"Well that's nothing new," Murphy snorted, shaking his head. "More questions than answers, I mean."

Now, back in this little room with the door locked, he started to feel like he was in prison again. It was at both times comforting and infuriating. He felt the walls were pressing in on him, as stupidly cliche as he knew that was. There wasn't even a window. And weirdly enough, the lack of bars made him nervous. He couldn't see what was going on in the hall, he couldn't hear what was happening in the other cells....

This must have been what solitary was like. Except, thank God, he wasn't actually alone. He realized he'd been clenching his fork so hard his knuckles were white, and his breathing had picked up. He swallowed hard and set down the utensil.

"How long until we get to roam the blood splattered nightmare version of this place?"