2400 AD
40

In the sparsely furnished room, Jacob raised his hands to his eyes. Clean hands. Hands that helped him garner the secrets of his mind. With enough concentration he could make his hands disappear. He could communicate with Thespian. He could make things appear and undo them.

Slowly he brought his hands towards his face, and then dropped one hand to his side. The remaining hand remained in front of his gaze, and after a few minutes, he smiled. He could see through the palm of his hand to the wall before him. In this, trance-like state, all the problems in his world vanished. He felt like a god. He was a god.

“With our eyes on the horizon, we do not see what lies at our feet,” he whispered.

He should see through the wall. He moved his hand down, stared at the wall, and waited.

The wall did not disappear as he thought it would. He tried again, brought his hand up to his eyes, and dropped them. Waited.

It had worked so many times before. He worshipped the complexity of his mind and its power, but in this room, worship brought no reward.

His mind was dead.

He didn’t understand. He slammed his hand against the wall, once, twice, the thumping got louder, harder.

He was caged in like an animal in a zoo. Helpless without power. He looked around. The room was solid. White walls. The ceiling too high to reach. One basin. A toilet, bed and table. No windows.

He needed to reach out to Lillian, the Samarand. She would save him. The longer he remained trapped, the longer he was unable to use his frequency, the more likely it would be that no one would find him. He needed to communicate with Thespian.

He had to find a way out.

No room, house or prison could keep him. The door wasn’t visible, but he had to find it. He tapped against the walls lightly for a difference in sound, went back and started again until he reached an area that sounded hollow.

Eventually, he found it. Knocked and touched it to make sure. This was no ordinary door. It was a sliding panel so meticulously designed it could only be operated by some kind of biometric sensor from the outside.

He painstakingly searched the area but found nothing. No button, no lever, and no sensory device that read finger or eye prints.

If there was a way in, there had to be a way out. If only he could find it.

After hours of exploring the wall, he returned to his bed, exhausted. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell asleep.

He slept for a few moments, or it could have been hours. He woke with a start. Sirens rang loudly in his head and the blue light panels on the ceiling flashed red.

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