Regan bit back a howl of pain as the agony set in after four eternal seconds of nothingness. Blood ran in hot trails down his back and arms. When he glanced around, the man was gone, and the nurse-looking woman was standing near him, clutching the blue plastic bag. She handed him back his own clothes, taking away the tattered pieces of the straitjacket. She watched mercilessly as he dressed himself; privacy was apparently non-existent in the strange place Regan was imprisoned within. When he was dressed, the woman tied the dog-collar around his neck and covered his eyes with the blindfold, and tugged him out of the dimly lit room.
They walked for a long time, but eventually came to a halt. Regan was, to his surprise, glad of the blindfold. He felt as if the pain from the knife was blinding him anyway. There was a noise nearby that sounded like a key in a lock, and the screech of thick metal doors opening. Regan was shoved into a room, before the blindfold and dog-collar were torn away from him.

As he slowly opened his eyes, Regan saw that he was standing in a room made of concrete. There were no windows, just fluorescent white lights in long narrow strips along the ceiling. There were several other people scattered around the room. Regan was at first delighted to find some more people who didn't look as intimidating as the masked man. But on closer inspection there was something wrong with all of them.

The first person, a young woman with a gaudy pink hairdo, was lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling and tracing invisible shapes in the air with one hand. Her eyes were wide and empty, the light reflecting against the bright green. She was mouthing something incoherent to herself.

The second was frustrated-looking guy who was throwing himself repeatedly at one wall, until he eventually collapsed into a sobbing, aching heap on the cold floor.

The last person was a bizarre-looking man, who was leant casually against one wall. Half of his hair appeared to have been sheared off, while the other half was shoulder-length. A large encircled letter "a" was tattooed upon the hairless part of his skull. He had many other tattoos, and the tell-tale scars suggesting that he had also been branded. Another jagged scar marred his face. His eyes were the colour of stone, and there was a look of wild insanity and intelligence locked within them. He glanced at Regan, and beckoned him over.

"This lot-" he said, sweeping a hand in the vague direction of other inhabitants of the room.

"-Are as crazy as shit." he finished on a slightly aggressive-sounding note, before looking around the room dramatically, and pulling a short knife out of one pocket, and violently mutilating the tattooed skin of his right arm.

The End

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