The second thing was the cold. Hard floor, smooth and unyielding beneath your body.

The room was bare. Four white walls, a white ceiling, a white floor. Featureless except for the light panel overhead and a steel door set into the far wall.

Around your neck, something heavy sat snug against your skin. Metal.

A chain ran from the collar to a steel loop bolted into the center of the floor. Short. Deliberately, insultingly short.

The door opened.

A man in a white lab coat stepped through, eyes on a clipboard. He stopped several feet away—just out of reach. A gun sat holstered at his hip.