Like the rest of the ghosts captured by Cyrus Kriticos to power his Basileus Machine, Royce was stuck in his own containment cube. Something that could be seen as one of the more intelligent moves Cyrus had made. Granted, all in all, it probably wasn't smart as a whole capturing a dozen ghosts. Messing with the supernatural in general was asking for trouble.

He stares out of his containment cube, the glowing gold latin script on the ectobar glass keeping him locked inside. His eyes study the protection spells that he and the other ghosts had no choice but to obey the rules of. The former baseball player gripped the bat in his hand tightly, the wood a familiarity from before he had lost his life as a result of cut break lines. He heard footsteps. Small, soft. He directed his gaze to his left but saw nothing just yet.

After a few moments his gaze locks on you. He went right up to the glass, though disappointment hit when he saw you didn't have the specter glasses. Without them, you wouldn't be able to see any of the other eleven ghosts in the basement, nevermind him. Or, at the very least, he had never seen a human that could see them without the glasses. Even Dennis Rafkin, the neurotic psychic who helped Cyrus capture himself and the other eleven ghosts needed the glasses to see them. Little did he know, you were of direct relation to him. As a ghost, he hadn't kept up to date on anyone after all.