn't be true either.
Since when you're awake all night from the literal inability to sleep, you catch the emotional breakdown of uncertain, hopeless souls, who want nothing more than a sense of morality, or comfort. Both would be preferable, of course, but both, alas, are unattainable.
Or so they assume, but it's probably correct.
Probably.
When New York City was mutated, it was a sense of shock at first, then pain from the transformation, then confusion, or for some; mindlessness.
When 'The Purge' as many call it began just a few hours after the mutations, it was the case of fear vs fear, and will vs will.
Those who were mindless were the first to go—shot in the head, a quick death.
Those who were confused quickly went into Fight-or-Flight mode, and, unfortunately, most chose 'Fight'.
They were quick to go, as well.
Those who—like the young male mutant—had a sense of sanity, of mortality, quickly put their hands up and succumbed to the sleeping darts, then transported to the facility they were in now, put into cold cells.
But, of course, there are those who try to escape such cells to no avail, but for some reason keep trying.
Like the young, mutant turtle to the cell right of him.
The young turtle was beating at the cell door, pulling on his chains so much the chain's are starting to dig into his skin, leaving small blood rivers in their wake. It was dark, so impossibly dark, but the only reason why the young sand mutant knows the turtle's bleeding is because of said blood being thrown onto the sand teen in the turtle's frantic beatings.
The turtle was yelling, screaming into the abyss, something wild and unintelligible apart from the "where are my brothers!?" bit. This was the turtle's fifth time doing this exact action, and the same thing happens to him; he gets tranquilized. Every time he does it, he gets a new item on his person; first it was chains, then it was a muzzle, a ball chain third, and a blindfold fourth.
It was a game now, to guess what the young turtle mutant was to acquire next.
"It's no use," The sand mutant muttered, eyes closed. "Why do you keep trying?"
"Shut up!" The mutant turtle snapped. "If you want to lay down and die, go ahead, but I'm getting out of here. I'm getting out!"
And, of course, history repeats itself.
There was the sound of radio static, echoing throughout the (almost) quiet room, and the sound of quiet voices, before a small, muffled shot was heard, and the turtle fell with a small thud.
The young sand mutant opened his eyes and sighed lightly.
History repeats. Again, and again, and again.