Pressing himself against the bare wall, boredom had overcome Sammie long ago. He flopped his arms down by his side and sighed dramatically, leaning his head back and scooting further and further down the gray-ish, white-ish wall that created a room that had been his home and his confinement for around two years. Although it had not been long, he missed the feeling of putting pen to paper, the sound of the ball point scratching across the surface of the pages, his neat handwriting filling up the blank space between the lines, the smell of fresh ink as it escaped from the cartridge of pen. Oh, how he missed that.

He often found himself dreaming of another reality where he could be sitting at home, pen and paper in hand, a coffee in the other, sitting beside a warm fire as he attained message after message of publishers hoping to get their hands on his work. Staring blankly at the wall that seemed to stare right back at him but with much more ferocity, he heard loud booming sounds and what he presumed were explosions near him. Becoming frightened but also excited, Sammie jumped up and ran to the far end of the room, cautiously waiting as the thunderous booms approached rapidly. He witnessed guards rushing past his confinement box from a small window that sat right above where Sam could see, his head struggling to peer through it as he craned his neck. Right as the guards past him room, one of the explosions went off right in front of his door, blasting through the metal and the dingy white walls that held him. He instinctively threw himself to the ground, curling into a tight ball, hoping not to be hit by any flying debris. His heart pounded as the smoke cleared and he waved his hand in front of his face, coughing. At least, that's what he thought he was doing, he couldn't currently hear from the ringing that filled his ears.

Once he could see and hear again, Sam noticed a mysterious person stride past. Deciding that person was probably the one who caused the blasts, he walked on the outside of the room, trying not to be noticed by the person. Once he slowly exited the room he was supposed to be in for many more years, he looked around the hallway, just to be sure the coast was clear from any guards that might be still willing to attack. He drifted further down the hallway, not sure on what to do, his mind racing from all the thoughts of panic. While his thoughts were clouded, he didn't realize he was following the person until they were pretty far. Coming back to his senses, his first thought was to flee, but then he realized that his story could make for a great one. He gasped, but quickly covered his mouth which was now pulled into a smile, for he didn't want to be discovered.

Hiding behind the corner, he stumbled over a guard's unconscious body that lay still on the cold ground. He was about to pass the body when his eyes were drawn to a small notebook attached to the guard. My notebook! How convenient! He exclaimed to himself as he bent down and grabbed it. His pen also was with the notebook/journal and he quietly squealed to himself as a rush of relief and an electrified feeling washed over him. Sammie tucked them under his arm and stood, trying to decide what to do. On one hand, if I go back to my room, I probably won't get sentenced further. But. If I continue to follow the mystery man or woman, it could make for much more interesting story that just going back to the first option. Hmm, choices, choices. He thought to himself, but he already knew the answer. Anything that with the best story was the better option. Always.

Staying at a distance, he followed the person, trying to stay quiet, occasionally stopping to write down notes. He soon seen that another person was coming into view, but he didn't want to get too close, just in case, but the suspense was slowly killing him as he kept himself back. He scribbled down descriptions of both the people as the mystery dude began talking to the other person.