Goreng had stopped caring about who they roomed him with. It never mattered, they always seemed to succumb to The Hole one way or another. He'd long since retreated in on himself and focused his energy on survival.

So when he woke of on Floor 33, not bad, to a female walking in circles around the hole, he thought nothing of it. She was quiet, opting to wander in circles rather than speak. Goreng simply assumed she'd been sent to the facility for some mental illness. Imoguiri had briefly mentioned that some inhabitants were people who couldn't function in society, or who'd been taken off their medication for some reason. A part of him felt bad seeing his new roommate already going stir crazy, but perhaps it was for the best.

When the platform would pause at their level, she only ate enough to get by before resuming her circles. Goreng had guessed about a week had gone by with no disruption in the routine. Until one night, he was plagued by nightmares. Trimagasi and Imoguiri's voices in his head, the awful red nightlight of his cement prison. The familiar craving for a cigarette that three months still hadn't quenched in him.

Then hands were on him. Cold hands were shaking his body against the stiff mattress. Goreng's eyes shot open only to be met with a familiar, living face. Someone real.

His roommate was sitting on his stomach, perched on his bed. She'd been shaking him awake.