"You're shitting me."

Ryan wasn't aware he'd spoken but, if he had, that would have been the phrase of choice. There hadn't been any thoughts of what he might find when he reached his forthcoming destination, but the cavernous room could not have been among them.

Perhaps it might have been another records archive. He might have chanced upon one of the rooms Bradley had taken him to. A server room. A toilet. A changing room, filled with overalls he could don to blend in and aid his escape. So many choices.

But no.

The grill was held in place by four clips, the type that could be turned from the outside to grip on the inside. He looked through the horizontal metal slats to see if there was anyone close by, such as his welcome party, before carefully pushing at the clips, starting at the top. He wanted the opportunity, at least, to be able to control the grill's release. If he'd attempted the bottom ones first, the top two would have been redundant and the clattering of the cover landing on the floor would have echoed loudly across the room. There'd be no hiding then.

He pushed his left ring finger, the only one that would fit between the slats, through them to hold the grill in place as he cautiously released it. When all the clips were turned, he gritted his teeth, expecting it to slip down, with his finger only taking the weight enough for his right hand to grab it. Or to break the finger from the unexpectedly excessive weight. When it didn't move, he sighed.

Nothing is straightforward. Now he'd have to push, increasing the risk of losing it to gravity. Wonderful.

He pushed, but the grill refused to budge.

Shit. What now? He couldn't turn himself around to kick it free. There wasn't room, and he didn't was to announce his presence. He could pretend he was still acting autonomously if they were going to pretend they had yet to find him.

Then...

Damn.

Idiot.

He hadn't taken enough notice of the grill's design, assuming it opened outwards – or inwards if you were in the room. His assumption was wrong. The clips must have been double sided, with an identical part positioned on the other side. Ince undone, it was released into the vent. It made sense, really. If the opening was at height, the person opening it wouldn't have to manhandle something heavy and awkward, taking it down their ladder before having to climb up again to do their work. No one would be expected on the other wise, so laying it down within the vent was the best option.

Well, it worked for him. He mouthed a silent thank you to whichever genius came up with the idea, then pulled. The grill came away easily. It was light and he could set it against the vent's side with little unwanted sound. Crawling past it was preferable to crawling over.

OK.

Next.

Ryan held his breath and counted to ten, a number that meant nothing but seemed adequate, listening. He could feel the heavy air from the room seeping in around him. It carried an odd odour that left a sour taste and made the inside of his nose itch. The weight of it pressed down upon him, though air should be weightless, with the imposing imminence of what he was about to enter into.

Hesitance was cast aside before it could stall him, and he slid forwards.

There was a drop too high for him to go fully headfirst out of the vent, so he had to manoeuvre himself around to a precarious sitting position, using his ankles as an anchor to prevent him from falling. Hoping his arms were as strong as his legs, he planted his palms against the vent's innards and slowly eased his legs out, one by one. He managed to extricate himself and move his upper body back into the opening without falling, but needed a few seconds to catch his errant breath.

Right. Here we go.

Ryan slid backwards. The floor wasn't far below, but moving in reverse meant he was still going into the unknown. His legs wouldn't find purchase, so he would have to hang and drop, neither of which were inviting. When he did and he landed easily on the solid floor, he took a deep, relieved breath.

Right, again.

He turned to face the room. From within the vent, it had seemed huge. Now he was in it, huge was an understatement. There was no lighting to show its extent, but he had experience of what a large room in darkness felt like, and this surely surpassed that.

A desk was against a nearby wall beside a panel of switches. The glow of the panels they were set into was the only illumination, and its feeble fingers stretched out to him beseechingly. Before approaching, he closed his eyes and cocked his head, holding his breath.

No. No movement or other breathing to indicate he was not alone. No sound apart from a deep humming that was more vibration than sound.

He walked over to the desk. The light from the switches was welcoming but failed to reach further than a few feet. To investigate, he would need more. Unfortunately, the switches were not labelled. They could have turned on the assumed overhead lights or directed automatic guns at his head. He wasn't prepared to take the risk. The person responsible for them must have had a decent memory to know what was what, or they didn't mind being shot to pieces, as a quick cycle would have them back in the chair spit-spot.

A keyboard and two wide, curved monitors were on the desk. Apart from them and a flat square beside the keyboard, it was empty.

They'd cleaned house in anticipation of his arrival. How nice.

Fine. He pressed the Enter key. It was as good as any, and he was rewarded by both screens slowly (thankfully) brightening. Ryan expected a login prompt, but was relieved to see none. There was a menu on one that took up the full width of the monitor. On the other was the plan of a room. No doubt this room. If so, the emptiness he felt was false. If the plan was accurate and to scale, and there was no reason to think otherwise, it was full.

The plan showed a rectangle with a smaller square protrusion at one end. At the other, was a red flashing X. His location? Good, he had his bearings. Whether that meant he had a tracker implanted somewhere on his person was irrelevant. It's not like they wouldn't know where he was. In this instance, it did him a favour, so he was weirdly grateful.

Not far from him, and filling almost the entire remaining space, were circles. Eight across and... one, two, three.... seventeen long. Ryan didn't bother trying to calculate the maths involved in working out how many that was. It was plenty, which was all he needed to know. Between each was a smaller square, with a light blue line connecting it to its adjacent circle. All had a number one in them. He stared at them, testing various scenarios of what they might be. Fuel cells? Data banks? Hot tubs? A giant game of Connect 4? The only way to know for sure, was to visit one. That meant leaving the light and entering the darkness.

He was less afraid of the dark than he might have been as a child, or even an adult. His time in the cell had conditioned him to realise danger might lurk, but trying to anticipate it achieved nothing. He would face them and, if he was cycled again, he'd just have to repeat his escape. In the same way the lack of light now had instilled a lack of fear, cycling failed to concern him. He was still here, and felt more like himself each time they killed him.

Still, the dark was, obviously, dark. He would need to see to find anything out. The menu had yet to be properly inspected, so he turned his attention to the list of options. Zero thought had been given to the aesthetics of the display, which Ryan was disappointed at. At least give the user something pleasant to look at. It didn't have to be all fancy scrolls, but something other than the blocky font and plain rectangular buttons would have been nice.

HOME

He wished that was a magical word that, if selected, would return him to his previous life. If only.

PARTICIPANTS

CYCLES

T.GONDI COUNT

ESSENCE LEVELS

POWER MENU

RETURN

Participants. Fucking Participants! That made it sound like they were volunteers, not kidnappees. Not the subjects of experimentation. Hey, you want to lock me up, take away my identity and my life whenever you have the desire? You want to treat me as if I'm a number and not a person?

Sure. Go ahead. Whatever you want, I'm your man. In fact, give me that gun. I'll stick it to my own forehead. Save you the trouble.

And breathe.

He wanted to check every option. There'd be information in them all, and information was ammunition. He knew he didn't have time for that, however. He had to choose.

He'd be in Participants. All of him. Bun. Clara. His name, address and inside leg measurement. Whether he preferred tea or coffee, and how sweet the beverage should be. The trouble was, without that name, searching for his record would be fruitless. There were so many other cells, it could take far too long to find the right one. The right him. The temptation to ignore everything else was great, but he resisted. Identity wouldn't matter if he was still a prisoner.

Cycles were cycles. The option would, no doubt, be a track of who had been cycled how many times. So what? T.Gondi and Essence could be cheese and toast for all he knew. But Power? Therein lay true illumination.

He tapped the screen. Nothing happened. Well, there was no mouse, so surely it was touch sensitive. Tap again. Press his full fingertip. Thumb? No, no and no.

Not touch sensitive, then. He looked around the desk, then admonished himself.

Stupid shit.

The pad beside the keyboard. Obviously.

He touched the pad, realising it was the equivalent of a laptop's touchpad. Duh! A cursor appeared on screen. He'd hoped it wouldn't, as it would then mean he wasn't as much a fool as he felt. As it did, his foolishness was there for everyone to witness, and he didn't doubt he was being watched.

Fine.

He swiped down on the pad, causing the cursor to move to the Power option, then lifted his finger. And paused.

If he followed that path, he might never knowhis true self. This could be the only chance for the resolution that hadprompted his escape. Could he pass it up? Did he care what else was in theroom? Answers beckoned from every direction, and he couldn't accept all theirpromises. He had to choose one. Forwards or backwards. The secrets the roomheld, or his own past.