Silence reigned in the room. The voice didn't ring out. The guards didn't move. For a moment, the still hum of the lights seemed to quiet. Even Mr. William's quick, shallow breathing was being held in as the distraught man anxiously worried over what the voice would say next. Then, the cold, shivering silence was replaced with a faint [i]-click-[/i]. A simple and constant buzz began filling in the silence with its unsettling sound. Occasionally, faint voices and other sounds could be discerned, but that was all that could be heard properly.

Something was afoot, but for the five suspects, the only things they could see was themselves. The only things they could hear was the buzzing. The only things they could feel was the hard, concrete ground and walls. Everything was white and gray, except for the sound. The sound was a dark, rustic yellow, foreboding and mechanical.

"Mr. Williams, you are free to go," that same familiar but strange voice broke out, eliminating the sound of the buzzing from the intercom, "the rest of you are being detained for the night."

Again, a [i]-click-[/i]. And the room was silent once more. Now, things were a darker gray, no longer white.

The guards put their guns back at their sides, as the simple but reinforced door opened, most likely opened by another guard on the outside. A single officer came in and escorted the now relieved Mr. Williams. As the man walked out of the room, one couldn't help but wonder why he was so dramatically relieved.

After the officer and Mr. Williams left, four guards appeared from the darkness of the other room. One ordered for the four suspects to follow them, as the two, previous guards took the boards from the hands of the soon-to-be prisoners. As the four were led out, the guards boxed them in, two on one side, two on another. The journey to the cell began.

The place seemed to be like a maze. A door here. A turn there. Another curve, another door. Throughout it all the same grayness, the same concrete and metal, the same lights - only in lesser concentration now. Odd for what was only supposed to be a mere police station. Finally, after only a minute amount of minutes, the guards opened one final door to the small cellblock. Obviously, the place wasn't meant to house anyone permanently but only as a temporary cage. Currently, only one other person inhabited the cells, the second one farthest from the door. With a jingle of keys, one of the men opened up the only other cell and the four were directed inside. As the same man closed the cell door, another informed them on what was transpiring.

"The investigation is ongoing, and we have reason to believe one of you is the culprit, so for the night, you four will be kept in here. Tomorrow morning, interrogations will start," he spoked monotonously but authoritatively, gray like the rest of the infernal, austere place. Even when one of the other guards chimed in that the four should "make themselves at home" did their voices carry no sense of authenticity or genuine care for the four suspects. But that was just that. They didn't care, did they?

The four guards left, leaving the prisoners on their own. Of course, just because the authorities were gone did not mean they were completely alone.

Still, now the suspects had time to really take in the grandness of their communal cell. Opposite of the cell bars was a simple plastic bench, which was screwed into the wall, that could comfortably fit two or perhaps three of them at once. Above the bench, high up on the wall, was a thin, short window that let some light come in. It brought in bits of warm gold, but the sun seemed to be setting, so the gold would disappear soon. On either side of the bench were two bunk beds made of metal. The metal was partially rusted and the simple, well-worn excuses for mattresses adorned their great beds. And of course, the metal toilet perched in front of the rightmost bunk bed, also firmly embedded in the walls of the building.

"I'm glad I'm not in that cell with you guys," spoke the other inmate in the neighboring cell, which was identical. He looked as worn as the mattresses, his voice as lifeless as that of the guards. His rugged features gave the impression that he had been in that cell far longer than allowable. His hair was unkempt but not terribly messy. He wasn't too terribly tall or short, although his height was difficult to guess as the man sat simply on his bench. HIs head was craned downward; he stared at his hands from boredom.

"I'd be terrified of sharing a cell with a killer. Last time I saw a killer in the cells, they tried to suffocate the other inmate in their sleep. Luckily for the inmate, the guards intervened just in time, but if my life has taught me something, it's that anything is possible given enough opportunity... Like that one thing about the infinite amount of monkeys typing. One of them is bound to write what they're supposed to eventually. I'd sleep with one eye open tonight or maybe not sleep at all."

He continued staring at his hands. There was a pause. He took a breath. Then, he mumbled something which seemed to have been a quick afterthought, something that seemed a bit obscure, perhaps a better word would simply be odd or foreboding.

"I feel real sorry that you guys got pent up here though. Something always seems to happen."

The grayness was broken by bits of black and red, from the last dark streaks of the setting sun and emerging night.

"Still, might as well get comfortable. Tomorrow is still a few days away," another pause, another breath. The man spoke in riddles, no doubt a consequence of being locked in a cell alone.

"Might as well introduce myself too. Name's Ethan. Who are you guys?"

As Ethan spoke, the guards came to check on the prisoners, as per routine. They gave a thorough examination of all the cells from the outside. As they left, one of the guards suggested the inmates get to sleep, while the other warned that none of them be up to any "funny business" during the night.