The past.
“Hello?”
Alister listened to the echo of his voice quickly fade. The room was musty, unquestionably made of concrete and no bigger than eight by eight square feet. He stood and reached his hand up to touch the ceiling. Debris rained down around him and he tasted dust.
“Can anyone hear me?”
When he awoke, he was stiff from the odd way he had been lying on the hard floor, and the absence of light played tricks on his mind. He would see things that made him curious.
He moved around with caution. His hands were extended out in front of him in search of anything solid, and after taking a few baby steps forward, his fingertips swiped the rough surface of the wall. He felt for detail and easily discerned brick and mortar. On the wall, a slight protrusion with a uniform vertical crack went from the floor to the ceiling, cut across horizontally for about three feet and dropped back down to the floor. That portion of the wall was colder than the brick and perfectly flat.
“It has to be a steel door.”
The handle had been removed, and Alister assumed it had been sealed from the outside. It was obvious Henry, the red-headed woman that looked like a cartoon character and the quiet guy bulging with muscle must have listened to his instructions and locked him away.
“Finally.”
He moved to what he thought was the center of the room and sat. Something hard poked him, and he searched for the object.
A thin metal item about five inches long and weighing a couple of ounces intrigued him. He ran his fingers up and down the shaft for any clue as to what he had found. It had a cylindrical shape throughout and held the chill of the room. A small button stuck out and he pressed it.
Click.
The object shifted in his hand ever so slightly, and he ran his fingers over it again to try and identify any change.
“Ouch.”
It sliced his skin and he pulled away. A switchblade. He understood the people that had locked him in the room had left it for him to use.