The Chamber Down

[Sventon]

Every person has some measure of value based on the needs of society. One man may be good at working with his hands and have strength in his arms. Another man may be frail in his body and powerful in his thoughts and logic. Yet another man may be angry and sharp on the outside, while on the inside he has a heart made of gold and guts made for heroes. No person can be broken down as simply as that, but beneath one of the Constibulatory's secret houses, in a basement chamber, Hans Sventon is speculating on the nature of something that is as simple as that: his room.

His room is not unkind at first. It takes his comfort and needs into consideration, for the bed is small but warm, and the furnishings are sparse but functional. His room is a little dull-witted. There is no art on its walls or shelves for books. It does not know the meaning of entertainment. As his attention - which is currently taking no prisoners - wanders beyond the immediate realm of his attention, he looks at the high windows that have been boarded over, letting none of the sun's light warm his gaunt, young face.

The room becomes a little less kind when he gives the windows any thought at all. The room becomes smaller. Everything outside of it becomes far away and separate from him. He looks at the door which is at the height of narrow stairs. From the inside of the room there is nothing but Hans' own knowledge that suggests its unwillingness to function to his benefit. It is locked securely and only opens when one of the guards brings him his meal.

The motive of the room, after he takes into account all of its behaviors toward him - from the inside out, becomes clear. The room only cares for his wellbeing on a shallow level, for his very sanity is at risk, and the room will keep him locked inside regardless.

Above all else, the room serves to keep him.

Unaccustomed to captivity, he is inwardly panicked and outraged by it. Before he knows it, he is pacing the floor again. Earlier he tore his room apart looking for some kind of tool to remove the boards on the windows. The result was disappointing, and he hurt his bare hands when, in a rage, he tried to use them for escape. In a very short time, he has completely forgotten his promise to behave. Behaving is what got him here. Behaving is what got him away from those zealots at the cultist caves alive. Now his whole world is this room.

He runs up the short flight of board steps to the door, and he uses his cracked knuckles to pound furiously. He shouts against it, his voice straining with unused anger. "You can not keep me here! I can not stay here! Someone get me out!"