Sooooooo here we go.

Disclaimer: I disclaim. Yo disclaimo. I'm sure that was erroneous.

Ben

I would have preferred puddles of grease on pizza than whatever this stuff was. It looked dangerously healthy and it tasted like sauerkraut. I'd never even had sauerkraut but I knew I didn't like it. Especially if this is what sauerkraut tasted like. I think the guy had called it vegetable soup but I didn't recognize any of the contents as vegetables. Sauerkraut wasn't a vegetable. Perhaps one day it had been a vegetable, but no more. Who put sauerkraut in soup?

The funny thing was, when they had opened the door to give me the non-pizza, I had been welcomed with this scene; first guy was holding out a bowl of putrescence, second guy was aiming a gun at me with one hand and holding a donut in the other. Not quite pizza, but enough to heighten the rift between captor and captive. Not that they cared. Although they should. Nobody was Ben Gates' captor and lived to tell about it. I was going to break down the door with a well-aimed kick, put the first guy in a full nelson and use him as a human shield as the other guy let bullets pour from his muzzle. The gun would run out and I'd throw the bloody body to the ground, leap over him, duck the first punch, come up with an upper cut that'd knock the man's teeth out, smash his nose straight into his brain. By then the other two goons would have a pretty good idea that I wasn't the right man to mess with. They'd give me the keys, I'd let the Blackwells out, we'd ask where Riley was, and of course they'd tell us because I'd be glaring menacingly at them. We'd leave them there shaking in their pants and be on our way to rescuing Riley and saving the world.

There were thirteen distinct flaws in that plan, fourteen if you counted on me tripping over the dead body as I attempted to leap over it. There was a fair chance of that, especially since if I ever did get that far, my ankle would most likely be broken from kicking the door down, which was impossible anyways.

Besides, if I was going to attack anyone, I should have done it while the door was open. It was shut now. Shut and locked.

Why was there such a heavy door on a room like this? There was a water heater in here, a few pipes, some outlets, and a very filthy drain in the center of the room. The ground was made of rough cement, uneven and generally sloping downwards to the drain. Walls of the same material.

I knew it was hopeless.

How many times had I told myself it was hopeless in the last day? How many times had I dwelled in the improbability of anything working out for the better? How many times had I ignored that tiny spark of hope that came with liberty? As long as we were free there was hope, we could conceivably do something. But now that we were locked up, well, it was hopeless. Truly and terribly.

Why, then, did I choose to hope? Now of all times, not back in the car when I'd been putting off planning when there was still a chance for us? Maybe because right now I knew, for certain, that there was no hope and that thought would drive me insane. Before this I had known, whether I was aware of the knowledge or not, that there were options. But now I had to pretend in order to preserve my mind.

No, no, no. Of course there was still hope. I just couldn't grasp it at the moment. My mind was befuddled. I needed sleep. The little winks I'd gotten in the car had made my mind foggier than before. Now, though, I could sleep. We were being held here to get us out of the way. No one was going to come in here to bug me. I could sleep. Well, I could if my mind would let me. It was reeling. As would be expected for someone whose charge it was to save the world, and his best friend. And who was incapacitated. Could do nothing.

Maybe if I convinced myself, even momentarily, that it was ok to sleep. Make the guilt take a little vacation and let me rest. Haha. Like that would happen. As if I could put any of this to rest. The world was going to end soon if I didn't do something and Riley was probably being tortured as I spoke.

Well, no, the world wasn't going to end all that soon. They didn't have all the kinks worked out yet, and they still needed Riley's skills. The soonest anything would happen would be in maybe a week, right? If you're going to kill everyone you have to make sure you do it right, they weren't about to jump into this. That left me a little time. What was a few hours of sleep?

Riley. Even if the world wasn't about to end, Riley was being hurt. I thought. Well, the Chinese man had basically said that. They couldn't tell me that they weren't going to hurt him. What had I told Riley to do? Help them? Or not? My own scales were so tipsy on the subject. At the moment I didn't think it was that big of a deal if Riley helped them, if nothing was going to happen for at least another week. That gives me plenty of time to escape, right? A week? Riley could tell them. There'd be no harm. He'd be ok. He was a smart kid too, he knew what was best.

I just needed a few hours of sleep. Enough to clear the mind for tomorrow.

Riley

I didn't even have the chance to collect my thoughts about what had just happened, what I'd said, what he'd said, what I'd sentenced myself to. That same rough grip took hold of me before I could even react with anything but a cry of shock, had whipped me around and to my feet before my neurons could even tell my limbs to struggle. This guy was faster than the speed of neurotransmitters. That was a bit unsettling. His wiry arm was once again stuck between my neck and my mandible, pressing into my throat, blocking my air pipe. I didn't feel the urge to make any more sound, though. There was no-one to listen, at least no-one who cared.

The guy behind me didn't feel all that much taller or broader than I. Well, he was, because it was kind of hard for a human male to not be bigger than me. But his size didn't match his strength. I felt like his body was made of tightly coiled bridge cord, each string of metal made up of dozens of smaller ones, and so on. Rough, rock-hard, he even smelled like metal. Like blood, actually. It was hard to tell the two smells apart.

We entered the freezer once again, I could tell by the drop in temperature. He dumped me on the ground, or rather shoved me into the ground. I didn't stand back up because I didn't want to be knocked back down, and I had no doubt that I was about to be beaten senseless.

I suspected that these people saw with night vision goggles, maybe. But it was so dark. That made no sense. Whatever it was, though, maybe I could knock it from their face, break it. We'd be on even footing then. Except this guy was made of metal and there was a high probability that I would hurt myself more than I'd hurt him should I decide to attack him, even if he miraculously decided to not retaliate.

Something soft hit me in the head. I cringed, delayed response of the expectation of being hit with something hard. What had that been?

"Your new clothes. Put them on." New clothes?

"I don't need new clothes." He kicked me. The end of what must have been a steel-toed boot drove itself in between the ribs on my side with the force of a wrecking ball. The shock of the occurrence threw me more than the actual pain, which just tells you how shocking it was, because that really hurt.

"Fine! Clothes! Ok!" I gasped. The side of my head exploded in blunt, pressurized pain as his fist knocked into my temple. Just as I started to wonder what that one was for, he answered.

"No talking. Change your clothes." No talking? That was going to be impossible. Already I felt a witty retort trying to come popping through my now tightly sealed lips. I sure wished things would stop assaulting my head.

Changing in the dark is weird enough. I didn't know which article of clothing was which, and when I finally figured that part out it took a while to discover which side was front and back on the shirt and pants. There were no tags. Now, add the fact that someone was watching me as I puzzled through this – that's the weird part. Was he staring at me or was he being polite and turning away? Who was I kidding, he was watching. He could be hovering over me, for all I knew.

And what the heck, this shirt had nothing on it. No pockets, no zippers, no buttons, no anything. What's more, it was short-sleeved. If this guy took away my ecki-ecki jacket I was going to freeze. At least these things weren't like hospital clothing and were made of paper. I think I would have preemptively died.

I pulled on the pants, which were too big, and felt around for my jacket. Where had I left it? Right beside me. I was probably turned around. I searched around further with my hands, feeling like a blind man. I was a blind man now.

A monster wrapped its giant hand around my torso and threw me against the wall – I hit with a resounding wannnggg, cold walls vibrating with the impact. I cursed in my head, feeling the back of my scalp for blood. Had Tomas really done that? Was he a machine or something? I shielded as much of myself as I could with my arms, curling into a ball. Nothing happened. For a moment I dared to wonder whether he'd left, but I knew he hadn't. I definitely would have heard the door open and close. So I was left with that creepy feeling you get when you're trying to sleep except you feel like there's something in the room with you. Except I most definitely wasn't trying to sleep, and I knew for sure there was someone in the room with me. Someone with terrible intentions. I felt like vomiting.

Something came whipping out of nowhere and stung my face. Of course it was Tomas, he had slapped me, of all things. What was I, his bitch? I was thankful I hadn't said that one out loud. I found it a little funny that whenever anything touched me in here I didn't immediately associate it with Tomas.

It felt so weird not being able to hide, here in the darkness where I couldn't see anything. I wished I could just crawl into a corner where he couldn't find me, but he could see everything. He could see me. Where I was. What I was doing.

"Riley Poole," came his voice again. Had it really been that sleek before? It sounded as if he were smiling. I wished I could see.

"Speak only when I ask you to. Don't move unless I tell you to." I sat silent. Not that I felt terribly inclined to do as he said, I just didn't see the point of resisting.

"I'd hate you right now if I were Ben," he said. I heard his shoes walking over to the right of me. I flinched away. Why was he saying that?

"You've made a royal mess of the situation. If it weren't for you no-one would have realized you two were even in Utah. That you were on the case, even. You and Ben would have been on your merry way to saving the world right now. But here you are and now Ben's got to worry about you and the rest of the world. You've made it so hard for him!" He stopped talking. He was trying to guilt me. I wasn't going to let it work.

"You know where he is?" asked a sharp voice to my left, totally surprising me, making me jump. I scooted a foot away because it sounded as if Tomas's mouth had been an inch from my ear. His hand came crashing into my chest, knocking the wind from my lungs, collapsing them and paralyzing them. I hated being winded. As I gasped for breath he continued.

"He's sitting in a cell, just like you. He could be out saving the world, but thanks to you and your special needs, he's trapped. And the Blackwells! You had to drag them into this too! Needed a doctor, couldn't just deal with whatever was going on. You pansy. Garrison and his sweet old wife area both locked in cells too. They're totally innocent." If I had to keep biting my tongue I'd draw blood soon. Tomas's voice was once again right in my ear and it took all of my control not to jerk away. His breath smelled like rancid meat infested with squirming insects and his voice was like a monstrous mosquito threatening to stick its long saw mouth into my ear. I squeezed my eyes shut. How long would this go on? My nerves were twitching with adrenaline, my body wanted to escape. Mind over body. It was harder than it sounded.

"Are you listening to me?" he roared in my ear. I felt like I was in boot camp. Should I speak? Wouldn't he hit me? Too late, and his taught-wire hands were wrapped around my arm, twisting, I felt my elbow straining.

"Ok, ok, ok, I didn't know you wanted me to talk, yes, I'm listening! Stop!" He gave a brutal wrench and I felt something rip and pop in my elbow joint, warm pain beginning to emanate up and down my arm.

"And when you do talk, don't be a babbling idiot. Let's try again. Are you listening to me?"

"Yeah." My brain couldn't even come up with a witty retort for me to bite my tongue over. It was wondering if my elbow would ever work again. Had he broken it? I didn't think so. I drew my arms around my middle, pathetic attempt to keep them safe. Hadn't I just been using them to shelter my body a minute ago?

"Tell me what I've told you." Great, I had to recap. I'd never been good at those. I knew this was just supposed to make me think about his words more, and I could resist the guilt for sure, so I did.

"You told me I sh-" Fist in the gut, gasping for air like a sucker fish thrown onto the ice in January.

"Tell it like it is, pansy. Don't tell me that I told you, I already know that. Tell the truth." Truth? What? My mind was deprived of oxygen, what did he mean? Oh, wait, I knew. I connected the dots. Just to make him happy, ok, I'd lie to myself.

"I should feel guilty because it's my fault we're in this situation. If it wasn't for me Ben could have done something useful by now. If it wasn't for me Ben and the Blackwells wouldn't be in cells."

"You're forgetting something essential, pansy."

"Oh, and I'm a pansy."

"Why?"

"Ben took me to a doctor. That automatically makes me a pansy." Oh, no, I thought, before the blow even came. That one slipped from my mouth without me even knowing it was coming. He knocked my head back and into the wall. I wanted to shout at the wall and his fist and that chunk of ceiling and the atomoxitine, stop beating up my head, dammit, it hurts, but I'm fairly certain my 'mild' concussion saved me the effort. I fell over sideways and passed out, thinking about how many times I'd passed out in the last day or so, and if that made me a pansy.

Ben

Why was the ground so hard and cold? My hands swept over them sleepily, feeling the bitter scrape of dirt and little pebbles and dead bugs against my skin. Registering what I'd felt, especially the dead bugs, I rapidly drew my hands back and sat up. It was dark. Where was I? Water heater, pipes… Oh. Oh yes. I was in a room in Price. I was in the Pricecut Hotel.

I'd been captured. I was being held. Panic? Yes, please, that seems appropriate. I slapped myself, no, no panic. Bad panic.

Wake up, Ben. Screw on your head. What time was it? No idea. I'll bet Blackwell knew, he had a cell phone. Something was plucking at the back of my head, like a harpist's fingers. What? Something about my duty. Not to worry? Something about a week? Suddenly I felt thoroughly convinced that I had at least a week before anything bad happened. Why did I think that? I didn't know… but I did. A week is a good long time, wasn't it? I let out a deep sigh, feeling a tiny drop of relief drop onto the fires of my panic. Didn't mean I couldn't get to work, though. Maybe I could kick the door open. Maybe I should wait for them to come in again, try to attack them. They'd be aiming a gun at me, though.

The thought of just sitting and seeing what would happen roved madly through my mind for one second and I dashed it away. No-one else was going to save the world, were they? Not even the President of the United States could do anything now. I had to get out. Well, there was Riley, but somehow I doubted he was in any position to save everyone either. Although he was a smart kid, maybe he'd figure something out while he was hacking for them.

Hacking for them? When had I decided he was hacking for them? Well… it kind of made sense… in the face of torture, many people would choose to help, and I'll bet Riley knew he had at least a week to come up with something. Knew that in the long run his helping wouldn't have that much effect. At least if he did that they wouldn't hurt him, and that was a big relief for me.

I was feeling much better. I was rested, I still had at least a week to do something, and Riley, I guessed, would be ok. And either way they couldn't kill him. Because they needed him. I smiled. It felt like something forbidden, and it felt like a black cat had pranced across my lips and down my throat, leaving little bad luck footprints all over my insides.

Chinese Man

Heat vision cameras had allowed me to keep an eye on Tomas as he did his work. I had to admit, I was impressed with how he went about things, how he moved and when he talked. It was quite disturbing. But he hadn't gone over the edge with Riley, something I had feared would happen. Maybe this would work better than I thought.

Of course, there was still the problem of me. I couldn't figure myself out. Maybe I just didn't want to figure myself out. I wished Riley had been a complete ass. Without a mysterious medical problem. This wouldn't feel so weird then. My empathy was constantly welling up inside me and causing me to pause, try to get a handle on myself. Each time that happened I had to ask myself; why?

I feared being incompetent. That took some saying on my part. I was never that quick to admit my flaws, but this flaw had serious problem potential. Riley was threatening my foundation. Almost making me want to reevaluate… no. I shouldn't have thought that. Sometimes putting things into mental words were productive and sometimes they were destructive. Now I knew. It was there, a spark the techie had planted into my brain without even trying. Maybe I'd have to pull myself from this whole process, get busy with other things. Do something.

I knew immediately I wouldn't be able to now.

Damn him. He was so pathetic, so pitiful, so weak in his beliefs… or so I hoped. If he cracked, if he allowed himself to be remade in our beliefs, become a new person, I'd know, then, that this whole thing was stupid, I was worrying and berating myself for nothing. His values would have indeed been faux. But what if he didn't crumple? What if he just kept on being the pathetic, pitiful, weak Riley Poole? What if Riley Poole disappeared and no-one emerged to take his place?

So this was a chapter in which I played around with thought and the character's minds. One of them is manipulating his own mind, one of them is getting his mind manipulated by a willing other, and the last character's mind is being manipulated by an oblivious other. Oh the drama. Or melodrama. Maybe spinach. Yorn desh de bork.