"My roommate says he's from the 1990's," Armand said absently. He didn't know how much else he wanted to expose himself in the face of Brock's obvious scorn. After the morning he'd had already, it was almost too much.

Not almost. It was too much.

"I don't care what you think! This evil place has stolen too much from me. My family. My wife. My home. So I don't care. It can't take my identity." He pushed his plate aside and looked away, fighting with his temper. If he fell apart right now, he was certain he'd end up drugged. So he resolutely looked at anything but Brock.

He reached for his juice with one shaking hand and gulped it down.