Ehh...don't you hate it when you know where a story you're writing is going but your brain is just too lazy to write out the scene perfectly?...okay maybe it's just me heh.

Peter responded to life in the cells no different than the other children would. He would spend hours kicking against the steel door screaming. The cell was small and far from spacious. He could easily reach the ceiling. All he had in that tiny windowless box was a cot that took over one side of the room, and on the other side, just a few feet across, was a child’s toilet. By the door was a strange button. Peter pressed it and a small shoot of water would spray his face.

It was suffocating in that room…nauseating even. But worse, it was dark. There was a small bit of light that shined above the door. But it went out a few hours later. Peter realized that he was the only one still screaming and he began to cry. The other children…they were probably sleeping. They’ve been here long enough to give up and adjust to their new life of imprisonment.

After another hour of crying, Peter heard more noise. Footsteps. A door opening and then a child screaming, crying to be let go. He would hear this about every hour for almost an entire day. Children were being taken from their cells. Peter wondered however, if they even come back.

He emptied the pockets of his clothes trying to find something that would help him. All he had was a few pieces of candy he pocketed just before everything went to hell. He hid them away in a corner of the room. (He had a feeling that the food here was not going to taste very pleasant.) Then, he pulled something from one of his larger pockets, a small pair of safety scissors.

The boy smiled for the first time in this ‘cage’. This could be his only means of getting out of this hellhole. Of course, digging a hole out of this cell would be impossible but he was a genius. Maybe, he would find a way to make it work…like that man on TV, MacGyver.

The floor of the cell was concrete; rough enough to scrape knees and the walls were brick. Although Peter couldn’t see in the near darkness of his cell, he felt the brick walls were filled with many cracks. They were old and falling apart. This would work in his favor. He would take his safety scissors and chip away at the weak cracks he could feel in the wall. Given the weak blade, he knew this would take some time, days even.

He heard the footsteps again…they were getting closer this time. Peter immediately stopped his work and threw the pair of scissors under his bed.

The door opened and Dr. Walt, far from being Peter’s father, along with two assistants came in and grabbed Peter dragging him out of the room.

Before he knew it, Peter was in a medical-looking room and strapped to a table. Dr. Walt strapped a blue looking bracelet to his ankle. While a lab assistant took two large metal clips and clipped one to each of Peter’s ears. Each clip had several large wires attached to it that stretched across the room.

The doctors were now looking in on Peter from behind a glass wall. Peter was left alone.

“Subject P is be too old to be injected with Cortexiphan,” said a voice over a monitor. “So we will make him a testing target.”

Peter began to shake and cry. Whatever they meant by testing target, he knew it was a bad thing…a VERY bad thing.

The lights in the room began to flicker and a massive wave of electricity went through Peter. He gave a loud scream…calling for his mother, his abandoner, every other second.

When it was all over, Peter could still feel the electricity flowing into his body like a buzz. He was crying very hard. The next thing he knew, Peter was then thrown into a strange tiled room. There was a small wooden door ahead of him. He cautiously opened the door and was instantly sprayed with a blast of water, the water had a strange clean like smell to it. It was a shower room. But by the time, Peter had realized this, his clothes had become completely soaked. He was trapped in that shower room for about 3 minutes and then was hit with a blast of hot air that lasted for one more minute. It dried most of him but he was still feeling a bit soaked under his clothes.

He was finally able to open the door again after the shower room went quiet. But he didn’t expect to find one of the assistants standing there looking very angry.

The man pulled painfully at Peter’s ear. “You idiot! Clothes aren’t to be worn in the shower!” He then gave Peter a dry set of clothing with shoes, they were of a very gray color and looked very worn out. “Change into these and then come out!”

Peter was left to change. He was glad that he managed to empty his pockets of his old clothing earlier. He knew he would be stuck wearing these dull gray sweats for as long as he was here. He tried to removed the blue ankle bracelet but it wouldn’t budge. When he looked at it closely he saw the letter P etched in.

The bracelet had become his permanent mark.

Hours and days would go by. Peter continued his efforts to chip away at one part of the wall. All the while…the strange experiments the doctors would put him through continued. They seemed to be burning him through his insides though he would've been dead by now if such was the case.

“Hey.”

Peter went silent. It was a young boy’s voice he was hearing. He was close to reaching the cell next door. “Who is that?” the boy called.

Peter leaned down by the small hole he made. “I’m Peter. Who are you?”

“I’m subject ‘Q’ but my real name is ‘Quincy’. You must be the new subject ‘P’”.

“Yeah. How d’you know?”

“You’ve been screaming for days, calling one of those doctors ‘Daddy’. Why?”

Peter sighed. “He’s my dad”. Quincy went silent from shock.

“What are they doing to us?” asked Peter.

“Different things for everybody. My parents dumped me here a year ago. They put me in a room with some other kids…and they hurt me. The other kids. They have powers. The adults make them hurt me.”

Peter was shaking. “Why?”

“Some kids spent their whole lives here. Not like me. Not like you. They don’t scream or cry to be let out. They gave up.”

“But why do they make them hurt you?”

“I dunno,” said Quincy. “Maybe to kill me.”

That was how the conversation ended for a little while. The two boys would make small talk in the dark about the place they were in, complain about the nasty glop that was brought into their cells as food, and about possible escape routes. Peter still had a good memory about what the buildings look like from outside. He even told Quincy about his pair of scissors which might help in the escape process.

In turn, Quincy told him about what to expect. Peter had yet to personally see any of the other kids or have them use their “powers” to try to kill him like they did with Quincy. The thought terrified him.

But at least now, Peter had an ally in the miserable place. A possible friend he could escape this place with. It would make him feel a little bit better if he couldn’t save all the kids here…he might be able to at least save one other.

It wouldn’t last though...

The next day Peter could hear Quincy come back to his cell crying and screaming.

“Quincy?”

“MAKE IT STOP!!!”

“Quincy?!”

“IT BURNS!!! IT BURNS!!!”

Quincy continued to scream while Peter listened, helpless to console or calm him down.

After another hour, things in cell ‘Q’ next door went deadly silent.

Peter waited like a predator in the grass, by his hole, whispering for Quincy a few times but getting no response. A few hours later, he could hear the door to cell ‘Q’ open. Footsteps and then voices.

“Well you got to admit. Subject ‘Q’ has been putting up quite a fight since he was brought here.”

“Yes, well…now it means that our killer subjects are getting better. Take this one to the crematory then.”

After a few more minutes the door to cell ‘Q’ closed. Peter knew that his friend was no longer there…

…nor was he ever coming back.

Desperation overwhelmed Peter now as he searched his entire cell for another weak spot in the walls. He took his scissors and began chipping away at the back corner on the other wall. There were lots of cracks in this particular area. It would hopefully take a shorter time to form a small hole.

Still, he was pounding the wall and the floor in frustration. Taking too many breaks to cry. This time around, he chose not to sleep. He wanted out of this place. He didn’t care what he had to do. He thought perhaps that chipping at the corner would allow him to break more brick.

The lack of sleep was getting to him. He was chipping at the wall more than he was the corner without realizing it. A hole began to slowly form seeping into the other cell, cell ‘O’.

“Hello?” Peter called out through the hole curiously. He didn’t like how silent things were in the other cell. “Someone in there?”

For a moment, Peter could’ve sworn that he heard rustling.

“What are you doing?” The voice was soft and deep…sounded like a girl.

“I’m trying to get out of this place,” Peter responded.

“You shouldn’t,” said the girl. “You’ll only get in bigger trouble.”

Peter could tell by the low tone of this girl’s voice (and given how silent she was), that this child had been here for quite a while. She sounded almost broken-spirited.

Then he remembered what Quincy told him…about the children who never screamed.

“Are you…” Peter asked nervously. “Are you a…killer?”

“Don’t…” she said. “How dare you call me that!”

“But that’s what Quincy told me.”

“Quincy?”

“He was in the cell next to me…I think he’s gone.”

The girl was silent for a moment. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I don’t think you should talk to me anymore. You’ll get hurt.”

“But…”

“No. Shut up! Leave me alone!”

Peter was upset until he remembered his small pile of candy. He took a piece, a butterscotch toffee. The hole was just small enough for it to fit.

“I have candy!” Peter said in a cheerful manner. He feared the girl would be angry for being bothered again but she said, “What’s candy?”

“You know…candy! You don’t know what candy is?”

“I…” The girl was sounding nervous. “I think…you can eat it right? I think I ate some before…when I was a baby.”

Peter shoved the piece of toffee through the hole. He wasn’t sure if the sweet treat was even going to be touched, but then he heard a crunching noise. “Ow!”

Peter chuckled. “You don’t bite it.”

The girl was agitated. “Then how do I eat this stupid thing?”

“Keep it on your tongue and let it melt.”

“That’s stupid,” she said.

“But it taste good right?”

“It…it tastes nice.”

The boy smiled. The candy worked…allowing a sort of treaty between the two children. Hopefully she would be more willing to open up to him now.

“So who are you?”

“Subject ‘O’”.

“No, your name! What’s your name?”

“I don’t have a name. I have a letter like you. You’re letter is ‘P’ cause you’re right next to me.”

Peter was getting frustrated. “I’m not ‘P’. I’m Peter. Peter Bishop. And Quincy was ‘Q’. You’re in cell ‘O’…so your name starts with an ‘O’, right?”

“I dunno.”

“Whaddya mean, you don’t know?!”

“I think it does. It’s been years since I had a name.”

“Oh come on,” Peter whined. “You gotta remember!”

“Wait, I think it was…”

“…yeah?”

Although he couldn’t see it, he could sense a smile, a positive aura coming from the girl on the other side of the wall.

“It’s Olivia…I think my name's Olivia.”