Jake was pacing restlessly, fearfully now, wearing pants made of a very thin fabric that was barely there and so well worn they hung low and loose on him. They were oversized, so the hems dragged and he walked on them with each step. He wandered into the bathroom, flicked on and off the light, then went back out, feeling a horrible sense of dread settle in his stomach and begin to electrify his spine, rise up in his chest and cling to his ribs, drift to his heart and begin to squeeze. It was an odd feeling. Like a mix of goosebumps and chills that made him want to shiver in response, but his body just didn't. Like the shiver was stuck inside him. Like claws were hovering over his skin and just one wrong move would send him into the razor sharp ends, cut him.

He looked at the door. There was a bit over an inch of space between the bottom and the floor, and he dropped to his knees and bent down, pressing his cheek to the carpet and looking out. But there was something in the way. And it was moving. "Mother---Shit!" His voice was little more than a hiss, but he was sure the thing could hear him. Why was it there? Acting like a guard? Didn't it need heat? It was cold-blooded after all, or so that psycho Dan said. He didn't leave the door, however. It didn't seem necessary, it couldn't get in. "Your master's a freak, a sick fuck, a weird bastard son of a bitch and I wanna get the hell out and strangle Tim for not tying me to the bed and saying he didn't want me to come here..." But what say did Tim have? Jake was too damn stubborn for his own good and now here he was, locked in a room and possibly about to be experimented on, cut up, cut open, tormented and tortured... God he didn't want that. He laid in the floor, curled up at the door, so close his nose and knees were touching the wood. He didn't sleep, but watched the thing out there move sometimes.