It was small, dark, and clammy. In sharp contrast to the rest of the reasonably high tech facility, a lone torchlight adorned the wall. If it hadn't been for the stairs, Wash was pretty sure he'd have never found the place - such as it was.

He glanced around worriedly. Had he stepped into some kind of medieval broom closet? There hadn't be a sign, although a door label that read simply 'The Cove' might look a bit ridiculous. Compared to the room full of pod people though, it was a welcome relief from the overall sci fi movie set feel the place had had.

Tentatively, Wash descended, taking the last few steps in twos. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed the creepily glowing runes offset in little rectangles. They littered the walls, softly filling the shadows with a dull, alien glow. Nevermind. This was definitely a movie set. Why a reality show would call him here, bail him out of prison, and lead him around only to humiliate him publicly on a no doubt hidden camera was beyond him, but Wash couldn't really come up with a better explanation. And where was this 'partner', anyway? Maybe it was the host, waiting to pop out from some hidden door, and reveal that this whole elaborate incident was a scam meant to reveal just how crazy he was for believing half of what he'd been told since his arrival.

The trial though - it had felt so real. Death had seemed so very final.

And yet here he was. Idly, he trailed one hand waist height along the wall, searching for a doorframe or some other feature that might be obscured by the oddly patterned lights. As he did so, it dawned on him that the images in the wall weren't just random symbols. Here, a trebuchet - he winced as his hand vibrated with a near audible twang - there, a knife. A knife that grated against his fingertips none too gently.

Shuddering, he withdrew his offending limb. The walls, they must be vibrating. Or charged with electricity. He could explain away the feeling, but not the overwhelming sense of alien consciousness that seemed to pervade the small cave. It was different than all the times before, though - the shadows were empty.

Except for an even brighter glow he could just spot in the corner of his eye. He wiped his hands against his jeans and turned to face it - but it was gone. He could see, through the flickering torchlight, it was just a wall like the others. An axe. Some kind of glove - SCHLICK went a hidden blade. A slingshot sent a pebble skirting across the surface of his mind. He shook his head, trying to shake the feeling and groped forward blindly. Wash couldn't find solace in the tiny room - the images were everywhere. He just wanted out, wanted to go home. Wanted to be normal.

That's no fun, someone quipped.

Wash didn't react, instead sitting down gingerly, careful not to touch any more of the symbols. This was a rather pathetic state to be discovered in, scam or no. He opened his eyes and stared determinedly at the floor. It must be the lighting. The patterns were just too busy - too confusing. He needed to rest a moment and maybe go find that room they'd promised him. He hoped it would have a bed. His partner, whoever they were, were obviously a no show.

Hmph!

Wash sat up straight. "Who's here?" He called, head still lowered. If his voice was a little higher than usual - well.

Behind you, it called in a singsong voice, and Wash, unable to resist instinct, swung his torso around to glance behind him - and solidly elbowed one of the tablets. He grunted in pain as the offending object clattered the few feet to the floor. On it's surface was carved two circles, one inside the other. He stared at it in confusion. What was it? As he reached down to pick it up, he felt the dry brush of leather and steel -

He nearly jumped out of his skin as something settled heavily on his arm. The piece of stone was gone, and in it's place was - huh. He hefted it appraisingly, rising to one knee.

A shield.

Got you! Surprised? The voice was young, effeminate, and smug. And it seemed to be coming from an inanimate object. Wash quickly checked it for some kind of audio device, but there was nothing. Maybe he WAS crazy.

We're all a little crazy, it objected reasonably, and besides, remember why you came here. As he stared at it, more than baffled, it dawned on him then. A room full of drawings of weapons. He'd said he'd wanted to fight, hadn't he? And what better partner than -

"Hey, wait a second," he began sourly. A shield wasn't a -

Don't you finish that sentence, mister stumbles-around-in-the-dark, scared of his own shadow! He was being reprimanded. By a hunk of metal. "I have a name, you know," he commented dryly to the air. This was awkward. "It's Wash, Wash Becker," he added hastily. If he was going to be crazy, he might as well maintain his manners.

I'm Salacia, but you can call me Sally.

She paused briefly for dramatic effect.

Well, Mr. Becker. What now?

Wash paused to give the question serious thought. Why had he even agreed to all this madness? And what was he going to do now? There were a lot of answers, and his face dropped into a predictable frown as he mulled over them. None of them were pleasant.

Sally, meanwhile, simply waited impatiently for an answer. What the hell was WITH this guy? She had things to do! It was dark, and she'd woken up, and had a vague feeling of - displacement - and the promising young man she'd decided to pick up was just going to sit in a broom closet and pout. If this was their first date, it was a SERIOUS flop.

She drew in a deep breath mentally, momentarily forgetting her lack of lungs (or any other sort of anatomy) in preperation to reprimand him when he finally responded.

"I want to fight."

Sally rolled her non-existent eyes. Boys.

Let's just...go. I won't tell anyone you almost fainted in the weapons room if you promise to go get me oiled later.

He winced and paused as he went back up the stairs. Weapon maintenance was just going to be so wrong. Ugh. Perhaps it would be less crazy once he got out into the sunlight.

Perhaps there would be less voices.