Before Michael even opened his eyes, he felt the pounding of his head. Eyes still shut, he felt his head for any blood. He felt wetness and forced his eyes opened just a little to find crimson liquid all over his hand. "Ugh," he groaned and struggled to sit up, shaking his now-bloody hand. Squinting, he glanced around the room once he was in semi-sitting position.

That's when he noticed he wasn't in his apartment anymore.

It was a mutely lit room with only a few small objects in the corner. The only thing he could make out was a small, empty cot. He looked down to see himself dressed in a simple brown T-shirt and baggy brown pants.

"Hello?" he asked the darkness, looking for a door or window. He tried to get up, but quickly sank to the ground when he was overcome by dizziness. Michael heard a noise coming from the far end and snapped his head around to see somebody open a narrow door. The person let their self in and slowly walked over to him.

He just helplessly watched the person who was walking straight towards him. As the person came closer, Michael saw that he was a strong-looking middle-aged man with dark, uncaring eyes which seemed to go right through him.

"Why, hello, Mr. Guerin," the man smiled a fake, mocking smile.

Michael just stared at him, refusing to look away for the slightest second.

"And how are you doing today?" the man went on, still stepping closer and closer.

Michael made a snarling noise and the man raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Now, now, no need to be hostile," he held his hands, showing that he wasn't holding any weapons.

Michael couldn't take it any longer. "Who are you and where the hell am I?"

The man now smiled once again. "You can refer to me as Dr. L, Michael." He finally stopped on front of Michael and placed his hands on Michael's head.

Before Michael could react, he was somehow frozen in place. Like Dr. L was controlling him.

"I just need something from you," Dr. L told him cryptically.

Flashes came so fast that Michael couldn't decipher one from another. They only came as quick glimpses. And they were all Michael's.

He managed to see a few of them, and watched those old memories. There was he, Max, and Isabel playing in the park when they were about eight. There was he and his social working discussing foster families. There was him watching Max and Isabel with their family, longing to have one of his own. And there was Maria and him, cuddled up in his apartment watching his small TV set.

Other flashes were too quick to see, and they just made Michael even more dizzy. Dr. L watched as he passed out on the hard ground. He brought his hands back off of Michael's head and smirked to himself.

"I have what I need."

Michael came out of it to the sound of a high-pitched whistle nearby. Before he could register what was going on, a man burst in and grabbed him.

"Hey!" Michael exclaimed groggily.

The man ignored him and dragged him out the small narrow door.

"Uh!" Michael wasn't fully on his feet and getting knee-burns.

The man threw him into a room and then walked away. Michael looked around and around in wonder. Was it raining inside? He thought to himself as he got soaked. He looked higher up and saw that the water was coming out of little shower faucets. Many of them were scattered all around dim, enclosed area. The ground was tiled and slippery, with about eight drains on each side of the large room.

"It's like an oversized shower, huh?" someone said.

Michael whipped his head around so fast he grunted in pain. There was a boy who looked about two years or so older than he. He was wearing the same simple brown outfit on and was shaking a little from the cold.

"Who are you?" Michael asked, rubbing his head to try and ease the pain.

"Derek. You?" the boy asked, pushing a wet strand of dark hair off of his eye.

"Michael. Where is this place? And what am I doing here?" Michael still sounded a little dazed and out-of-it.

Derek shrugged. "I've been here for the past six or seven months. They still never told me."

Michael studied the place more and found about twelve other people scattered around the room.

"They think it's like a punishment to have us locked in this wet room," Derek continued. "You get used to it, though. They usually make us work in here."

"Work?" Michael asked, still rubbing his head.

"You know, wash their clothes, do their dishes, chop their friggen' vegetables," Derek spat on the ground and then looked back at Michael. "Like I said, you get used to it. Just don't make them mad."

"Why?" Michael couldn't help but ask.

Derek just left it at that and walked away as two beefy men in dark green uniforms walked in. They dumped about four crates filled with dirty dishes on to the floor with a bang. Michael dodged a container as it was hurled at him from one of the men.

"Wash," they demanded and walked away, slamming the heavy door.

Michael looked over at Derek as he held up the container that had been thrown at him.

"Soap," Derek mouthed as the others walked over to the crates.

Michael looked at the container, frowned at it, and threw it. "Why am I here?!?"

The others all stared at him after his outburst and Derek rolled his eyes. "You don't know?"

Shaking his head, Michael said, "No."

"You're one of us, aren't you?"

Michael looked him dead in the eyes. "What?"

"C'mon, you know what I'm talking about. You're one of US. Not from Earth . . ." Derek trailed off, picking up a dish covered in mashed potatoes and silently rinsing it off.

"You are too?" Michael decided not to pretend he didn't know what Derek was talking about.

Derek chuckled, placing the now-clean plate gently into an empty crate. "We all are. Not all the same as you, but aliens none the less."

Michael looked at the others in fascination. Aliens like him! "So why don't you guys use your powers to bust out of this place?"

"They gave us all something," Derek told him, picking up another dirty plate. "Something that took our powers away."

Now Michael was on his feet. Quickly, he tried to use his powers, to no avail. He muttered a few curses and kicked the wall so hard that his right leg now throbbed.

The men came back and surveyed the dishes, which were now all clean and stacked in the crates. With a satisfied nod, they started to take the people out of the wet room. When they came for Michael, he struggled and kicked one in the stomach.

"Not a good idea, prisoner," one muttered and punched his several times in the face. Michael staggered and one of the men took the opportunity to grab his arms and yank him through the doors and down the hall. Once again, Michael was thrown into the small and empty dark room. He shivered, soaked to the bone, and sank into the corner.

Dr. L watched the poor boy with an amused expression across his face.

"How are we going to get the information from him?" one of the guards asked.