As soon as he opened his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling. The faint hum of a ventilation fan. Fluorescent lights flickering at regular intervals. Cold air. It was a scene repeated every day. He could tell without checking the time. It was before the researchers brought the meals, and after the corridor patrol had passed through once.

As he sat up, his hair flowed down over his shoulders. The restraints made a low metallic sound every time he moved his wrists. It was a familiar sensation by now. Uncomfortable, but not enough to be bothersome. He had no intention of taking them off in the first place.

He closed and opened his eyes briefly.

The stark white wallpaper and floors seemed ready to suffocate him at any moment. If it weren't for the faint sounds of daily life leaking through the poorly soundproofed walls, or the fact that he occasionally left this isolation room for his duties as a control-type subject, he felt he might have gone mad long ago. That is, assuming he was still sane now.