CDC Center. Fort Leonard Wood, MS.  Third floor.  Room 8.

3 Nov 2017. 1143 hours.

Jon laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, tapping his fingers on the chest. This was the 5th day in a row now where there had been no activity from anyone outside of the room and that worried Jon to an insane degree. He knew something was wrong, even before. They'd come in and clean, sort things out or do maintenance when he was drugged, most likely gassed; and they'd also answer the comm systems at all hours of the day, but not recently. Even before that however, things seemed to get off of their schedule and he could detect shortness and stress in voices of the attendants. 

Jon's room was rather plain and modest. There was a bed, the small but full sized kitchen, a small bathroom with a shower and a small side area with a small table and single chair. In that room was also a treadmill and some books. Jon kept it simple. He wanted computers and news papers, but that was a sever no-no, as anything that allowed outside communications was forbidden. There were no windows, only a couple fluorescent bulbs mixed with some form of "day light" that Jon assumed helped the body cope with not having direct sunlight, almost like lizards and snakes get when kept as pets. He assumed the doors and walls were soundproof because never once had he heard anything outside of the confines of his walls. Not even thunder.

He looked over at the shower, then the small dresser, debating what to do. He sat up and yawned, looking around. His eyes once again feel to the large, orange envelope that was on the counter next to his bed, the sealed envelope that was there when he came into the room and hadn't moved since, at least on his account. It simply said "[color=ed145b][u][b]Jon. Open upon release only.[/b][/u][/color]" He'd seen and read many envelopes like this before but this one was more intriguing as there was generally no wait period, or at least not a wait that stretched for nine months. He shrugged and sighed, then decided to go take another shower...

After Jon got out of the shower, dressed, he went to sit back on the bed. He clicked the comm and asked for assistance, but again there was no answer. He stared at the envelope, then to his dwindling food supply hoping that one of two things happened:  technical difficulties or that all the shit outside calmed down, and they simply had other things to worry about for a few days. 

Jon's gut told him it was neither of those. 

He sat, starting at the door, and his gaze went to the envelope again. He hadn't looked at the thing more than twice in the months he was here, not until the communications stopped. He started to look at numerous times a day after, wondering if he should just do it. Then, there was a noise that Jon hadn't heard in the room before and because of that fact, common sense didn't kick in for a moment. There was a loud, distinct [h1][color=f7941d]CLICK[/color][/h1] and [h1][color=f7941d]THUNK[/color][/h1] as the door unlocked. Without thinking, he moved to the door, ready for whatever came in while his hand reached up and snatched the envelope. He opened it and tossed it aside, pulling out a small sheet of paper while keeping his focus on the door. 

He took but a second, read the message 3 times and then grimaced. He tore the note into three pieces, sticking one part in his pocket to dispose of later, sprinkling another on the floor and the other he put in his sock. Overboard? Paranoid? Yes, a little bit. God bless the CIA training. At least he didn't eat all or part of the thing...

He took a moment and simply stood there, then after a few more moments, he grabbed the handle, slowly pulled it down and began to open the door...