"One little speckled frog, sat on a great big log, eating some fucking tasty bugs. Yum, yum..." Seifer muttered to himself as he edged around the rim of a dark and suspicious looking pond. There was something at the bottom of it – it didn't appear to be very deep – but the murky water made it hard to see what was down there. He had briefly entertained the idea of disturbing the water with a stick or something, but the only sticks in the greenhouse were that of the Poison Jack and he didn't really want to poke a potentially sleeping lion with a highly deadly stick.

Those sorts of ideas never seemed to go well for him.

"It jumped into the pool, where it looked nice and cool. And was promptly set upon by the shark living in the pond... Yum, yum..." There was obviously something alive down there, as the sides of the pond were wet and his boots kept slipping on the waterlogged concrete. He might have thought himself lucky to find that the inhabitant of the pond was indeed a fish and not something worse, but knowing his luck it was going to be a huge, bug-eyed angel-fish with massive teeth and a fancy for human flesh.

It always seemed to go that way.

Slipping and sliding his way to the other end of the pond, Seifer turned back to view the way he had come. It seemed like he'd been struggling for hours – and probably had – but he had only managed to traverse a few meters or so from the door. Boredom was beginning to set in and he was beginning to wonder what time it was. By the sounds of his stomach grumbling, it was somewhere near lunch time. The grumbling resonating off the vegetation around him was hardly reassuring.

Stepping from the lip of the pond, he shook himself out. His muscles were tensing up from the act of contortionism he'd had to pull to make it even this far. He dug a few fingers into his left shoulder and cricked his neck. Even at Garden, he had never been known for his rubber-band qualities and before now had rarely been called upon to put them into action. As a result, he was more than a little rusty.

He took a step forwards, putting his foot on what had previously appeared to be a solid bit of ground, covered by a couple of dead and dried leaves. But the deceptively plain bit of flooring was in fact not solid, as he soon found out as his foot went right the way through it, dragging him through the trapdoor too. It wasn't a long way to fall, but it didn't make the stakes that pierced his flesh any blunter.

Seifer gasped for the breath that was knocked from him and gripped the end of the spike protruding from his shoulder. Blood was already beginning to pool around him in steadily increasing amounts and his world was fuzzing around the edges. The drop was obviously far enough to knock someone out as well and if he didn't fall unconscious then he was going to have one hell of a headache.

"Fuck! Fuckity fuck fuck fuck!" He gurgled, trying to stop himself from beginning to hyperventilate. "Fuck me, that hurt!"

He had a huge problem and he knew it. Being stabbed as he was through the shoulder and the hip – a few grazes and cuts along his ribs – he was effectively pinned to the floor. Rolling would hurt and sitting up would hurt and raising his entire body was a no-go with his limbs feeling like jelly. Not to mention the fact that he'd sprung quite a serious leak and was pouring blood all over the place.

He gripped the spike tighter and wished for some relief. Where was the adrenaline when he needed it? Where were the endorphins he was supposed to have coursing round his body? Where the hell was he?

"My my, Heimlich," Brugheisen chuckled as they watched Almasy looking around, a vaguely puzzled look on his face. "It vould appear Almasy haz quite ze tongue on him. Very bad manners indeed."

"Ja, Herr Brugheisen, for a knight he iz very uncout'." Heimlich agreed holding out his hand for Brugheisen's empty tea cup. "Ze ozer Players have few manners, but non are quite as rude as him. Vould you believe he bit ze vingers off a guard on ze first day?"

"Today?"

"No. Ven he first came here. Zere vere only ze stumps left. Very rude. Herr Lorrington vas most distressed! He haz been looking for chances to put Almasy in ze Game ever since."

"Ahh, ja, I vas meaning to ask," Brugheisen glanced momentarily from the screen and pierce Heimlich with a look. He was a tall, thin man with short, curly blond hair and wearing a grey pin-stripe suit. He polished his shoes to a lustre and nearly always had a silver ball-point in his left breast pocket. He tried too hard and Brugheisen had always said so. "How iz Mister Lorrington? I have not heard from him in a vhile."

"Herr Lorrington is alright." Heimlich nodded, averting his eyes from the cold gaze and instead watched as Almasy struggled in the spikes on the screen. "He vas looking forward to ze Game today, but unfortunately had to leave ze district on business. He said to put Almasy in and he vould vatch ze Game later. Iz a shame."

"Ja, a great shame." Brugheisen nodded, turning his attention towards the screen as well. Almasy was trying to move himself off the spikes – at least that's what he assumed the man was attempting – and was swearing up a storm about it. "I vould like to talk to Mister Lorrington today. Vat time vill he return?"

"Late." Heimlich said, going to dispose of the empty teacup and fetch a fresh, hot one. "He vill be back late."

"I am an old man, Heimlich. Ve old men are alvays late. I vill vait for him and talk to him zen."

"Err, ja, Herr Brugheisen. I vill make a new pot of tea."

Brugheisen nodded and waved a jewelled hand in dismissal. Heimlich retreated from the TV room and left the old man in peace. Ah, this was how he liked his life, comfortable, noisy and with a new pot of tea on the go. He chuckled as Almasy finally managed to peel himself from the trap and collapse panting beside it, the oaths still coming thick and fast.

"What a great fucking idea..." Seifer grumbled as he pulled his t-shirt from his head and began tearing the bottom into strips. "Let's all traipse around a giant fucking mincing machine! Murderous plant-life coming right up! Run around here till you chew your own fucking legs off, boys! It'll be fun! Promise. Oh and err," He grit his teeth as he dabbed gingerly at the wounds on his hip. A couple more inches and he'd have been a prisoneress. "Don't mind the spears; they can't hurt you that much!"

A good shard tug on the bandage nearly had his oatmeal back up to join the show and he gasped in pain, screwing his face up and praying to Hyne no cameras were pointing his way right now. What he really wanted was a good audience while he writhed in pain and used his clothing for first aid. Not.

"And if you can survive the unannounced drop," He continued, voice shaking as he tried to stuff a bit of t-shirt into the wound in – no, sorry, though – his shoulder in an attempt to slow the bleeding. "We'll give you a biccy."

Finally completing his bandage with the remains of his t-shirt, he pocket what was left of the ruined garment and faced his next challenge; standing. It was all very well and good dragging yourself around on a broken body and a hell of a lot of adrenaline when you were standing, but he wouldn't be going anywhere fast from down here. He sure wasn't going to roll himself out.

He scooted himself gingerly to the wall – another white washed one, surprise, surprise – and grit his teeth as he tried to push himself up. He fell back down with a yelp. Too much pressure on that wounded hip. After several readjustments of weight and position, he managed to slide up the wall, left hand scrabbling to keep his balance until he could put both feet on the ground.

He grimaced at the bloody puddle he left behind. The wall wasn't so white anymore either, it was streaked orange and crimson with blood in varying layers of thickness. He watched a dribble falling down the white and briefly considered writing something in his own blood. Something morbid and catchy like... 'One down, seven to go', but thought better of it and shook his head. No, he wasn't that creepy. Yet.

He turned to the rest of the space around him. It was small and white and the first thing he noticed was that it had no doors.

Seifer felt a nerve ticking in his eye. "Well how in the fuck am I meant to get out of here then?" He shouted, nearly stomping his foot but remembering his injury. He settled for grinding his teeth and swearing again. "Fucking idiots! No fucking door? Because of course that's just fucking hilarious!" He waved his left hand dramatically in the air – not wanting to hurt himself further he was left with very little with which to display his dissatisfaction. "I'd like to see you try and get through this you fat, old, hairy cowards! Motherfucking-!"

He turned and stumped to an end wall and began patting it down as far as he could reach in the vague hope there might be something there. There was nothing and the other walls proved to be just as awe-inspiringly plain.

He would have slumped to the floor again in defeat if it wasn't for the struggling of getting back up again. He let out a dry chuckle as he thought of climbing back out the way he'd come in. It was a way wasn't it? But that of course raised the question of how in the fuck he was meant to get up there without a ladder and with only two working limbs, both on the same side of his body.

A/N: Urgh.. sorry this is so confusing, I appreciate anyone bothering to re-read this and I really apologise, but it looks like it's going to be confusing for a hell of a lot longer. It looks as though I'm going to end up scrapping most of what I had (plot-wise) you know, he was running down a series of corridors and encountering puzzle-like traps, but that's just not working very well and I'm finding it boring to write, which must mean it's boring to read. So, I'm altering it, not what the Halucen-ex system is about, but more how Seifer sustains his injuries than anything else. I'm going to try and drag it back to my original plan, which was falling down a rabbithole ;)

So bear with me please :D

-Okami