The images within his dreams were, for once, seemingly more interconnected, yet remained just as painfully inadequate.

He saw the woods before him, smoke billowing from somewhere ahead of the direction he headed. A growing sense of danger filled him, yet still Spike moved forward. He took a step forward and was suddenly met with sharp pain in the back of his head, everything going dark.

An intense glow of red light overcame him. Spike opened his eyes to find it coming from two bars, the only light within a room of darkness. Where was he now? His head hurt. He reached and closed his eyes again, blinking in an effort to adjust his sight better.

Another wave of red filled his sight, different somehow. Words; he saw words somehow, ones he couldn't make out. Spike blinked again to find himself standing, this time in a field. He reached a hand and felt something solid surrounding his head. A helmet maybe? He looked down and saw he was wearing some sort of padding, his clothing dirty with grass stains. What was he wearing? The sound of a whistle pierced the air. Adam and Bree were holding his arms, and before him stepped a young man slightly smaller than himself, about to say something when the whistle was blown again…

The whistle's sound morphed, and he was on the ground, this time his vision blacking in and out as he spun upon the floor. Each round of consciousness brought a sharp pain to his ears even as he covered them. Too loud! His brain screamed. It was too loud….

Crying, not him but someone else. Who was it? He didn't know, didn't understand why, only wanted it to stop. He closed his eyes and willed it to stop, to make it go away….

Red; the bars glowing in front of him again. Spike groaned and rolled over, a choice which earned him a shock of pain as his arm brushed against one of the bars. He recoiled and did his best to stand. A cage; he was in a cage….

He blinked and was in the gymnasium with the crowd. No, not here. He didn't want to be here...

Spike willed his mind to go back, to show him the cage. The man with spiked hair was there and the man with the spiked hair, saying something Spike couldn't really hear. Instead he felt the anger and confusion growing. He was trapped, the space too small to really move. His foot brushed against something soft on the ground. He moved his head to see yet it was too dark.

"Let me out!" He growled, grabbing the bars. The man stepped back slightly, a raised eyebrow the only change in his expression. A jolt of searing pain began to pierce his palms, yet Spike forced himself not to flinch. He focused his energy instead on the man's face best he could, even as his hands shook from the pain. Spike gripped the bars tighter, gritting his teeth as a show of defiance.

Still the man said nothing, only tilted his head. Observing him, watching his reaction just as Spike was doing with him. A sudden jolt shot through him and Spike finally was forced to release his grip, causing the man to chuckle.

Trapped. He was trapped…

Spike's eyes opened. As always when waking from such dreams the flashes of images were vanquested by the action. He closed his eyes in an effort to steady his shaking breath.

He stood, eyes closed, taking in the small hums and buzzes surrounding him, wondering again why waking had such an effect on him. What was it, how scattered the images his mind saw, the lack of knowledge he held for the context, or the very nature of each which caused him pause?

He let out another breath. This one was stronger than the first. It didn't matter the would figure it out and all would make sense again. As frustrated as he felt now, he could - would - do this. Another exhale, even stronger, and Spike was resolved, until he moved to rub his face. His hand was met with something hard around him.

Trapped.

Flashes of red filled his mind, a echo from his earlier dream state. No; it was there, a glimmer caught from behind his eyelids. Spike's eyes flew open once more. He threw around his hands to find he was indeed surrounded by a hard surface. Glass, or plastic, or something else he could see through.

It didn't matter what material his prison was made from nor that he could see beyond it. Spike needed to get out, now! He pounded his fists upon the glass to no avail.

Get out… get out… get out….

Red… He saw it again, a flash from the edge of his vision.

Suddenly the front of the tube opened, sending him sprawling to the ground. As quickly as possible Spike returned to his feet, looking back towards the offending box, his breath back to coming out ragged. He was out…. he had made it out….

No bars. No man with spiked hair taunting him. He spun around to find that the offending red tint in his vision had come from a small light at the end of the room. Idiot.

Spike let out a forceful puff of breath, taking a swipe at the glass door behind him. It clanked and bounced from its frame.

Only upon seeing the matching tubes beside the one he had been inside, Adam and Bree still sleeping peacefully inside one apiece, did his mind finally put things back together. These were the capsules Davenport had spoken about before, the ones he said they slept inside. The details escaped his still foggy brain at the moment. That didn't matter; only that he was outside and safe.

What time was it anyway? Spike looked around the room for any clue. The lab was dark, with only a few small lights to illuminate parts of it. The hum of various machines filled the air but nothing more. He looked again at Adam and Bree. It must have been early in the morning if both were still asleep.

A wave of emotions hit him as Spike looked again at their faces. He wasn't exactly anxious to speak with either of them, not after how they had behaved the day had said much after Davenport found them and took them back to the house. What they had uttered made it very clear their thoughts. None of them were happy, not in the slightest.

The question which still rattled along Spike's mind was why. He had done what he was supposed to do, stopping the man from getting away from them. Yes the other one had gotten away, yet he would be found too soon enough. What mattered was that Spike had gotten the one. They didn't need to worry about him being out there anymore to possibly hurt them. He was no longer a threat.

Yet they weren't happy. The only one to say anything about the matter had been Davenport, who had berated the trio upon their return before sending them back to the lab. Adam and Bree had done little more than ignore his presence the rest of the evening.

Which was fine by him. Spike didn't need their approval in doing his job.

His job? Spike's mind clicked in affirmation at the word, even as it caused his mind to pause. A strange choice of word yet it was the right one to use.

Spike's eyes fell once more on the open capsule. A sinking sensation fell into his gut. He thought again of the darkness and of the cage. The realization he was trapped. Even just the thought made a sinking feeling emerge from his chest, his breath shallow. There was no way he would go back into it, no matter the time.

Besides, he wasn't anxious to return to sleep, not when each time he managed to brought such bombardment on his mind. That settled he raised his hands to rub any remaining sleep from his eyes when he noticed something.

In the faint light of the room he could make out across his palm, the one not wrapped within the bandage, markings still slightly red and blistered. He pushed down the bandaging on his injured hand to see it too had similar blisters. How had he not noticed them before? The memory of the cage registered again.

It had been real then.

He let out a scoff at the thought, from relief or grogginess Spike wasn't sure. Almost immediately he scolded himself. There was no reason to laugh at the knowledge. So what if it was real? He had no context for what happened at that moment.

Except… Spike looked at his palms again. He moved his hands so the light caught them better. He turned them over slowly first looking at his knuckles then at his palms. The knuckles side still seemed swollen with slight bruises beginning to discolor them, the results from what happened at the mall.

Spike then turned them over to examine his palms again. The color was more faded yet even in the poor light the red mark could be seen. Not much healing meaning it had to have happened recently.

He frowned, rubbing his face. Another piece yet still no real answers. Even if it had been recent what did it mean? Who was the man he had seen? Where had he been?

Douglas; right. The man with spiked hair was Douglas Davenport. Maybe. Possibly. But what did Douglas want with him? Another consideration registered. Could it be possible the two men from the waterfall be connected in some way?

As with the day before, Spike found himself wandering the space, taking care not to touch anything. It didn't feel right to do so, like an unspoken rule. He glanced at each machine in turn without much thought. He began making his way to the door before him, yet stopped.

Maybe he could go upstairs. Spike paused. Doing so would risk waking Davenport, a consequence he wasn't much willing to face. Not from fear. No, Davenport didn't intimidate him. It had taken everything within Spike not to slap the man as he had gone on his ridiculous tirade hours before when they made it back to the lab about them leaving, even as everything within him had screamed for him to do just that, to shut up the offending lecture.

Instead he turned around and headed the other way towards the back entrance.

At first the hallway which greeted him upon leaving the lab seened nearly identical to the one on the opposite side. Straight ahead was the doorway in which Spike was familiar. It had been their way in and out of the lab to bypass the house. Crates and other miscellaneous items lined the wall to his right, along with a set of gray metal lockers. Each was shut with matching keypads above the handles. Spike didn't bother giving them any more inspection. Not only did he have no real clue as to possibilities of combinations for any of them, but there was only a total of three.

Was there anything here he didn't share with Chase?

Moving on, Spike looked to the opposite wall. Even less was on that side of the room. What caught his eye first was the large door which stood in the center of the wall. How had he missed it before? Stepping forward, Spike felt the spark of something click within his mind.

This room he knew. He had been here many times.
Spike almost laughed in spite of himself. Finally something in this place making sense.

It took a moment yet soon the door opened. A few lights came on revealing a large open room with metal walls and nothing more. The doors closed behind him with an echoing thud. He took time to walk around the space, studying the walls. His mind sparked again and it hit him where he was standing.

This was the training room, the one where simulations were run.

Spike's lip curled slightly at the realization, even as the back of his mind circled another question. Of all places in the house, why was this the only one he really recognized? Maybe he just spent more time here than anywhere else. That could explain it perhaps. He walked more of the area, his hand lightly running along the wall. He then made his way to the center of the room, still taking it all in.

Again Spike felt the corner of his mouth curl upwards. It was just panels of reflective walls and floor yet somehow, some way, for the first time he felt a connection. The training room; this was a place he had been in many times. This was the room he recognized most even if it always looked different whenever he was in it. The programming allowed for a number of various scenarios to be played out within the space. It offered opportunities to test one's skills without full consequences for any error. That was why it had been built in the first place.

His smile grew wider the longer he wandered. It felt good feeling his brain feeding him solid information, not the jumbled wreckage of his dreams. He felt it click alive with memories as he saw them.

City streets, men in black suits and headgear charging at him….

An airplane hanger, this time the men in camo holding guns…. An abandoned building… A field…. A ship…. All different except for one constant element.

The danger, the anger, the confusion. Punching and kicking and clawing his way out, knowing he had to win, had to get rid of the threat. Losing wasn't an option…

Red. Danger. Spike closed his eyes at the intrusion, yet could still see it, the color obscuring everything. A lightheaded feeling accompanying it. A strangely familiar sense of disorientation followed by the feeling of something being wrong.

Something was always wrong.

Red….. then angry voices…. Spike recoiled, landing on the floor, hands over his ears as a new memory sparked.

"What did you do?" One voice, male, the words spoken every bit an exclamation as it was a question. In the memory Spike blinked and looked around, a feeling of confusion overtaking him. What…?

His unfinished question was interrupted by a smack to the face knocking him to the ground. The crying intensified… Seemed to surround him. He looked around at his surroundings, a city street full of debris. There was a car up ahead just a few feet. Spike made a crawl for it, yet suddenly the whole scene faded away and he was…. here, in the room of just panels. Except he hadn't yet known where here was or why or how he had arrived….

"What did you do?" The voice again asked from above, echoing in the chamber.. A panel opened across the room. Spike wasted no time bolting for it, his confusion growing. He had to get away… Had to….

He barely made it to the door before being tackled. He struggled, trying to remove the added weight now on his back to no avail.

The crying continued…. Everything faded in red….

Red….

In the present Spike blinked again. Red. Why did he keep seeing the color? Why was it always there? And just what had his kind given up to him? A memory, yes, but of what? He looked around again, the previous feeling of comfort fading as his eyes scanned it all, willing, hoping the room itself held the answer to his questions.

The room stayed silent.