"Are you number one?"

"What? Currant bun? Speak up."
 Max sat back down in his comfy chair. He'd been held in the village for 3 days now, without rights or reason. He didn't know what this place was, or why he was here, but he felt sure that someone wanted information from him - every day, he would receive both the carrot and stick treatment; rigorous tortures to break his willpower, and sexual thrills from young women to lower his resolve. Awoken early and dressed in a thin robe that exposed his flesh degrading, he would be forced to swallow pill after pill and strip down. Then, he was lured into a bath and bathed by attractive girls dressed in skimpy whites. Afterwords, he was submitted to hours of mind-numbing boredness, forced to watch endless loops of countdown, or make one incomplete jigsaw with the other inmates. All this time, his captors would call him "Mr. Wright", insisting everything was "Mr. Wright's" - "Mr. Wright's pills," "A visit for Mr. Wright," "Mr. Wright's grandchildren" - all part of some diabolical scheme to confuse him, Max was sure.
 But for now, there seemed no escape - the door, heavily guarded by the receptionist, was locked at nights, and a large, burly nurse with fire in her eyes patrolled the floors looking for trouble. Only last week, old Mr. Johnson had passed away in his sleep. Or so they said. Besides, it was Bingo on a Sunday, and Roast beef for dinner.