Three hundred and fifty nine days. You've been in this forsaken room for almost a year. You haven't spoken to another soul for a year. All you have is the small notebook, pen and barred window.

Tonight, you've been given a 'gift' as your captors called it. You sit on the windowsill, staring out at the wintery weather swirling around outside, just out of your grasp when the door swings open and a boy is tossed into the cell. He immediately jumps to his feet, ready to fight his way out, but the doors already shut. He bangs on the door, yelling out. You notice how many tattoos he has, all up his arms. He looks back at you. "What the hell is this place? Who the hell are you?" He questions too fast for you to even answer.