[center][h3]2:03 PM, somewhere in rural North California[/h3][/center]
It had been perhaps five minutes since Cole came to, and he was still incredibly disorientated. Blood dripped from the side of his head from a newly formed gash down on to his neck. His shirt, covered in both dry and fresh blood, was held tightly in his hand. He stumbled a little as he walked, dizzied by the crash that had taken place a short time ago. This whole situation was such a fucked up blur to him - first, he had been imprisoned against his will by an unknown organization, and then he had ended up in the wreckage of a burning train that had somehow been blown off it's tracks. There were a good fifteen carriages on the train, and it looked like each probably housed two cells such as the one Cole had been kept in. Several had been bust open by the crash, but many simply burned, meaning whatever - or whoever, was inside, was gone now.

Cole was one of the lucky ones, it seemed - he had tried finding and helping whoever was in the cell beside him, but they were already gone. He could see a few others who had crawled out of the wreckage, but he had not tried approaching them, instead edging closely towards a nearby small stream. He stumbled down on to his knees by the side of the stream and pulled his bloodied shirt over his head before cupping some of the water in his hands and splashing it in to his face. He exhaled and rolled over on to his back, his rib aching from the crash - most likely broken. "[color=ccb134]Fuck...[/color]" He cursed, grasping his ribcage and biting his lip in pain.

He closed his eyes and maintained his look of pain.

[center][img]https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/_rxnliazkEUY/TVEyMEJAKEI/AAAAAAAAFXo/pyZMpIWz_fw/hedislimanechriswetmorecqc03.jpg[/img]
[h3]Ten minutes prior...[/h3][/center]
Cole twitched, sitting semi-comfortably against the cold wall of the metal container with his shirt taken off in his hands. It'd been almost two days since he awoke in this box without any sort of explanation for why he was in there, the only piece of information he could find was the word 'ᴀᴘᴏᴛʜᴇᴏsɪs' beveled in to one of the walls. It wasn't his first time locked in a cell, but it was the first time he was locked in a cell for no apparent reason, and by people [i]other[/i] than the police. Some sort of drug cartel he'd accidentally crossed, perhaps? The government? He wasn't really sure. But either way, he'd given up pacing the floor and shouting at the guards - which he'd been doing almost nonstop for two days. He had concluded that the cells were soundproofed anyway, as he never heard footsteps or any other kind of notion of guards approaching before his food and water were pushed in to the cell every now and then. Another conclusion he had came to fairly early on was that he was on a train, the rattling of the rails being constant other than a short period the day before.

On the up side, he hadn't had any more glitchy visions. They had started to become somewhat of a problem in recent times, but ever since he was thrown in to the cell, he had not experienced anything out of the ordinary. He tried not to focus on it, though, because the more he let it play on his mind, the more paranoid he would become and he'd probably end up losing his shit, like he had shortly after he woke up in the container. His knuckles were bloodied, some of the dry blood spattered on the shirt in his hands - a result of Cole hitting the door after the [i]hundredth[/i] time of calling out for some kind of response. But nothing ever came. So he just waited it out.

Cole tapped his foot on the ground, incredibly uncomfortable with the uncertainty of his situation. It was not normal. This was not [i]normal[/i]. You don't see this shit on the news. This was some government conspiracy shit. He shivered even thinking about what could be going on, tilting his head back and grimacing, his jaw tightly closed and his fists clenched. Cole did not have the correct temperament to be sitting in a box with no control, and if it wasn't for his growing exhaustion he would still be banging on the walls.

Oddly, whoever had imprisoned Cole had not took much from him. They had removed his mobile, but his wallet remained and he still wore the clothing that he had two nights previous. Without any way to pass the time, Cole would just sit and look at his sparsely filled wallet. 

[color=ccb134]"[i]Maybe it doesn't matter if this is it.[/i]"[/color] He soliloquized, knowing that nobody else was there to judge him speaking to himself, rambling more out of frustration than insanity. He had very little left going for him - he was broke, he'd lost most of his friends, and worst of all, he hadn't spoken to his grandparents in months. He merely sighed and peered at the photo of his grandfather and grandmother that was tucked neatly in to the corner of his wallet. [color=ccb134]"[i]I'm sorry.[/i]"[/color]

[color=ccb134]"[i]I didn't mean to let you down...[/i]"[/color] He breathed under his own breath, trying somehow to direct his thoughts to his grandparents - who, for all he knew, he would never see again. [color=ccb134]"[i]I just wish I-.[/i]"[/color]

The next twenty seconds were hard to piece together. First the lights in Cole's container flickered out and a bellowing screech of metal could be heard somewhere further along the tracks. Before he had any time to react, Cole felt gravity working against him as he pushed hard against the metal wall and raised several feet. The sound of the tracks stopped, Cole felt time slow. Whatever had been stopping his visions was now rendered useless, and he could feel the flow of time change. His breathing calmed despite the circumstances and he turned his head, his eye-line returning to the word on wall for his final seconds before blacking out...

[center][h1]ᴀᴘᴏᴛʜᴇᴏsɪs[/h1][/center]