super smash mele!

who: saj, and eventually open to will and jillian via pm
when: ...later?
where: where'd ya think?

Right then. To work! Saj left the computers alone for now and surveyed his room with more scrutiny than he had earlier. The half he was in right now looked pretty fucking close to his Mum's kitchen - scarily close - apart from the race car bed in the corner, which reminded him more of his 8 year old self's personal plea to his parents for around 6 months. How did these pople know all this shit about him? He shuddered, and tried not to think about it. Easier, wasn't it? Not to think about the scary fucked up stuff and just concentrate on doing something.

Jillian had said her walls were brick. So were the walls in the arcade portion of his room, so he ignored there for now - only going through there to drag through a huge ass metal gaming chair. The walls in this portion of the room however, were mocked to look like his walls back home. Which meant plasterboard and gaudy flock wallpaper. He'd never understand was first generation Indian families liked about that shit - it plagued the fast food resteraunts of England and he knew it wasn't because it was cheap. Whatever, though.

Mustering up as much upper body strength as he could he heaved the heavy chair and threw it full-force against the west wall. It made a lud crashing echoing sound, and didn't do much but rip the wallpaper. However, this revealed Saj's suspicion that beneath the ugly-ass flock was cheap white plasterboard. Of course it was. Put loads of people in a warehouse and build compartments for them, who's going to have money and time to do it with bricks and mortar? Didn't seem bloody likely. He ripped away the wallpaper and, breathing deeply, tossed the chair again. Repeat. 5 more throws untill the plasterboard (and his willpower, because this was bloody hard work, and noisy as fuck) started to crumble and crack.

"Yeeeessss! OI! JILLIAN? CAN YOU HEAR ME, LOVE?" he belted out with his somewhat flushed face pressed against the plaster. Looking around for something sharp he rummaged through the kitchen drawers and found a carving knife - which was identical to hid mum's favourite chopper right down to the wobbly handle. Creepy. oincidence - they couldn't know that. He dug the knife into the wall making horrible scraping noises, and eventually gouged out a huge chunk of plaster. He was as messy as the floor by now, no doubt, sweat mingling with white plaster dust on his dark brown skin, but he was grinning none the less. It was working!

And then, his face fell. Because behind the plasterboard? That was un-fucking-mistakably concrete. He had never hated an inanimate substance quite so much. Fucking concrete. "Motherfucking arse dick balls twat!" the boy cursed, almost expecting a clip 'round the earhole for his foul language, but no - this kitchen wasn't the real thing. This kitchen was a bloody oubliette. Just like the bit in Labyrinth where Sarah thinks she's finally gotten home but it's really just a big head-fuck on a trash heap.

Dejected, Saj sidled over to the two computers he was speaking to Jillian and Will on, and told them of the fiasco.

Okay. I tried hammering through a wall with a chair. It was hard as fuck, but once I got through the plaster...it's fucking concrete. Howeer I made an obscene amount of noise, so I reckon you might have heard me? Let me know if you two have better luck. And yeah - any word from any of those people I was looking for? I'm sure if you speak to Jesse he'll have something worked out on how to get us out of here.

Sniffing and waiting for a reply, Saj walked over to the fridge - which as thankfully fully stocked. He downed a can of coke and pressed his head against the family portrait hung on the door. He just wanted to go home. He didn't want to be cooped up on his own in a creepy bizzaro world version of his mum's kitchen. He was scared and he didn't know what to do - and he was starting to feel like Will's words were getting to him. 6 months. 6 months n your own. Surely they couldn't do that to him? None of this had been in the twatting fine print.

 - .

Will's consoles had been pretty quiet for a while -- it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, although assuming certain givens (such as that the fake sun would eventually go down) he guessed "late morning" -- and he'd given up and started reading through his psychology textbooks. So far, they even seemed to be accurate.

The gentle "ding" made him go inspect the computer, however, and he frowned. Had he heard anything? Surely, something...he tried to concentrate. Had he been disturbed, interrupted?

No; there had been nothing. Just the gentle lap of the ocean and the wail of seabirds that he couldn't see. And some boat noises.

I'm sorry, he wrote back, but felt bad discouraging Saj. Maybe you weren't on my wall? It's all sea birds and ocean here. I haven't heard much all day from my computers. I've got Hannah, who doesn't want to talk - she has Brett on another computer but that's all I know. And Shane, who has Jillian, and the fourth one hasn't said anything. But no one you were looking for. Will frowned; he felt bad, as if he should be able to help more.

 - .

Saj cursed again as he read Will's reply. Hadn't heard him. He didn't want to ask Lillith because she gave him a case of the heebies, and no-one had responded on his other computer.

Fuck. Well...at least I've got Grand Theft Auto to keep me occupied, and a fully stocked fridge. I'm going to try smashing the window next - although to be honest it looks like the fakest thing I ever saw. Skyline of London and it's sunny. I dunno if I'll have any luck with it.

There must be a way in and out though. How else would they have gotten us in here?

 - .

Will nodded, looking around. He certainly couldn't see anything -- if there was somewhere it was well masked -- but he'd always wondered about that in the old room. Where they were coming in from, how they were changing things.

That is a good point. Don't give up. When I was in the other room I could never find it but we had to be transported in here. They have to restock food. They aren't magical creatures or gods and we can't think of them that way.

He threw his weight against one of the terra cotta pots, hoping to find a tunnel beneath it. It budged, but the floor looked exactly the same. He gritted his teeth. If he went over this whole thing on his hands and knees, looking for a place where the floor shifted, he'd find it. He had to. He didn't know how long they were going to be left like this.

 - .

Saj nodded as he red Will's message. Yeah. There had to be some fucking way out.

Right. I'm going for the window. If you don't hear back from me....I'm home free? Nah. I'll message you and let you know how it goes! Wish me luck!

Saj turned from the computer and eyed up the fake window on the opposite wall. It was wedged between (and slightly blocked by) a fridge and a cupboard and was pretty damn fake looking. He rapped his knuckles on it. Sturdy. Right. Yelling slightly as he struggled with the tall food cupboard he managed to scrape the thing along the floor it moved inch-by-inch away from the window, finally clearing away from the glass and giving him some room to maneuver.

First, he tried whacking a saucepan against it. Just noise and slight vibration. He also felt mildly ridiculous, and so he picked up the now slightly blunt knifeand worked the plaster covered blade around the edge of windowframe. He tried this for a good 15 minutes, convincing himself he could feel the pane give - but it was really pretty useless. Gritting his teeth Saj glared at the thing with obvious fury and fraustration. "Allah help me. This is fucking ridiculous. What is this place, an underground missle silo? No twatting windows are this strong..."

He turned his gaze back around to the big metal chair. He was already knackered from his jaunt with throwing it against the wall earlier, and now moving the food cupboard - but he reckoned, fuck, why not. Worth a go right? Summoning his last ounces of strength (and egged on largely by annoyance) Saj lifted up the ridiculously heavy chair He-Man style with both arms above his head. He was sweating and his arms hurt like hell, but fuck it. With a roar of great gusto Saj heaved the chair at the fake window. Then yelped like a wounded puppy as it bounced right off the sheet of apparantly bomb-proof glass and came right for him. He shielded his face with his hands too late and the chair thumped him squarely on the forehead.

Saj crumpled to the floor in a rather pathetic fashion, a large blood-covered boiled egg begining to make appearances on his slightly acne scarred forehead. He was, for lack of a better term, out for the count.

 - .

Good luck, he typed back and settled back down.

Will had gotten used to his computers being pretty quiet -- his whole world being pretty quiet, and at first it didn't bother him when Saj's stayed that way. After all, he was trying something that was probably going to take some doing. Maybe he was talking to some of his other computers about it.

And to tell the truth, Will got restless after a moment, moved by Saj's determination and his own point, and spent a good deal of time examining his surroundings. It was pretty obvious that the patio didn't have any hidden passages - at least, if it did, they were utterly seamless and it was worthless trying to find them. He pried at the stones for a good deal of time. If there were hidden tiles, they were between the cut rock...but nothing seemed to move.

Nothing seemed to be behind the furniture, and no tiles in the bathroom moved either -- he could barely face the mirror -- and eventually he decided this was a lot of effort and broken nails for nothing. He'd done this in the last experiment, broken his fingers and bruised his arms in an attempt to get out, for nothing and often worse situations the next day.

It occured to him that it'd been a long time since he'd heard from Saj.

Saj? he typed at the PM window. He waited a few minutes, a twinge of concern. Scott's taunting of the scientists hadn't gone well, and in the last experiment they'd had a fickle sense of humor about attempts to escape. Then, separately, Are you having any luck?

No immediate answer. Shit.

 - .

Jillian had been going over her own apartment with a fine-toothed comb, looking for any kind of hidden latch, catch, or seam that would indicate a way out. The window looked like downtown Phoenix, but she knew it couldn't be. And it didn't open, so she couldn't get out that way. When she heard her computer chime, she headed over and read Saj's message, frowning as she did so.

It's probably concrete for all of us, under whatever the walls look like, she wrote back. But I didn't hear anything at all and John Entwistle wasn't freaking, so I assume he didn't hear anything either, sorry. Either you're too far away, or they've hella soundproofed us. Which I guess is good for you guys if I decide to go nuts on my bass but sucky for looking for clues.

 - .

I've got a window I might try and smash - only it's next to a bunch of other shit so I might have to rearrange furniture and shit. Maybe I'll wait a while - I knackered myself enough trying to shove a chair through the wall
ad fat load of good that did. There has to be a way to get out because they got us IN here, didn't they? Maybe there's a trapdoor underneath the carpet. I could try that too.

He re-read her message, feeling slightly worried that he had no word from Jesse or Scott. Carly'd been a long shot, but those two? They should be around. He tried to lighten his mood by continuing his banter with Jillian.
Who the fuck is John Entwistle, anyway? You got another person in thee with you, or an imaginary friend, or what??

 - .

Good luck. I tried to put a chair through the window - and I'm no delicate flower - and no dice. They should make car windshields out of this stuff, you'd never have to worry about replacing glass in your car ever again.

Despite her anxiety, Jillian grinned at his question.

The fact that you don't know who John Entwistle is highlights the fact that you need a serious musical education. He's only like, the best bassist of all time (rest in peace, Thunderfingers). In this case, however, John Entwistle is my puppy. I got him for 'Christmas' the other day. Unlike his namesake, however, he does not play bass. But that's okay, I'd hate to have to share.

 - .

You've got a dog? That's wicked! I was never allowed pets 'cause my dad reckoned that "only Allah has the right to make animals serve him" or something, but I think it was just an excuse to not have a dog in the house...because yeah, he was a butcher.

All I got for fake Christmas was a bunch of CDs and more headfuckery...

 - .

It's not servitude, it's mutual companionship, so there. :-P But hey, at least the CDs are cool, right?