— Tch!

Luis slammed both palms against the cabinet's walls, rattling hinges. Metal screeched, but the lock held fast. His jaw clenched.

He leaned closer until his breath fogged the ventilation grate.

— ¡Por lo menos dame algo con qué entretenerme, eh, Bitores! ¿Una biblia, una antorcha? ¿Un libro de crucigramas?

*He raked calloused fingers through hair that hadn't seen a barber in months, sweat plastering strands to his temples. The air was stale, humid – like the caverns where his experiments took place. *

His thoughts drifted back to the island, the sterile white rooms where he had worked with no windows as his only view – and nothing more than the steady click-click of laboratory instruments.

He recalled his colleagues at the facility, the excitement whenever a test subject arrived. They would strip them, strap them down, and examine the results for hours...