It turned out to be easy finding Mike. We had made it to the end of the corridor, heading in the direction of the cafeteria, when Mike happened by.

"Hey Mike," I said.

He looked to be in a bit of a hurry. He stopped and looked at George and I. I noticed then that Mike had dark rings under his eyes and his face looked pale; he was looking rough.

"What's up?" he said.

"George and I were wondering if it would be possible to get a TV?" I said.

Mike shook his head, "Nah," he said, "You're not the first to ask. It's just not going to work bringing TVs down here."

"Okay," I said, "No worries."

"What about stuff to draw with?" said George, "Like paper and pencils?"

"Yeah we can make that work," said Mike, "We've set up a tablet near the cafeteria where you can put requests like this forward, so you don't have to ask me each time."

Mike rubbed his face as if to try and wake himself up.

"Are you okay?" I said.

Mike looked like he was about to give an answer but he instead sucked in a big breath and sighed. I had seen this kind of stress before back when my Dad lost his job and was looking for work anywhere he could get it.

A moment passed and Mike mumbled, "See you later," and left.

"Shame about no TV," I said to George.

"I didn't think they would let us anyway," he said, "But it didn't hurt to ask."

He gestured with a thumb in the direction of the cafeteria.

"Want to get something to eat?" he said.

"Sure," I said.

I wasn't particularly hungry but if I wasn't exercising or laying around in B-9 there wasn't much else to do. We started heading in that direction together.

"I think Mike said it would be another week or so before we can call our families," I said.

"Yeah," said George.

"Is your family going to be worried about you being here?" He said.

That seemed like an odd question but I tried not to show it.

"Yeah," I said, "My Mum was pretty upset the night I was evacuated. She's probably out of her mind with worry wondering what's going on with me right now. You?"

"My family really won't care much," said George.

I stopped in my tracks.

"What do you mean?" I said.

George realised he must have said something too personal without considering he might have to talk about it more. He shrugged and hugged himself.

"I mean if it was my little sister that got evacuated they would be really alarmed," he said, "But not with me. I don't think they'll care that much."

"Why though?" I said, "Shouldn't your parents be worried about you?"

George smiled as if hearing a bad joke.

"No," he said, "At worst I think they're going to be angry with the Pied Piper's for taking me away from working at the Chinese takeaway business we run."

"Your family owns a Chinese takeaway?" I said.

"Yeah," said George, "Very stereotypical I know."

"Do you want to keep going?" He said, "I'm getting kind of hungry."

I nodded and we kept going towards the cafeteria. Once there, we queued up and got our food. Somewhat ironically today's lunch included egg-fried rice. I got a large helping as well as fries and some dumplings and my usual can of cola.

We sat and ate in silence for a while. I wondered how Tiffany was doing in the exercise area. I hadn't seen Blain or Mikayla in a while. Daniel had been working as usual behind the counter busily going about his duties. There was no sign of Sophie.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

George scratched his wrist. To get to the rest of where his left arm itched he pulled up his left overall sleeve. For a brief moment I caught sight of a large scar, most likely one from being burned. I made an effort for George's sake to pretend like I hadn't seen it and sipped my can of cola.

"How old is your sister?" I said.

"Fourteen," said George.

"At least she's out of the danger range," I said.

"Yeah," said George.

"Do you get along with your sister?" I said.

George smirked, "You're a very nosy person, aren't you?" He said.

"Yeah," I said, "Sorry - don't worry I'll mind my own business."

"It's okay," said George.

He sat forward, resting his elbows on the table.

"I don't really get along with my sister anymore," he said.

"Why's that?" I said.

George squirmed in his seat a bit as if he weren't fully in control of it.

"My parents spoil her a lot and they're not really nice to me. I know it sounds so horrible for me to say. I shouldn't bad mouth my parents like this," he said.

"Are your parents the reason you get these panic attacks?" I said.

George considered the question then nodded slowly. He sat back, hugging himself so tightly it was as if he were confined within an invisible straightjacket.

"I didn't used to get them," he said, "But then I went to uni and in my first year I was hanging out with some friends; we were all part of the board game society. I told them a few private things about how my parents treat me. Stuff like how my parents would make me sit in a cardboard box all day at the Chinese takeaway."

"Wait what?" I said, "They would make you sit in a box. All day?"

"Yeah," said George, "And if I left the box my Dad would yell at me and beat me until I went back."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It sounded almost too evil to be true. The seriousness on George's face however and the way he told me what he was telling me left no doubt in my mind that he was telling me the truth. Or, at the very least, what he believed to be the truth.

"My mum would stay out of it," he said, "But she never tried to make my Dad stop."

"What about your sister? Did they do the same to her?" I said.

"Never," said George, "Just me. They treat her like a princess."

I can see why you like Tily-Anne's Cinderella adaptations so much, I thought, but decided to keep that thought to myself.

"But why?" I said, "Why did your Dad do that sort of thing to you in particular?"

George shrugged.

"I think he wanted to toughen me up. Make me more manly. He was raised in a rough part of Malaysia. I'm the only son, and the oldest, so I'm expected to achieve a lot and make the family look good."

"None of that's an excuse to treat you like that," I said, "Like, at all."

"I know," said George, "But I didn't even know my childhood was weird until I went to university and talked about it to my friends. I thought it was normal but then everyone told me that it really was not normal. The panic attacks started around that time."

"So you were at university recently?" I said.

"Yeah," said George, "I'm in my first year doing an animation degree. It's great, a lot of pressure and the classes are so dog-eat-dog with all the group clique dynamics; but I love it."

George took a sip of his own can of cola and then said, "The reason I don't get along with my sister is because she's never tried to stick up for me. Not once. She knows she gets treated better and she's afraid that if she sticks up for me they'll treat her badly too."

"She's a coward," I said.

George raised his hands in a 'What can we do about it?' gesture.

"Does your sister like Tily-Anne movies?" I said.

"Oh yeah," said George, "But not as much as me."

I nodded. Things were making a little more sense to me about George. I glanced away and spotted the tablet on the wall off to the side just beyond the cafeteria. A huge queue of teenagers were lined up waiting for their turn to use it.

"Did you want to join the queue?" I said.

"Nope," said George, "I'll do it later tonight when everybody has gone to bed. There shouldn't be a queue then."

"Good thinking," I said.

I brought my hand to my chin and felt the prickle of facial hair there.

"I'll put in an order for shaving razors," I said, "I'm in need of a trim."

"Me too," said George, though he only had the faintest hairs on his upper lip.

I checked my Meter. It was still showing a steady green. C'mon, I thought, go orange already. I smirked, realising now that I wanted the light to change to orange now; a complete reversal of how I felt about it before. It was then I got an idea. I looked to George's Meter; it was showing an identical steady green.

"You know," I said, "I have a theory about this place."

George nodded, giving me his full attention.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm starting to think the whole blowing up thing; the spontaneous-combustions, I think that was all made up."

"Really?" said George, "Why would they do that?"

"Well," I said, but before I could finish what I intended to say I spotted George's Meter. It had just turned orange.

Gotcha, I thought. There was no way it was a coincidence. Someone somewhere was listening to our conversation and had decided it was time for one of us to go to the exercise area.

"Oh bother," said George, noticing the change in his Meter, "Looks like I'm up. And right after lunch too. Eugh."

George stood and rubbed his stomach.

"Catch you later," he said.

"Alright, mate," I said, "See ya."

George gave me a little wave then hurried off in the direction of the exercise area. I remained sat where I was for a good while thinking about all the horrible implications of my latest discovery.