His hands are on my shoulders. My jaw aches, and I groan as he helps me to sit up. I look around. We’re sitting on a flat orange couch at one side of a large room with brightly colored walls made of the same material as the cell, a breakfast bar at one end, an open door that appears to lead through to some kind of bathroom, and in between… In between, it’s like the kind of room a teenager might come up with if they were given an unlimited budget to play with. There’s a huge TV dominating one wall, with a rack of games consoles under it that looks like it could run a spaceship. There’s an armchair so big that it looks almost like a joke, and a low pool table off in one corner. There are boxes around the walls, which look like they could contain almost anything. The whole place looks like it was designed to entertain someone who was very, very rich. Is this designed to make us comfortable? It looks like a great kind of place, but I notice that my hands are still cuffed.
