"Did you like my game?"

Ryan didn't need to look to see the owner of the voice. He recognised it instantly.

"Fuck off," he said.

The girl laughed, and the sound was infectious, injecting Ryan with endorphins. He stifled them with a mental grip around their throat. He was not happy to see her again, whoever the hell she was, so would resist any attempt to make him feel pleased.

"Oh, poor Rye-Rye. You're sad. Does Rye-Rye want a hug?"

There was another giggle, but Ryan had his happy hormones in check. They'd been evicted in no uncertain terms.

"My name is Ryan, and no. I don't want a hug. Fuck off and leave me alone."

"Is it?"

"Is what, what?"

"Your name. Is it really Ryan, or is that just what she called you?"

"I don't care. I don't know, so it doesn't matter. She can call me whatever the fuck she wants."

The girl didn't answer and, in the extended silence, Ryan tried to ignore the urge to turn to her.

He failed.

She stood close to the bars, holding on to them with hands that were too small for the fingers to reach all the way around the steel rods. Instead of the grin he expected, she looked grim. Her brow furrowed and her mouth was a thin line of worry.

She was glowing faintly, her luminescence spreading to the bars closest to her.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, despite his desire to remain uncaring.

"It's not safe," the girl said.

With a sigh, Ryan returned his attention to the obviously invisible roof.

"Fuck off."

"OK."

"What's that supposed..."

His retort was cut short when he looked back at her. He was, once again, alone in the dark.

"Shit."

"Sshhhh!"

The 'fuck off' this time was voiced in his head. He was thinking. The girl had to be imaginary, as he'd been speaking to her, but his neighbour had only piped up once she'd gone. That meant the brief conversation had to be imaginary, too. He hadn't been speaking at all. So, who was she?

Could she be his memories struggling to return? Was she trying to tell him something? To guide him to a revelation that would open himself wide? If so, she was doing a crap job. Why be so vague? It isn't safe? No shit, Sheerluck!

Who was she??

Wait!

She was... Oh, it was just there, on the tip of the tongue that licked clean the chasm between his ears. He tried to snatch at it, but the tongue flicked away, keeping it just out of reach. Fine, then. He'd ignore it, if it wasn't going to...

Ha! Got it!

She was, dun dun dunnnn, Carla.

No.

Carly.

No!

Clara!

Yes. Clara. A nice name, he thought, for a right pain in the arse. But why that name, in particular? It must mean something to him, otherwise he wouldn't have given her that moniker. Perhaps, once she'd unlocked whatever she was the key for, the true 'Clara' would be revealed. For now, he was content with that tiny snippet of knowledge. It was the first solid clue he had that indicated all was not lost within him. Useless now, it could, no must be important.

Ha, Bradley! You're not as fucking perfect as you think, eh?

Feeling victorious, for a small win is still a win, Ryan folded his arms with satisfaction. That wasn't all, was it? No, not at all. He had thought Dr Fiona Bradley was in charge. Hell, he was sure Dr Fiona Bradley thought Dr Fiona Bradley was in charge! Mostly, she probably was. She acted as such, and others deferred to her in a way that showed she had definite authority, but it had taken one word to shake her superiority.

'He.'

There was someone above her. Someone who, like Voldemort, didn't need to be named. It was clear they were being spoken about, and that, in itself, was enough to strike fear into the hearts of those present. Or, at least, knock their resolve.

If Bradley wasn't the top dog, Ryan didn't need to bother with her. She was now simply a stepping stone. Hopefully, that stepping stone was in a fast-moving river, and his weight on it would push it under the surface so it would drown. Did stones drown? This one would, he'd make sure of it.

"Come and get me, bitches," he called.

"Sshhhh!"

"Shush yourself. I'm not waiting here for them to decide when they want to mess with me. I make my own choices."

"They'll come for you, fucking idiot!"

The voice was quiet, only slightly above a whisper. The speaker knew they were putting themselves in danger by saying anything, for which Ryan was grateful, but they were the idiot for giving a shit at all.

"Look," he said. "Worry about yourself, OK? Keep quiet and you'll be fine. Fine and dandy until it's your turn. Me, I want them here."

"Suit yourself."

"I will indeed." He took a breath. "COME GET ME YOU BITCHES!"

He heard the reactions from other cells, but no one else offered a warning. Some had sense, then.

He waited for a few moments, but the anticipated appearance from Jarvis didn't materialise. Fair enough. Maybe they didn't hear him. He supposed they couldn't be on the ball all the time. Whoever was tasked with monitoring the camera feeds would need to take a piss at some point. If it was a quiet night, as most would be when it was permanently night and no one could speak, they might even nod off.

"LA LA WHOOPSIE DAISY! IGGLE PIGGLE TOOK A PIDDLE ALL OVER THE KITCHEN FLOOR! THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED TO SEE SUCH FUN, AND THE DISH RAN AWAY WITH... with... erm... AN APPLE CORE!"

It was nonsense, but Ryan didn't care. He was speaking for the sake of it, making any noise just to get a reaction. The lack of one was annoying. They should be champing at the bit to get to him and teach him the rules must be obeyed. A quick cycle or two would sort him out nicely.

Fuck it. They weren't taking any notice. He assumed they were letting him act the fool because they knew he was trying to draw him out. They set the rules, and he was meant to follow them. If he flouted them, they would act. If he danced on them with wild abandon to prompt a reaction, they'd let him crack on.

Right. If that's the case, he'd have to try something else.

But what?

OK. How about...

"Help! Help, quickly! Someone's choking! I think... I think they're dying!" he shouted. In a much quieter tone, he whispered to the one he'd just interacted with. "Start choking," he said. "Get them out here."

Naturally, the other person didn't do as he asked, so he tried again.

"Come on. Trust me. I'm going to get us all out of here."

It was an empty promise, as there was little chance he'd be able to achieve anything. He was determined to try, however, and he couldn't do that, if he was being ignored, alone.

The obligatory silence. Didn't these people have any balls?

"Come on. You act like you're choking or something, and then I'll get their attention when they come out. Once they see me, they'll forget all about you."

Nothing. Just a bunch of spineless, yet sensible, mutes.

"Cough!"

Huh? Where...?

"Cough, cough, COUGH!"

It was coming from a different direction, to the left of where he expected it. Someone else had stepped up to the bar. He just had to ensure they weren't smashed over the head with it.

The coughs continued, increasing in volume and vehemence, enough to impress Ryan with the performance. They'd have to respond to that!

"Come on, you fuckers!" he shouted. "Bradley! Jarvis! Get your arses out here before they choke to fucking death!"

Finally, as it began to sound as if his accomplice was genuinely in the last throws of a death rattle, the far door opened and someone hurried through. One of the twins.

"Fucking finally!" he shouted, loud enough to be heard over the hacking. "You need to work on your healthcare! My friend over there is dying, for fuck's sake!"

He was ignored by the twin, whose torchlight led over to the cage occupied by the pseudo-sufferer. Occasionally, the beam picked out other cages. The occupiers shrank back against the light, partially due to the sudden brightness and partly, no doubt, in case it was coning for them. At the sound of a key in a lock, the coughing stopped, to be replaced by a whimper. Ryan had to step up if he wanted to grab the twin's attention and save his partner in crime.

"Hey, shit head. Fuck that prick. They're fine. How about answering me when I call for you? The service in this place is shocking, man!"

The twin paused and looked at Ryan, whose heart jumped in a flash of fear brought quickly under control. The glance was fleeting. He wasn't the focus. He wasn't important, not at that moment. Maybe in a little while, after the cougher was dealt with. That would be too late!

"Hey! I'm speaking to you! Doc got your tongue?"

He had no clue which brother he was shouting at, but hoped the jibe would serve its purpose. If it was Kravitz, the comment would probably sting like a fresh cut tongue. If Jarvis directed the torch, he'd surely feel concern and kinship to his twin. He'd want to protect him. He'd also want to shut this seriously annoying piece of shit (Ryan thought even that would be a compliment compared to how he was really thought of) the hell up.

Calmly, the twin backed out of the cell and locked it back up. The newly saved would be friend, in other circumstances, turned in Ryan's direction and gave the briefest wave. Their attention was back on the door and didn't leave it until Ryan was definitely the new subject.

His cell was unlocked. The twin entered and closed it behind him. He stood in silhouette, shining the torch straight ahead so it split the darkness like a knife, impaling the onlooking eyes.

Ryan refused to look away. It would be a sign of weakness, and he was not weak. After a few seconds, the torch was switched off, making the darkness seem more absolute.

"If you want to die," said Jarvis, as Kravitzhad no tongue, "that can be arranged. Again."