It starts with your senses: hearing (the breath of others), smell (clean, clinical), taste (not unpleasant, vaguely strange), and finally sight (your eyelids feel like anvils, reluctant to be lifted). Then, the rest of you: the heaviness eases from your fingers and toes, muscles awakening slowly but without discomfort.
You’re laying on a medical cot in what could only be a cell. It’s a small space, barely six feet by eight feet. The walls separating you from the others — and there are others, all coming around just like you — are made of thick, unbreakable glass, utterly impassible no matter your strength, no matter what ability you may possess to throw it. You cannot see any doors that might grant access to your cell, but there are two in the room proper: heavy electronic things made of metal, with buttons and scanners.
There are no windows. There is, for the time being, no sign of Iota. You're alone in your cell, with a handful of fellow captives for company. ]
214, Night: Mingle in the Cells
It starts with your senses: hearing (the breath of others), smell (clean, clinical), taste (not unpleasant, vaguely strange), and finally sight (your eyelids feel like anvils, reluctant to be lifted). Then, the rest of you: the heaviness eases from your fingers and toes, muscles awakening slowly but without discomfort.
You’re laying on a medical cot in what could only be a cell. It’s a small space, barely six feet by eight feet. The walls separating you from the others — and there are others, all coming around just like you — are made of thick, unbreakable glass, utterly impassible no matter your strength, no matter what ability you may possess to throw it. You cannot see any doors that might grant access to your cell, but there are two in the room proper: heavy electronic things made of metal, with buttons and scanners.
There are no windows. There is, for the time being, no sign of Iota. You're alone in your cell, with a handful of fellow captives for company. ]