[centre][h3][color=8493ca]Matthias Llywelyn[/color] - Unknown[/h3]
[@wolverbells][/centre][hr][hr]

"Thank you for co-operating Mr Luwellin, it has been noted. You will find clothes in the bathroom under the sink and a set of rules to follow inside the envelope on the counter."

[color=gray]Whatever intercom had been used to send the brief message shut off, or they stopped listening, for no one answered Matthias' questions about where, why and what. Somewhat dejected by what his 'cooperation' had rewarded him with, he trudged to the bathroom and found the plain white scrubs under the basin and changed into them with reluctance. [color=8493ca]"It's Llywelyn, by the way. Bloody Yanks."[/color] He muttered to himself as he changed. Something told him that in this clinical, monochrome room of his that the old clothing he had been wearing would soon disappear leaving him with the characterless clothing he had been assigned. Anything of value or use had been removed from his pockets as it was, even the book that had been in his coat, leaving him with nothing of worth.

Tossing the old clothes on the bed he flicked the envelope open, removing the rules and scanned down them. They were fairly authoritarian and boiled down to 'behave and you will be rewarded' and 'more rules to follow'. A click announced that, now that he had followed the instruction given to him, he had been 'rewarded' with the freedom to leave his boxlike room. Before he did so, though, he could not help but fold the clothes he had discarded on the bed carelessly. A rebellious part of him wanted to just leave them strewn everywhere, seeing as whoever had incarcerated him would be taking them away anyway, but the heavily ingrained neat freak trait overrode this quickly and left the room more or less as he had woken to.

The facility corridors had about as much character as his room, gleaming white everywhere in an unholy state of cleanliness. Silence ruled besides the very low hum of an air conditioning unit somewhere, life apparently absent from the facility besides his own presence. For some reason he felt the need to move slowly, carefully, as if expecting traps to be sprung on him at any point although all logic told him that was foolish to expect.

Without anything to distract him, his mind inevitably turned to the thoughts he had been aggressively trying to ignore; Rhiannon and his parents. Surely there would be some message sent to them, about this whole affair? What even [i]was[/i] all this, in the first place, he wondered. While a potentially more dangerous subject it seemed less painful to think about than the effect his disappearance might have on his close ones so he applied his mind to it fervently.

He had no real wealth, no useful or dangerous information and he was a history student so anything regarding his academic or wealth status was out. A brief memory of that morning, the one he had been abducted on, if it were even a different day for who could tell time in such a place, sprung forward and he recalled the newsreader waking him up with stories about the latest conspiracy theory. People disappearing, supposed hoax videos about empowered individuals, links to the gene testing. Pieces began to fit into place, one strange and disturbing jigsaw manifesting itself albeit with glaring holes in its composition and of a heavily blurred image to boot.

So successfully had he distracted himself that Matthias had not even noticed his surroundings changing as he entered a wider, open area filled with tables that looked like they would belong in a school. Or a prison. Strange, his wandering mind thought, how there were so many similarities between institutions for education and for the imprisonment of criminals, albeit to varying degrees of extremity. Of greater interest to him, though, was the presence of the first person he had seen in the facility beside his own image in the small mirror of his shower room.

[color=8493ca]"So I'm not alone here. Are you... staff?"[/color] He asked, approaching somewhat hesitantly. The woman looked too... imprisoned to be a worker. Her scrubs were like his and she had an air of defeat hanging over her; presumably at her confinement here. Matthias supposed he had the same aura around himself. [color=8493ca]"I guess not, sorry. I'm Matthias. Do you, per chance, happen to know what on earth is going on here?"[/color][/color]