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Don't Fence Me In

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He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. He knew only white walls and a stretch of glass and hunger. Fuck, he was starving.

Immediately upon waking from being tasered, he realized that he was locked up. Trapped. When he tried to touch the glass in front of him, he was deterred by a painful, shocking feeling.

And that wasn’t all. Something else was different, he wasn’t sure exactly what, but he felt like he was missing something.

Maybe it was just the hunger.

Maybe not.

Once he’d regained his senses, he’d started pacing back and forth inside his little cell, trying to figure a way out. Any way out. He could feel the panic closing in on him, forcing him to instinctively take deep shaking breaths that he didn’t physically need.

Spike couldn’t take being closed in like this. Especially not knowing how he’d gotten there, who’d captured him, where he was. The disorientation alone was enough to have him raging, seething with anger and frustration.

Eventually, though, he grew listless from lack of nourishment. Even while everything inside him wanted to fight and curse and kick and punch, he was just too damn weak.

Lying on the floor, even his desperation for blood couldn’t overcome his claustrophobia. Who were these fuckers? What did they want from him, and what the hell made them think they could keep him locked up like this?

Did they want to see him starve?

Did they want to do some kind of experiments like those Nazis had done so many years ago on his kind?

Was it some secret government agency? Military? Underground? Rogue?

Trying to answer all the questions was the only thing that could keep him sane knowing he was trapped here.

The space was twelve by ten, maybe. Barely enough room for him to pace before the hunger had sunk him to the floor.

Answering all the questions, though…that’s what he’d need to do in order to get out.

He had to get out.

All of a sudden, though, a sound caught his attention.

Opening his eyes, a blood bag was dropped down from a ceiling tile.

Ceiling tile, maybe a way to escape, he thought, even as he grabbed for the bag.

Just as he was about to rip it open, though, he was warned.

Thank goodness for whoever that person (vampire, demon, monster, whatever) was.

That information was his ticket.

When someone finally came for him, he was ready, lying still on the floor pretending to have been drugged by the tainted blood.

This was his chance. No way he wasn’t going to take it.

Spike was not one to take being imprisoned without a hell of a fight.

And yeah, it was a hell of a fight.

But now he was out, and there were still questions to be answered.