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Cyrus woke up to the soft, humming sound of the elevator’s descend just before it stopped.  His body felt groggy, as if he had one of those uncomfortable three-hour sleeping sessions that he had to schedule way too often as of late. But that was the weirdest part; He [i]did[/i] remember scheduling that sleep. The only differences were that it was supposed to only last ten minutes, not to mention it should’ve been located in his hospital bed.  He was rather certain resting ten minutes felt very different from this. But waking up in an elevator definitely was a lot stranger. Moving away from this currently pointless line of thought, he stood up and inspected himself thoroughly.

He wore one of his finest suits. Had he been wearing that in the hospital?  His memory was too shaken at this moment, too unreliable.  He then checked his pockets to find his wallet left untouched and a tiny book in his chest pocket that he had intended to read during his hospital visit.  However, even during his stay he had still been occupied by ministers and policy makers calling him every moment. And that was when he noticed that his cell phone had vanished. Cyrus never went anywhere without his cell phone. Had it been taken from him during his nap? He couldn’t contact the outside, nor check the time and date to see how long he had been out of it.  Lastly, he checked his stomach, which bore only a scar of the wound he had suffered.  This was as it should be, he was supposed to leave the hospital rather soon. 

He was in an elevator, that much was his initial assessment.  But he definitely had noted how the door still hadn’t opened despite reaching what seems to be its final destination. The words written on the door: [b]”ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE”[/b] were simply ignored by him. Obviously someone wanted him to feel despair. They wouldn’t succeed. Not even the blood fazed him. He had been abducted from a hospital. If they could do that, then surely they could’ve snatched a few blood bags. This was likely just someone’s elaborate prank. Maybe they recruited an infinite prankster recently?  Whoever it was would be very sorry when he found them out.

Probably the most odd feature of this elevator was its lack of buttons, which had been entirely replaced with a monitor. The static faded about the moment he noticed the device to show what seemed like a teddy bear. Everyone knew nothing good was going to come from a teddy bear making puns through a monitor. After listening through the initial blabber, he got onto introductions.  

Cyrus couldn’t remember ever meeting any of these people, though some names  and talents seemed familiar. Cyrus had been with the initiative for quite some time now. Perhaps he had heard of them through mention, or maybe perhaps his groggy mind was still failing him?  But then his screen time had come.  

[b]“Cyrus Brandon, also a contender for Bishi of the year, is the Infinite Politician. Basically he's really good at lying. His most famous lies include crowd pleasers like 'everything is going to be okay' and 'I'm interested in more than just your vote.' Unlike Mason Brady, I will need a cup of joe to sit through one of this guy's speeches.”[/b]

[color=D1c2bf]”You lying ursine piece of shit.”[/color] The politician hissed, his normally downwardly slanted hair seemingly curling upward accompanied by the grit of his teeth and a bit of fiddling with his glasses. [color=D1c2bf]”I’ll knock you into eternal hibernation should I ever find you.”[/color] He had no clue what a bishi was supposed to be, but he doubted it was a good thing. It was probably a lie, just like the rest of it. He had said that first line before, famously so, but never the second one. Until now he had simply worked as a political advisor and policy maker. He had actually never ran in an official election before. 

By the time the broadcast finished he had committed most of those introductions to memory. Without a doubt these people were likely involved in a way similar to his own, that was a logical conclusion. But he didn’t have any more time to ponder as the door opened, allowing Cyrus to escape the stuffy elevator.

Hardly even outside he was approached by a familiar face, if you can count a face you’ve seen two minutes ago on a monitor as familiar. The man was taller than him, and his grey hair gave Cyrus the impression this man was at the very least past his mid-thirties. [color=D1c2bf]”Well met, Mr. Londe, it’s a pleasure. You’re the infinite poet, correct?”[/color] He asked, as if the rhyming didn’t give that obvious fact away. [color=D1c2bf]”Yes, I’m Cyrus Brandon, infinite politician. But please ignore whatever you’ve heard about me on that monitor.[/color] 

He then shook his head at the poet.[color=D1c2bf]”Unfortunately I seem to be just as lost as you are. Let us walk, shall we?[/color] Cyrus proposed. [color=D1c2bf]”Perhaps one of the others we saw know anything more about our current predicament.[/color] Something told him that hope was a rather shallow one. But there were only that few options. [color=D1c2bf]”And otherwise, maybe this ‘theatre therapy’ business might help us further.[/color] He still had no clue what that bear had been going on about. And he figured they had no other option than to be subjected further to this creature’s mad antics.