"Why in the world would you ever think anyone would allow that?" The RCI employee, who Layne had nicknamed Goat, dropped two bowls of oatmeal onto the cement floor.

"I don't know, maybe, because they were my parents?"

"The same ones you killed?"

Layne crossed his arms over his chest and turned away. Before exiting, Goat scoffed at him one last time. "Just deal with it."

The heavy door's electronic lock beeped. Layne was relieved not to be bothered anymore – although he was always the first to start a conversation. It has only been a couple of days since he has been locked in this grey cement prison – he still had hopes to achieve the last thing he wanted before the inevitable.

A tall blonde boy turned over in his bed. The springs squeaked like they were in pain – in the otherwise empty room, it sounded even more haunting. He was likely awakened by the noise as his dark eyes jolted open. He jumped back, ramming his back into the wall. He did that a lot.

"Dinner's served, No-name," announced Layne. "Hurry up before it warmed up to the room's temperature."

The boy squeezed out a tiny smile, although his eyes contrasted it with a sour expression. He sat up. Layne passed him a bowl of cold oatmeal and settled onto the close-by bed. Thorough the couple days he's been here, he's only been served the same tasteless barely-a-dish. It was getting hard to swallow – not that it was easy the first time.

"You always freak out all over again when you wake up," he spoke. "What's up with that?"

His roommate shrugged. Layne followed it up with a long sigh and sat the half-empty bowl on the floor.

"Yeah, I guess I don't wanna imagine what you've been through, then. You know, just a couple of days ago, I saw both of my parents die before my eyes." He paused and watched No-name react by shifting further away from him. "Honestly, I would have imagined I would have been more shook than that. I'm surprisingly fine, tho. I probably shouldn't be. Maybe there's something wrong with me."

Layne flinched at his own sentence. He hated getting sentimental but wanted to get the other Reject speaking no matter what.

The guy pushed his bowl towards Layne's and curled up in his bed.

"You're not gonna talk to me, are you?" Layne asked. "Is that because I have blood on me?"

He shook his head.

"Ok, whatever. Night."

* * *

Layne didn't know what time was it when he woke up. He didn't know what time was it when he fell asleep. They didn't have a single clock nor a window in their room – no way to tell day from night except from Goat with his oatmeal. Twice a day.

This time, the other Reject was already eating his breakfast.

"Wasn't I sleeping like in a coma." Layne sat in his bed and rubbed his sides, aching from a long night on a hard, lumpy mattress. "Usually the door wakes me right up. Why didn't you shake me awake or something?"

No-name rose his eyes in response.

"Ok, forget it."

Layne forced a few spoons down his throat and dropped the rest back on the floor. "Come on they won't keep us here forever. If this was what they were doing with the Rejects, they wouldn't try so hard to keep it a secret!"

When he turned around, he saw the boy pressing himself to the wall with his eyes wide open, the food bowl still in his hand. He wasn't moving.

"Did I scare you, again?" Layne stepped towards him but backed away, seeing the boy shake. "Gee, I'm not a scary guy. I'm not trying to be scary."

The lack of response was almost crushing yet movement outside the door disrupted the thought. Soon enough it opened and a man in a grey suit pushed in yet another young guy. Without a single word, he slammed the door shut once again.

The newcomer rubbed his wrists as he looked around with horror in his eyes. It wasn't clear if he was pale out of fear or just of fair complexion. The face spangled with freckles and messy red hair hinted that it could have been both.

Layne gave it his best effort to set a pleasant face. This new Reject's cheeks were still rounded like that of a child's and even though it was a known fact that no one under the age of eighteen could be rejected, he wouldn't have been surprised if the RCI didn't follow their own rules.

"So, gonna stand around or will you introduce yourself?" he said, without giving it any thought – and regretted it moments later.

The boy gulped and froze in place. "Coden- Haslett," he stuttered.

"I shall call you Cody."

"D-don't."

Layne pushed a wave of air through his nose and squeezed his lips shut as to avoid laughing. "Alright. Okay. I'm Layne."

Coden nodded. He sat on the floor and hugged his knees, staring into one spot. Only from time to time, his eyes wandered to the direction where the blonde guy was now sitting on his bed, examining the newcomer.

"So, Coden," Layne interrupted the silence. "How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"You look younger."

Coden raised his eyebrows. "I do not. I turned eighteen today."

Layne's lips parted and shut again. He stayed silent for a few minutes, before muttering, "happy birthday."

* * *

Few days passed, together with the same cold bowl of oatmeal twice a day. Getting one spoon worth of food was becoming a more difficult task every single meal. Layne started wondering if that was the punishment for their crimes – the life of cold oatmeal.

During those days, their small group of three doubled in count. First came Alana Adams – a short chubby woman who looked like in her early forties. The first few hours she's been among the Rejected she has proven herself as the one who didn't have to be encouraged to talk. Soon enough her never-ending chatter murdered Layne's ambition to make their prison a more talkative place.

Luckily enough, Malia Kimber, the real-life Barbie doll look-alike, joined the 'team', giving Alana a noteworthy chat partner. With that, Layne took a chance to distance himself and start hanging out more with Coden and the other guy who, as Alana got out, was named Remington Cotter. Layne refused to call him anything else but Remy, to which, no one seemed to mind and soon adopted it themselves.

The last arrived Troy. Normand. The bald, bulky man had to tilt his head to fit through the door. He spent most of his time laying in the bed with his feet and shoulders sticking out of the frame, watching the ceiling. Unlike Remy or Coden, however, he did not show signs of fear. It looked more like he just wasn't up for a conversation – which Layne respected. Especially after Alana.

"Come on, we're stuck here together, might as well get to know each other!" she chirped, rushing around the room from one person to another as if that would of made them engage. "Let's all tell something about ourselves!"

"You know, not everyone's as cheerful when they're locked up in a prison cell," Layne reminded with a slight grin.

"Well, being all grumpy ain't gonna set us free, is it?" Alana folded her arms and stood in front of the beds. "Alright, I'll make it easier. What did you all do to end up here?"

"You really couldn't have asked a worse question that that?"

"Shut it, Layne."

He sighed and pressed his head against the bedframe. No one else dared to say a word.

"Someone say something," demanded Alana. "Troy, what about you? You've been silent."

Troy glanced at her before resuming his previous activity.

"Remy? You've gotta say something. One of you gotta say something, how come you're always so quiet?"

The lean blonde guy flinched. He pressed his shivering hands together and watched the woman wide-eyed. Still, she didn't back down and stared right back at him.

"Alana," said Coden, "maybe it's not the best-"

"Oh come on, I'm just trying to bring us closer together. We may as well be the people we're going to die with. I'd like to at least know you a little!"

Alana's voice started rising. Remy, turned pale, now clutching his stomach. One look at him made it clear that he was close to throwing up.

"Alana. Shut the fuck up," ordered Layne. "You're just making it worse. For him."

Only then did the woman seemed to take proper attention to the situation. Her thin eyebrows rose high on her already small forehead. Something sparked in her brown eyes, just a couple shades lighter than her face.

"Remy, I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't- I didn't realise."

"It's ok," he replied in a hushed down, barely audible voice. "I'm sorry, I'm just scared. Do you think that maybe the rumours are true?"

"What rumours? About the exile? Don't be silly."

"But why are they keeping us here, then?" inquired Coden.

"I'm sure we'll- we'll figure it out soon enough."

The room once again drowned in silence, only Alana's bed made a loud squeaking noise as she sat down on it. Before that, Layne haven't noticed that the only light in the middle of the ceiling made a continuous buzzing sound. Now, that was the only thing he could think of.

"I know," said Malia. "If you could eat anything else but the oatmeal right now, what would you choose?"

To everyone's surprise, Remy was the first to respond in a joyful voice no one heard from him before. "Lasagne."

"I'd have bacon and eggs, maybe," Coden followed up.

"That's boring," said Layne. "I'd have pizza with smaller pizza as one of the toppings. The bacon would go on that one. There'd also be mushrooms."

"I'd die for a pizza," agreed Troy.

"Maybe I wouldn't die for it, but I'd certainly kill for it," Malia chuckled. Everyone else turned at her. "That was a joke. A really, really bad joke."

Alana watched the conversation with a smile. The Rejects got enthusiastic talking about their favourite meals and desserts, starting from vanilla ice cream, all the way to cheesecakes with chocolate and lots of fruit. For the first time they were brought there, the fear and tension had died down even if not for long.

The chatter cut off by the beep of a door lock. It hasn't been long since they had their morning dose of oatmeal and every bed in the room was already in use. That was something new.

The door flew open and four suited men entered the room, each of them holding a gun. The Rejects froze, only Remy breathed rapidly with his arms around his sides.

"Everyone get up," yelled one of the men. "Line up in front of the beds, face to the back wall!"