Taylor settled down to sleep that night with Natalie in his arms. It had been a long day, and they were both exhausted. But no sooner did Taylor feel like he'd fallen asleep, did he suddenly wake up again.
He felt cold.
His eyelids fluttered open, and he saw fluorescent lighting above him.
Frowning in confusion, he made to sit up. And couldn't. The all-too familiar sensation of leather on wrists and the sound of small metallic `clinks' to accompany them immediately set off the alarm bells in his head, and he struggled for a moment to both keep himself breathing and to sit up as far as he could.
Once his vision had cleared, his eyes fell on a man with him in the white room. Dressed head to toe in military uniform, hand at his side where his handgun resided.
"Taylor?"
"Who are you?" Taylor managed to choke out, eyes fixed.
The soldier looked confused.
"What happened to you?"
Taylor visibly blanched. The soldier hesitated, before a knowing look crossed his face.
"Oh crap."
"What?!" Taylor shook his head, eyes beginning to dart across the room.
They settled on a sliding door on the wall to his right. His face lost colour and nausea hit him like a brick. He recognised that cabinet. All too well.
The solider had dug out his walkie talkie and called someone up. A moment later the door opened. When Taylor saw that it was another solider he lay back down, closing his eyes and muttering to himself.
"It's just a nightmare. Just a nightmare. You have these all the time. He's not here. You're fine. You're at home. This is just your mind playing tricks on you. This is not your fault. It's just a nightmare..."
The soldiers worriedly chatted to each other, Taylor not hearing a word they said, before the newcomer made his way over and put his hand in Taylor's hair. His eyes shot open and he attempted to sit up again.
"Calm down," the solider said in a soft tone, before turning to his comrade, "he must have hit his head harder than we thought..."
"You think?"
"What's the last thing you remember?" he asked Taylor.
Taylor swallowed hard, eyes welling as he looked up at the soldier.
"Falling asleep. At home," he breathed.
"What date?"
"The 12th of November I think?" Taylor frowned, "why?"
The soldiers shared a worried glance.
"Why?!" Taylor tried again.
"It's February 26th, Taylor. You've been here almost four months."
Instant panic sprang into Taylor's eyes.
"Where?" he finally found the courage to ask.
"He's going to be pissed," the first soldier gulped.
"Maybe we should get out of here?"
"Running? Really?"
Taylor closed his eyes for a moment, before feeling what was holding him to the table. Simple D-clips? That was weird.
His eyes followed the soldiers to make sure they weren't looking, as he slowly began to undo the one on his right wrist. He'd already tried using his atom manipulation on them and for some reason it wasn't working.
He flinched a little as the clip hit the steel table, and his eyes caught the soldiers'.
"I wouldn't do that," one of them said, quickly walking over to refasten it.
"Why not? Why weren't they...?" Taylor couldn't say it out loud.
"Locked?"
He nodded.
"You'd know better than us. You restrained yourself."
Taylor looked like he was going to be sick.
"Why would I do that?" he closed his eyes.
"Because you were told to."
Taylor flinched as the clip set into place.
"Come on, let's go find Tracy," the other soldier said.
"Don't move," the one above Taylor insisted, "it'll only be worse for you if you do."
Taylor opened his eyes and looked up at him, not saying anything. The soldier locked eyes with him – Taylor picking up on a slight feeling of desperation in them – before both men left the room. He heard the electronics as the door slid back into place, and immediately began undoing the D-clip again.
He didn't know what was going on, but one thing was for sure. If he could do absolutely anything to not be in that room, he was going to do it.
He had the clip undone in moments, and quickly leant over to undo the one on his left. That done he was finally able to sit up, and he took in a sharp breath when he managed to look down at himself.
He was dressed in a white singlet and jeans, both spattered aimlessly with blood. He could only assume his own.
Trying not to dwell on it, and still trying to convince himself that it was all in his head, he reached forward to undo the same clips from his ankles. Once he was free he slid from the table, wincing a little as his feet hit the cold floor, and headed for the door.
When he reached the door he froze. He could see his reflection in the frosted glass. The blood on his clothes was definitely more extensive than he'd realised, but his hands had flown to his throat.
There sat a wide black collar, with four large copper hoops embedded.
"No," he breathed, instinctively backing away from the reflection, "no no no no no no no..."
Then his eyes locked on the man on the other side of the door.
"WOAH!" he yelled, sprinting backwards as the door opened.
"Someone doesn't appear to be himself this morning..."
Taylor covered his ears with his hands and squeezed his eyes shut as he leant against the far wall, trying to block out the voice.
"It's just a nightmare, it's just a nightmare," he continued chanting to himself.
"I assure you Jordan, that this is very real," Blakesley's voice was closer than Taylor had anticipated it being, and he reacted by backing off further toward the cabinet door.
"Why don't I remember this?" Taylor said to himself, "I remember everything. I always remember everything..."
He cried out when he felt a hand grab his hair and force him to his knees. He grabbed at the hand, but was too weak to fight back. Not expecting it and thereby not able to deflect it, Blakesley's other fist hit him hard in the face. If he hadn't already had hold of his hair, he would have fallen over.
"Jordan?" Blakesley attempted to get his attention back.
But Taylor was well into a panic attack by now. Blakesley let his hair go and grabbed the back of his neck instead, slapping him on the face to try and get him back.
"Jordan!"
Taylor finally locked eyes with him, breathing heavily.
"Why are you not on the table?" Blakesley's voice had unusual calm tones to it.
"W-what?" Taylor stuttered, unable to focus on anything else as he grabbed for Blakesley's hand again.
"You were told to stay on the table. Why aren't you there?"
"I don't remember!" Taylor exclaimed suddenly, closing his eyes, "I don't remember anything!"
Blakesley grabbed his hair again, tilting his head forward. Taylor cringed, unable to do anything about it. His eyes darted from side to side as he heard Blakesley's groan.
The doctor suddenly let him go and stepped over to the communications panel by the door. Taylor fell forward to his hands and knees, shaking uncontrollably as he watched.
"Where are Thompson and Derek?" he demanded into the intercom, "they have some explaining to do!"
Taylor couldn't hear the response, but it wasn't making Blakesley any calmer.
"For months I have worked at getting this subject into the perfect mind frame, and you idiots ruin it in one night?! What did they do?! He's an amnesiac! He remembers none of his training!"
The voice on the other end got louder, and it only made Blakesley's pheromones stronger. Taylor's eyes didn't leave him.
"Imbeciles!" Blakesley fumed, turning the intercom off and turning back to Taylor.
"Jordan. Up," he ordered, indicating for him to stand as he made his way to the cabinet and keyed the door open.
Taylor just watched him with a frown, his heart skipping a beat when he saw where he was going and what he was doing.
"Don't make me repeat myself. You know I don't like that."
Taylor found his feet and leant on the wall to help himself stand. His hair fell into his face and he shook it out. His eyes falling on the whip that Blakesley ran through his fingers.
"Turn around."
"What did I do?" Taylor breathed.
"Turn around and remove your shirt. Now, Jordan."
Taylor hesitated, but did as he was told. His eyes caught his reflection in the door again as he pulled the singlet over his head, and he gasped inwardly at the prevalent scars on his back. He knew then, instinctively, that this wouldn't be the first time. And yet, it still felt wrong...
He was pulled from his thoughts by the whip cutting into his back with a loud `thwack!'
He cried out and hit his knees again, dropping the shirt.
"On your feet," Blakesley ordered coolly.
Tears welled in Taylor's eyes as he pulled himself up again, leaning his palms and forehead against the wall.
"Now, count. For disobeying me. For freeing yourself. For pausing before following orders. For allowing yourself to-"
Taylor didn't hear any more as the whip came down again, and he obediently counted the hits out. He felt the blood run down his hips and soak into his jeans, followed by the sweat from his forehead and chest. He barely registered when it was over.
Blakesley replaced the whip in the cabinet and closed the door.
"Stay there until I return," he ordered, before making his way to the door and stepping out.
Taylor didn't think he could move if he'd wanted to.
He let his tears mix in with his sweat as he closed his eyes, not even daring to move enough to wipe them away.