CELL

/ TWENTY NINE /

From light into darkness, Ryan fell.

The door was closed quickly and, before he could react, he was spun around. A hand pressed against his mouth and material was slipped over his head, returning him to the night he'd just left. At least, thankfully, it stopped the needles drilling into his eyes.

"Quiet!"

The smell of the hand's skin was the first thing he noticed. Fresh. Clean. Roses? Neither the smell, size nor amount of pressure belonged to those he expected. The voice, too, wasn't that of the hopefully still incapacitated Jarvis. If not him, then it should have been Kravitz, who'd have been much more forceful in his capture.

So, who? The feminine voice was familiar, and he couldn't...

What? No!

"Pedra?"

The name was muffled, pushing through the thin fingers covering his lips.

"I said shut up! Don't say another word. Just follow me."

"But...?"

The hand released his mouth and slapped his face. Little force was applied, which was reduced more by the cloth covering his head, but he took the hint. He nodded. He heard footsteps moving away, but the hood prevented him from following as instructed.

"Shit!" Pedra hissed.

She returned quickly and took his arm, pulling him along.

"Keep up, or I'll have to leave you."

Ryan did his best to go where Pedra was leading him, only stumbling once. He tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor. His hands went out instinctively to protect him, and he felt a shot of pain as something cracked in his right wrist. He cried out, which brought another slap.

"Shut the fuck up! Don't you listen? I'm trying to help you!"

He scrambled up. His wrist was painful and he moaned through gritted teeth.

"Hurt yourself?"

He nodded.

"Well, tough. You should be more careful. We'll look at it later, if we get chance. For now, suck it up, idiot."

If she was helping him, perhaps she was the idiot. He'd seen what her boss was capable of, and anyone who would so willingly kill themselves was not someone to cross.

Had Bradley, by shooting another version of herself, committed a warped version of suicide? Suicide by proxy? Murder suicide? His head spun with the possibilities, and the whirlwind pulled in the other bizarre details that had presented themselves. Most notably, this included his fourteen deaths.

The bizarre aspect of his repeated murder was not the impossible number of occurrences, but the fact he wasn't more shocked. If he had died, he'd also come back to life. Who could do that? Science had yet to reach the point of resurrection, or people would be bringing back loved ones. Children. Pets. Great leaders. Elvis would be headlining in Las Vegas. Nelson Mandela would be in the audience, next to Martin Luther King and Queen Victoria.

Besides, those who wielded such power would be sure to take advantage of it. They'd sell opportunities to the highest bidders, of which there'd be plenty. They wouldn't keep their prisoners in simple cells in a warehouse. It would be more state of the art, with decent security. Probably biometric, to ensure those who were meant to be kept caged were unable to do exactly what he'd done.

Escaped.

Excep, his attempt had quickly resulted in him being blinded once more, and being led to his potential doom. Pedra had said she was helping him. She was Bradley's minion, and he didn't believe that for a second.