Choices were a pain in the arse.

No one liked them, not really. They'd prefer to leave a decision that could potentially have massive repercussions on their life to gravity, air resistance, force and the spin of an inanimate object. The flip and catch of a simple coin were seen as better than pointing a mental finger at that one. Too many people were indecisive, so the metal disc was a focus for their personal insecurities.

Choose one.

I can't.

Choose one!

I can't! I don't know!

OK, let's throw this two pence piece into the air and see which way up it lands.

OK, yeah. Good idea.

So... Heads is what, and tails is what?

Erm...

Shall we flip for it?

Light or enlightenment? Action or argument? Stand or... tap!

Ryan's fingertip hit the pad decisively. He wasn't feeling decisive, but he had to make a selection and couldn't spend any time at all dancing from between them. He instantly regretted his choice. Too late, though, and the regret was only his mind playing with him. Either option could have been right and wrong at the same time. There was no way to have both, so Power it was.

The screen changed to show a schematic of the switch panel. Though there were no indicator lights to show the switches' states, the display made it clear. All except two were off. One was marked 'Desk', hence the computer being useable. The second was identified simply as Zones. That was as meaningless as T. Gumbo, or whatever it was.

Hmmm... Was the T for Terry or Tom? Was that Bradley's father? He didn't care.

The rest had consistent names. Bank 1. Bank 2. Pod 1. Pod 2. The tags had meaning, but not specifics. He was wary of activating randomly, but had a feeling he might have to. Then, the bottom two rows made him smile. B1 Lights. B1 Lights. B3, Goddamn Lights!

With barely disguised glee, he ran his fingers across all the switches, flicking them on.

A buzz. A flash. Light!

He looked up as the room was filled in a warm off-yellow. Nice! Further to the right, high up on the wall, was another grill. Potentially, that was the exit from the vent's other direction. So, all roads led to here. There really were no actual choices.

OK.

He turned to view the extent of the now visible room. For a moment, his thoughts froze along with the rest of him.

He'd thought it was large. Yeah, and Everest is a big mountain.

It wasn't just large or huge or gigantic. It was... so much more.

The ceiling was quite low, and not tiled or plastered. It was rough stone, as if carved, then casually smoothed, but only enough to take off the sharper edges. If he had still been in the vent, he might have been able to touch it. He could see the far end, but was unable to perceive any real details. His eyes, though he believed them to be healthy, were not strong enough to focus properly at that distance.

The banks and pods were now recognisable. There were long rows of covered hot tubs, with smaller circular containers standing next to them. Tubes reached from each of the mini-tubs up to the ceiling, where they disappeared into holes. They throbbed with the movement of a liquid travelling through them, giving an eerie pulse.

Right. Let's have a look-see, shall we?

Ryan walked hesitantly to the closest container. The comparison to a typical hot tub, the sort he'd bought for Bun but spent the most time in, was undeniable. It was a little over waist height, inflatable and, as he drew closer, filled with water. All it needed was some water jets to complete the visual. No. It wasn't water. Water was clear. Water was... watery.

In this case, the liquid had a very light purple hue and what appeared to be a viscous consistency, evidenced by the way it clung briefly to the sides from the gently lapping waves. That was another thing. Why was there any movement at all when the container was stationary and had nothing visible to disturb the calm?

Even the unmoving, submerged form shouldn't have made a difference.

The shape was a long cylinder. That was all Ryan could discern as he moved closer. Any identifying markings were obscured by the purple colouring deepening around it, to the point it was a solid colour rather than a vague implication. Once he was standing directly beside the tub, however, he knew exactly what he was looking at. He'd seen enough police television shows to recognise a body bag.

He should have been shocked, shouldn't he? A dead person, wrapped tightly and floating in... something, was shocking. So, why wasn't he? Why didn't he recoil? Vomit? Why was he so accepting?

He was reminded of his reaction to finding himself in the cell, with light and identity missing. He was curious, more than anything. The horror he ought to have experienced was absent. They'd given him medication to remove any superfluous emotions that might taint their grand experiment. As opposed to drugs as he felt he was, he was thankful for that. He wanted to remain calm, at least as far as the environment and circumstances were concerned. He had no issue with losing his rag when necessary.

The body floated. Bodies didn't usually do that, at least not immediately. Generally, they'd sink, and only resurface after a few days when decomposition and its compatriot, bacteria, got their teeth into the innards. The liquid was thicker than water, so potentially, it could be that keeping the form afloat. Plus, wrapped, water wouldn't be getting into the lungs to add weight.

Ryan shrugged. Floating or sinking, it was still a dead body. It still indicated more macabre machinations by Bradley and Co. He had an urge to tear open the covering to see if the was another version of himself laying before him. Perhaps one with a bullet through the forehead. A nice clean scalpel slash across the neck.

Curiosity killed the cat, and his own curiosity could reveal what killed him. He'd resisted Participants, so perhaps he could give in this time. There'd been plenty of other kidnappees, which meant the chances of this particular person being a previous incarnation of him were remote, but you never knew...

And if so, then what?

Maybe the other Ryan wasn't dead – what'd be the point in keeping them in flotation tanks? - so could be woken and could fight alongside him.

Or, maybe, he could pretend the other him was the real him, and he'd be able to successfully escape whilst all attention was on the pretend him! Not confusing at all.

So, fuck it.

He leaned forward and pulled the body to the side of the bath. It moved slowly, as if the liquid was providing resistance, though it flowed as if it shouldn't. Was it anchored from beneath to keep it in place? Well, in a moment, that wouldn't matter. Let's have a look at that face.

The material containing the body was thinner than expected. His fingers were beginning to pierce it just from his grip, and he wasn't holding it tightly.

No, they weren't piercing it. They were sinking through, as if being soaked up. He yanked his hand away, and the covering made a soft popping sound as his digits were released. He went to wipe his hand on his clothes, but there were already dry. The holes left from where his fingers had been, however, were still there. And expanding. Revealing.

"Look away."

What the fuck was she doing here?

He turned, keeping his attention on the unfolding mystery. Finally, as the wrap's dissolving was slowing as it increased, He looked at Bradley.

"Hey Doc. You found me."

"You gave us something of a dilemma there, Ryan," Bradley said. Her tone masked any anger she might be feeling. It was conversational and, to him, felt colder for it.

"How so? It was just a bit of fun. I wanted to stretch my legs."

"Well, you let all those candidates out. Have you ever tried to shepherd sheep?"

"I've never even seen a sheep, at least outside of TV or pictures."

"You seem awfully sure about that. What if I told you that you were a champion shearer before you joined us here?"

"Then you'd be a lying bitch."

"I would be, yes, but I'm not, so I won't. So, if a dog and its owner try to get a flock in their compound, and they don't want to go, what does the owner do?"

"Why do I care?"

"You should know I only ask such things if they're important."

"Fine," Ryan said. "I don't know. Keep trying?"

"That's right. They keep trying."

"Great. Now leave me the fuck alone."

Ryan glanced at the still too obscured form in the bath, then turned his back on the doctor. He couldn't care less about sheep and dogs and shepherds. He wasn't the doctor's puppet anymore. He'd find his way out and she can go cycle herself, for all he cared. He just hoped it hurt.

The guard was aiming the gun at his face, close enough for the simple about turn to have the muzzle against his lips. The guard smiled, and Ryan's attention refocussed from the weapon to the person.

Pedra had a pretty smile. Cold eyes and a steadyaim, though.