Jon groaned and tried to move, tired above all else, and in a heavy daze: things felt unreal, hazy. Was he dreaming?
It was a familiar dream, if he was: arms and legs were strapped down, to a gurney, and motion was impossible. He was in the same dark room as in the last dream. And as in the last dream, he heard voices over him.
"... should statistically be almost impossible to have another! A single of these resistant children in town is trouble enough, anyway..."
"Sir..." Another voice said, "Sir, it may not actually be the case that we have another... take a look at him."
There's a moment of quiet. "My god, I think you're right. This is the boy from the day before, Jon, I believe. What's he doing here? Where do you suppose the real Biff Meadows is?"
"I don't know, sir. We're looking into it."
A sigh was heard, and the first voice remained silent and contemplative otherwise.
"So... What are we to do with him?"
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking..."
It was not a dream, Jon decided. This was really happening, as it had really happened before. He was tied down still, and hardly able to move himself, but if he was to try anything, he was losing his chance. But what could he do? Was it better to lay low for the moment?
