[center][h2]Theodore Woodrow[/h2][/center]
He got little to no sleep, and by the time he managed to slip off, light was already streaming in through the narrow, square windows of his room-slash-cell. Thomas was abuzz with nervous energy, zipping about the room and [i]hunting[/i], and Theodore's mind could hardly stand such savage delight as it upturned a table and flung books across the room. Things only worsened when his alter-ego tried to leave the confines of it, running into a field of sharp, prickling pain that made his unwilling participant cry out in pain.

The mirror betrayed his bloodshot blue eyes, and managed to run his hand a few times through his hair to sort it out before the knock at the door came. Theodore ignored it, turning instead towards the dresser. Its drawers and all its contents had been thrown around the room during the rampage last night that Theo hadn't done anything to stop, but he recognised some of the pieces, though they felt cleaner, brand new. His favourite pair of jeans were lacking their customary ripped holes at the knees; his shirts bought a size smaller rather than a size too big like his old ones; and, of course, they even acknowledged his love of scarves in what must have been an attempt to blackmail him with finery. [i]How long have they been planning this?[/i]

He stalked back into the bathroom to get ready, again pretending that the continued knocking on the door didn't exist. The pristine white facecloth came away a russet colour at the corner that he'd used to dab away the dried blood. It wasn't the first time he'd done that, washing away the evidence of a bloody nose; a black eye. Mom used to do it all the time before the twins were born, before James ever came into her life. So long as the government creeps didn't try and reconnect him with his father, they would be at least a point ahead of the last clinic.

Feeling a bit like he was betraying something, or someone, Theodore slipped on the new clothes: a button up shirt, a blazer, skinny jeans that he had to squeeze into and a warm grey scarf slung around his neck. "How do I look?" he asked himself in the mirror, almost as if he was the Evil Queen in Snow White.

Thomas was the one to reply. [i]Alright, I guess.[/i]

"Rad." He continued to ignore the knocking. The room was a mess, but he kicked up one of the books lying on the floor from Thomas' tantrum. A crime novel (which he found boring as Hell but his alter-ego seemed to like) glared up at him with lurid red text for the title and an almost black cover, detailed with flames. Whatever, it was good enough. Theodore took it with him into the bathroom, where he proceeded to take a seat in the dry basin underneath the showerhead and closed the curtain.

Neither he nor Thomas wanted to talk to anyone and, in the little cupboard that was a bathroom, he couldn't hear the person on the other side of the door for another thirty minutes, until the must've given up and just unlocked the door. A trolley squeaked in, and Theodore scrambled to his feet, peeking out from behind the bathroom door at the man who entered. He was tall – at least 6'2" – with short blonde hair cut with military precision and a tan that wouldn't have looked out of place in California.

"Theodore Woodrow?" he seemed to be asking the mess of the room, but then he looked over at Theodore from where he stood behind his hiding position. The man's voice was heavily accented – not American or British, but neither was it slurred with a foreign language. Could it be... Australian? Surprisingly his voice wasn't particularly deep, and the one he had didn't match his intimidating appearance.

Even so, Theodore couldn't quite force out the words. "H–He–Here," he said after three attempts. "S–Sorry, I didn't..." The man must have had the patience of a saint because he simply squeaked the trolley to bring Theodore's attention to it, and the food on top. 

"S'alright, man, I'm just here to take you to the meeting after breakfast." There was a glass of orange juice, which he reached out for to whet his thirst, glugging it down much to Thomas' chagrin. He complained and moaned somewhere in Theodore's mind, and he could hear his disapproval at not 'sticking it to the man'.

Theodore didn't even touch the food. He had no [i]intention[/i] of touching the food. There were a few rashers of bacon on his plate alongside some eggs, fried, and even the thought of grease made him want to retreat back into the bathroom and not come out until the trolley was gone. [i]Grin and bear it[/i]. He could almost imagine the researchers or whatever they were asking his Mom, perhaps on a questionnaire, what his favourite foods were. He could almost imagine the [i]shrug[/i] she would give. "S-Sorry," he repeated again, dropping the fork and knife almost as soon as he hesitantly picked it up.

"No worries, no worries. I get you." Theodore wondered whether the informal way of speaking was put on or not to keep him at ease – it certainly [i]seemed[/i] that way. "I don't think the chefs'll have time to make you anything else, but for tomorrow, I can pass along any... dietary requirements?"

"Pescetarian," Theodore answered quickly. "And, um, I don't... r-really eat m-m-much in the..?"

"Cool, cool," said the possibly-armed guard or assistant or whatever he was. Thomas seemed content to sink into the background and ignore him, so Theodore was free for a few moments. "I'll pass that on. You ready to go to this meeting, yeah?"

"No." Well, there was something to be said for honesty – it made the man smile. Theodore stood up anyway and followed the man through the halls to a gathering of other kids, all of varying ages. He kept his eyes pinned to the floor even as they were led out to a gym of some kind and to a circular table around which they would all be seated.

There were questions asked after the obviously pre-prepared speech by the scientists, both by girls. One of them was older than him, dressed in expensive clothing along the same lines of his own, and the other was much younger. Both, of course, had to do with leaving and being allowed to leave the facility. Theodore scoffed. It was fairly obvious they wouldn't let them out.

When they looked to him to ask a question, he felt himself choking up, unable to speak properly again, so he took a deep breath to try and alleviate his stutter. "I – uh, I have no in-intention of... taking p-p-part in the experi-m-ments. Would... would I be punished? And if so, h-how."