Around ten months later~

He was in a box. Vividly, he saw every detail: the dimensions of the box, the color of the box, the tubes coming into the box from all directions, some pouring fumes into it, alternating between gases and oxygen. Some of the tubes were very small, clear tubes with liquids of different hues slowly oozing past, into the needles in his arms and neck. He was tied down, he was paralyzed, he was petrified. Whatever the cause, he couldn't move. He was burning all over, his heart beating painfully in his chest, racing much, much too quickly. He screamed, but it didn't stop. He closed his eyes, but the blinding red darkness hurt his head. He opened them again, watching as over half of the tubes were filled with a deep red. Blood. They were replacing his blood. The hissing sound of the oxygen coming down the tubes changed ever so slightly, and in no time at all, he was getting light-headed. He tried to stay awake, he tried... Distracting himself by memorizing what he saw. Vividly, he saw every detail. He was in a box...

Sitting up in a cold sweat, He looked around him, making sure he was still in his world. There was no box, that was good. Instead, he was where he had been every day for the past twelve days. A dimly-lit room with eight beds, one 100 Watt lightbulb in the center with no discernable on-off switch in the room, and a steel door that hadn't opened once since his time here. There were eight small steel windows on the other side of the room, that opened exactly every six hours (three out of four times), revealing a small steel box on the other side. One of the boxes always had a bowl of sustenance. After half an hour, the window would shut, and he'd learned that first day what happened if the bowl wasn't back inside when it happened. The next time the window opened, the sustenance had been loose in the box, spilling all over the place. After that first mistake, though, he'd known what to expect, and now, it was mealtime every six hours, three out of four times.

It was this regularity that allowed him to know how long he'd been here, and relatively what time it was. Breakfast time, six hours later: lunch time, six hours later: dinner time, then twelve hours of nothing: night time. He had repeated this cycle twelve times: he had been here for twelve days.
Apart from the eight empty beds and the timed meals, however, he had only his nightmares to tell him there was something else, something he was missing. Was it normal to just wake up one day in an empty steel room, getting your meals served through boxes and suffering from nightmares every night? Somehow, he didn't think so, but without knowing anything else, had nothing else to compare it to. Maybe it was.

The steel window opened then, revealing today's special. Gray sustenance. Yum.

Standing, he went and took the bowl, walking with it over to the steel door. If he tried hard enough, he could make out his reflection in the door, just barely. He was fairly tall, he was well built. That was a plus, he guessed. He might as well be well built. His hair was short, and it was black. His eyes were also pure black, which, he felt, might be considered creepy for some reason. He'd already realized that the black eyes seemed to have made him able to see details very easily. Like the number of watts on the lightbulb, or the different shapes in the grain of the steel ceiling.

Other than that, there wasn't much to tell, he was wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. But after having spent twelve days in relative boredom, he had nothing better to do than reconstruct his image in the steel door, even after having practically memorized it to begin with. But, then again, he'd practically memorized the entire room, as well.

The beds, each of them exactly the same, were seven feet long and two and a half feet across. They all stood two feet off the ground, and the sheets and blankets were all thin and gray. It didn't really matter, of course, the room always stayed the same temperature. The room itself was a long rectangle, twenty feet across and twenty-five feet in length. The beds were all up against the wall, four on each side, with five feet between each bed, and the aisle between the two rows also five feet in length. The door and the boxes (the boxes being six inches in perimeter, and a perfect square inside, each box three inches away from the other) were on opposite walls, in the center of the aisle. The ceiling was ten feet from the floor, which was a cold steel to match the door, the boxes, the walls, the beds and the ceiling, and pretty much the entire room was gray.

Finishing his breakfast, he put the bowl back in the box and resumed his daily activity of pacing the aisle, waiting for another six hours before lunch and wondering if this was all there was to life.

Apparently not.

Hearing the creak of metal, he turned around swiftly as two... people... in HAZMAT suits came walking in, dragging another guy behind them. The guy was unconscious, that much was obvious, but what really struck him was how buff the guy was. Seriously, if he was well built, this guy was huge. The guy was also a bit taller than he was, and the guy had long flowing blonde hair. That was weird. The guy appeared to be another teenager, and the guy was also wearing gray sweatpants and a gray t-shirt.

The HAZMAT dudes dropped the blonde guy on the floor and turned away.

"Hey, wait!" He called, suddenly realizing that he had just talked for the first time since he'd woke up here. His voice sounded weird to him. Like it wasn't the right one.

The HAZMAT dudes left and locked the door before he could get over his surprise and get to the door, leaving him alone with the unconscious dude.
He remembered his awakening, face down on the cold hard steel. It had been... disorienting, to say the least. So, not wanting his new roommate to experience the same, he began lifting the guy, trying to drag him over to one of the other beds. It was slow going, but not as difficult as he'd expected. Probably because he was well built.

About half-way to the nearest bed, the guy began to moan and stir, and he stopped dragging. Apparently, it didn't take too long to wake up.

With a yell, the guy sat up and grabbed His wrist, making him yelp.

"Who are you!?" The guy demanded in an accent that sounded very Australian. "What have you done to me?"

"Dude, you're gonna break my arm," he exclaimed instead. "I'm a friendly, I'm a friendly!"

The guy blinked. "Oh," he said. "My apologies, friend." The guy let go of his arm.

"How came we here?" The guy asked, looking around.

"I, uh, I don't know," he said. "I was hoping you could tell me. You just got here. Some dudes brought you in."

"...Oh," the guy said, frowning in confusion. "Are we... imprisoned?"

He paused, thinking it over. "Yeah," he said finally. "I think we are."

"That is indeed grievous," the guy said. "How long have I been here?"

"About five minutes," he said. "I've been here twelve days."

"That is long," the guy said. "Tell me, is there food?"

"Just missed it," he said. "Breakfast left right before they brought you in. Lunch'll be in about... 5 hours, 24 minutes."

The guy sighed. "I feel very hungry."

"Yeah, that's how I felt when I first woke up," he said. "It'll pass once you get some sustenance, though. Then you'll only feel moderately hungry."

The guy nodded. "Well," the guy said. "Thank you, friend, for telling me all this."

"No problem," he said. "Hey, what's your name?"

The guy blinked. "My name?" he repeated.

"Yeah, he said. "Your name. Do you have one?"

"Do you?" The guy asked, eyes wide.

He thought this over. "...No," he said. "No, I don't think I do."

"We must give each other names, then," The guy said, clapping him on the back.

His back sparked with electricity. "Ow!" He exclaimed, backing away. "Jeeze, what was that!?"

"What was what?" the guy asked.

"That," He insisted. "You... shocked me!"

The guy looked at his hands. They appeared normal.

He took a step closer. Reaching out, he touched one of the guy's hands. It was electrically charged somehow. "Ow," he said again, though braced for it this time. "How about that... You're electrically charged, man."

"I am?" The guy said wonderingly, looking at his hand. "Strange."

"Yeah, strange," he said. "Maybe I'll call you Sparky."

The guy grinned. "I like that," he said. "But what shall I call you?"

He paused, he'd been kidding about Sparky. But, it did fit, and if the guy liked, it, well then, okay. "I don't know," he said. "What do you want to call me?"

"I shall call you Friend," Sparky declared.

"Wow," he said. "Cool, then, if that's what you want to do, I'm cool with it." It was kinda strange, but hey, he'd been in here alone for twelve days. If Sparky wanted to call him Friend, so be it. At least things were finally getting interesting.


The next four days passed relatively quickly, time going by faster when someone was there to talk to. Friend turned out to be right about his eyes, Sparky couldn't see nearly as much, even with so little to see. Sustenance had appeared in two of the boxes this time, which was good. Friend had been worried at first that he would have to share his sustenance with Sparky, but that had fortunately turned out not to be the case.

The nights were more interesting too, as it turned out that Sparky had nightmares. Friend had been woken from one of his own that first night, to hear Sparky muttering and mumbling illegibly in his sleep. He had woken Sparky and asked what he was dreaming about, and Sparky had said he had been trapped in a box and struck with red lightning.

Not sure what it meant, but remembering his own dreams of being in a box, Friend decided that the two of them must have been experimented on somehow. Maybe that was why they couldn't remember anything before this room, and that could also explain his black eyes and Sparky's sparks.
Knowing this, Friend started thinking about the other six beds and boxes. How many more would end up imprisoned in this room with them?

He didn't have long to wonder, as four days after Sparky's arrival, the metal door opened again, and two more HAZMAT dudes dragged in another teenager, again ignoring Friend's demand for answers as they dropped him and took off, this time pointing weapons of some sort at Friend and Sparky to keep them away before leaving.

"Well, I guess they weren't in the mood for conversation," Friend said flippantly before turning to the newcomer. "Hey, move him to that bed over there, will ya?" He asked Sparky. This new kid wasn't as muscle-bound as Sparky, in fact, he looked slightly smaller than Friend himself, only much more pale, and his hair was all white and spiky. Whoever this kid was, he had to have been a punk. Hair wasn't like that normally.

Sparky picked him up easily and moved him to the bed, and after a few moments, the kid started to shift, lifting one hand to his head and covering his eyes.

"Too bright..." he muttered. "Dim the lights."

"They're dim enough already," Friend noted with a dry laugh. "Any more and it'll be too dark."

The kid moved his hand and opened his eyes. "That's better," he said.

Friend and Sparky stared. The kid's eyes were glowing. No literally, they were glowing blue, like a colored flashlight. In the low light, the affect was rather eery. The glowing eyes turned to him, and the kid frowned. "What?" He said. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Um," Friend said. "Are you aware that your eyes light up?"

The kid's frown deepened. "Are you aware that your eyes look like a shark's eyes?" He replied. "When they smell blood. Do you smell any blood right now? Are you part shark?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Friend stated. "How about you? Do you know who you are?"

The kid shook his head. "I'm running a search now."

"...What?" Friend asked.

The kid closed his eyes. "Nope, I got nothing. Access denied. Password needed. Anybody know a password? Anything, I'm willing to try it. I'm disconnected."

"I am afraid I know not of what you speak," Sparky said in confusion.

The kid opened his eyes and looked at Sparky. "It means I can't access the internet," he said. "Something's blocking my signal."

"You're not on a computer," Friend said. "There's nothing here. How can you be trying to access the internet?"

Worry flashed in the kid's glowing eyes, and he furrowed his brow. "...Well, that's not normal," he said quietly.

"What?" Sparky asked.

"Quick question: do either of you see lines of computer data when you close your eyes?"

Sparky closed his eyes experimentally.

Friend shook his head. "No," he said. "But I can see things that Sparky can't, and he can shoot electricity through his fingers. We're all a little abnormal."

"Sparky?" the kid asked. "His name is Sparky?"

"Well, no," Sparky said. "I did not have a name when I awoke, and so Friend was very gracious in providing one for me!"

"You named him Sparky?" the kid said, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. "Like a dog? And what's your name, then? I mean, judging from the pattern, I'm assuming you didn't have one either."

"I have been calling him 'Friend," Sparky said joyfully.

The kid raised his eyebrows. "Friend?" He said. "Really? Okay, I'm not calling you that."

"What's wrong with Friend?" Sparky asked. "Surely you do not think he is an enemy!"

"What? Who said that?" The kid stated. "Although you can never be too sure. I just said I won't call him that. Way too soft for my tastes. I would feel mamby-pamby whenever it passed through my lips."

"You don't have to call me Friend," Friend said. "However, we have to figure out what to call you."

The kid frowned again as Sparky and Friend regarded him with thought. "I feel like I'm being scrutinized," he said. "Seriously. And your black eyes are kind of creeping me out."

"Because the light-up ones are so easy to get past," Friend said. "Seriously, it's like staring at a flashlight."

"Perhaps that is what we should call him!" Sparky suggested. "Flashlight!"

"Uh, no," The kid said, affronted. "No way! I'm not a camping accessory! You're not allowed to make any more suggestions."

"Maybe just Light, then," Friend tried.

The kid regarded this. "I'm... surprisingly okay with that," he said. "Alright, you can call me Light. So, he's Sparky, and I'm Light. Now we just need a new name for you."

Friend shrugged. "I've been Friend for four days," he said. "I've kinda got used to it."

"That doesn't change anything," Light said. "I'll think of something eventually."

He laid back down and stared up at the ceiling. It was still rather odd to see the two spots of light in his face, but Friend tried not to stare, and instead turned to Sparky, nodding to the corner of the room, where they went to wait for dinner and talk about the same stuff they'd already talked about for the past for days. Which wasn't much, but it was obvious that Light wanted to be left alone, so that's what they did.

When the sustenance arrived a few hours later, Friend called over to Light. "Hey, dinner's here," he said.

Light stood and walked over, frowning down at the food in disgust.

"Better eat it," Friend suggested. "You won't get anything else until morning, and that's all they give us anyway. You'll get used to it."

"Who are 'They,' and why are we trusting what they're giving us?" Light asked, poking at the food slightly.

Friend had wondered this many times, and the answer came readily to his lips. "They are the ones who put us here," he said. "And we're trusting what they're giving us because we have to. Whatever it is, it isn't poisonous, they obviously want us alive. Besides, I don't know about you, but I don't want to starve to death."

Again, a flash of worry showed in Light's eyes, and he sighed. "I suppose you're right," he said. Reaching in with his finger, he swiped a bit and stuck it in his mouth. "Well, it's no steak and mashed potatoes," he said after a minute. "But at least it doesn't taste bad. It doesn't taste at all, actually. It's completely flavorless. I wonder how they managed that. Food always has at least a bit of flavor."

"Do you psychoanalyze everything?" Friend asked in wonder.

"Do you accept everything without question?" Light responded challengingly.

"No," Friend said. "I just accept what I can't change."

"Ooh, don't ever do that," Light said. "Start accepting what you can't change and before you know it, you stop changing what you can't accept. Speaking of which, how do we escape?"

"Escape?" Sparky asked. "There is no way."

"Nonsense," Light said. "There's always a way."

Friend shook his head. "Believe me," he said. "I spent the first twelve days here memorizing the place. There really is no way out."

"The door?" Light asked.

"Solid as a rock," Friend answered. "It only opens to bring in another occupant, and then guarded by HAZMAT dudes with some kinda weapon."

Light nodded. "The windows?"

"As you can see, they're metal boxes. Food is deposited into the bowl through tubes in the top at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, six hours apart. Quick note on that subject, if you don't put the bowl back in the box, your next meal deposits in the box itself. So put the bowl back."

"Got it," Light said, turning his attention to the boxes themselves. Walking over, he leaned over and stuck his head in, examining the cube inside.

Friend mentally checked the time, he didn't want to see what would happen if Light's head was still in when the metal door snapped shut. They should have about twenty-two minutes at the least, before they started having to watch themselves.

"Hmm..." Light was saying. "Yeah, it's a basic release. Probably on a timer, if they're so regular. I wonder how fresh this food is."

Pulling his head out, he turned back to Friend. "Walls?" He asked.

"Solid steel, like the door and the floor," he said.

"Beds?"

"Steel. Melded, apparently. All in one piece, save the mattress, blanket and pillow."

Light nodded. "Air vents?" he asked.

"One," Friend stated. Over the door. Melded into the wall, no physical weaknesses."

"Got it," Light said, looking up at the vent. "Well, anyway," he said after a few moments, licking up the rest of his food. "That went by quick. What's the kitchen's policy on seconds?"

"Never had any," Friend said. "The food releases on a timer, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, a guy can try," Light said, putting the bowl back in the box. "Oh well. My compliments to the chef."

Friend wasn't sure what to make of Light. He seemed very smart, but at the same time, rather flippant, as if he wasn't taking any of this seriously. As Light very pointedly made his way back to his bed alone, Friend turned back to his own food. He found himself wondering if Light would have nightmares...


That night, when Light started thrashing and screaming in his bed, much worse than Sparky, Friend wasted no time in getting up and going over to Light's side to try and wake him.

"Light," he said. "Light, wake up, you're dreaming."

Light didn't seem to hear him, only became more violent at Friend's touch. Pulling away quickly, Light went over the other side of the bed.

By this point, Sparky was awake as well. "What has happened?" He asked.

"Nightmare," Friend stated, going around to the other side, where Light was sitting up groggily. The image was rather funny, and if the moment hadn't been so serious, Friend would have laughed.

As it was, he very cautiously approached. "Light," he said. "Are you awake?"

Light looked up at him, his expression a mixture of anger and fear. "Yes," he snapped. "Yes I am."

Friend put his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Fine," he said. "I was just trying to help."

Light softened. "Sorry," he said. "I just..."

"Had a nightmare?" Friend finished sympathetically.

Light nodded. "Yeah," he said. "You get'em too?"

"Me and Sparky both," Friend said. "In mine, I keep waking up in a box, being pumped full of drugs and- and blood."

"And I also am in a box," Sparky said. "I am struck by red lightning."

Light was momentarily distracted. "Red lightning?" He said. "That's unusual. I wonder how they accomplished that."

"What about you?" Friend asked. "Were you in a box?"

Light looked suddenly defensive. "...No," he said. "I wasn't."

"I know you don't wanna hear this," Friend said. "But talking makes you feel better, I promise."

"You're right, I didn't want to hear that," Light said. "But fine. I wasn't in a box. I, uh, was strapped down to a table. There. I said it."

Well. That was different.

"What were they doing?" Friend asked.

Light huffed.

Friend raised an eyebrow.

"I was wearing an oxygen mask filled with something that really stank," Light said resignedly, rolling his eyes. "There were a bunch of people in HAZMAT suits... working on me. They were doing something to my... My..." Light frowned.

"Your what?" Sparky asked.

"I... I don't remember," Light said. "It was..." Trailing off, Light glanced down at his gray t-shirt. Reaching down, he pulled the hem of the shirt up over his chest, and all three teens gasped at what they saw. There, near the center of Light's chest, was another light, the same color of his eyes. The edge of the light started as cracked metal, and soon fused to his skin in nasty looking burns, some of them even looking somewhat dark, as if they had been dyed black by something.

Light put his shirt back down, looking slightly sick. "That's messed up," he said quietly. "But hey, that explains my eyes and my glowing personality." He reflected. "Maybe that has something to do with the computer in my head as well," he said. "Nah, I don't see how they'd be connected..."

He'd distracted himself by this point, and laying back down on his bed, closed his eyes and began muttering numbers and theories to himself.

Friend chuckled slightly. Light was certainly an enigma. Turning to Sparky, he nodded the situation handled, and went back to his own bed. First Sparky, now Light. He wondered when he would be getting another new roommate. Maybe life in this room didn't have to be so boring after all. And really, aside from the nightmares, nothing really bad was happening. Maybe They were done with them, after doing whatever They had, and were now content to leave them alone.

He could only hope.