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Owen had awoken slowly, shifting carefully, but his hands and legs had still managed to bang against the railings on the bench. He'd shot up the second that had happened and smacked his forehead on the bottom of the bench and had rolled painfully to the side and out from under the unfamiliar wood and metal object. He'd been so sure that he was going to wake up back in his cell. But it seemed that they hadn't taken the time to move him during the night like they had apparently the night before. They wanted him to relax his guard. That had to be it. They wanted him to start to feel comfortable in this place before they decided to club him over the head and take him back to that cell that wreaked of death and decay.
The trouble was, he really wanted to indulge. It had been so long since he'd seen the sky, felt the grass, smelled air that wasn't recycled and stale. It had been too long since he'd seen the sun. He'd almost started to believe that these things had ceased to exist. But here they were, right in front of him.
Pushing himself up onto the bench (baby steps), Owen leaned back and surveyed the area around him. A small, nondescript town. They could have been anywhere. Raising his hand to pressed against his eyes, Owen leaned forward, elbows perching on his knees. Fresh air, sunlight, relative freedom. This game didn't make any sense.