When he got a hold - mostly - of his bearings, Finn tried to figure out who'd pushed him so hard. He definitely didn't expect the answer. A seven-foot person in shiny black armor stood at the door. He looked like a motorcyclist, given his glossy helmet and fancy armor. Well, the helmet was like a motorcyclist at least.

Finn noticed the empty place, looking around the room as Ash helped him to his feet. The place was still dimly lit, with a low ceiling and wooden floors. The only people who remained, excluding Finn and Ash, were a group, about a dozen or so, of people, dressed the same way as the motorcyclist.

They were all positioned around the room, standing stiff and ready to sight. The three kids from before stood at the back of the place, coming forward as the boy spoke.

"Look, we have no intention of hurting you. We really don't want to but if we have to - if it'll mean we can get you two to safety then we will. Got it?"

Neither Finn nor Ash spoke, both of them formulating their own escape plans in their heads. When they didn't answer, the boy gestured towards one of the guard-dudes stationed at the exit. The motorcycle-guy opened the door, revealing what looked like a car door on the other side.

All eyes turned back to Finn and Ash.

"You coming nicely, or what?"

"If you really think-"

Finn wasn't able to finish, something pierced his neck, a warm fluid filling him as the room around them started to blur and tilt. He tried to keep his eyes open and keep on his feet, but whatever was flooding his system had other plans. As the world caved in, he got one last glimpse before passing out. Somehow he'd ended up on the floor, his cheek pressed against the grimy wood floor.

A blurry figure was in front of him suddenly, bending down and pulling him up by his arm.

***

After feeling timeless and weightless, Finn found himself looking through the eyes of someone else. Was it happening now? No - it was a memory. Ash's memory.

She crouched over Finn, shaking him to try and wake him. A nasty-looking needle with a furry little end was sticking out of the side of his neck. Someone moved in the corner of her eye but it was too late.

Then he got blurry glimpses of what she'd seen- no wait - what he'd experienced; being lifted into the back of a van, a bumpy ride, a girl in the passenger seat looking back at him with a knowing expression. Every memory seemed like a dream though, distant and foggy. The last thing he remembered was being set carefully onto a bed.

More strange sleep. Then a dream finally came.

He was a sleek black bird with beady little eyes - a raven. He was sitting on the roof of a farmer's house, looking over a plant infested field. The place was beautiful. Blue hills rolled in the distance, trees lined the rim of the large property. Animals chattered around the farm, new babies getting used to their lives. The air smelled of sweet roses and strawberries.

He was so wrapped up in the place, he didn't notice the crow that had landed beside him.

Finn? Is that you?

A clear female voice rang through his head. It took way too long to realize it was Ash's.

Ash! How . . . but wait-

It's me! It's me! Why are we crows? And what are we doing . . . here . . . She looked around the place, her keen eyes picking out little details.

First I'd like to know where here is exactly.

N-nevermind. It is really you, isn't it?

He nodded - the task a lot harder as a bird. Ash fluttered in place, her feathers shivering as she did.

How long do you think it'll take 'till we wake up?

I don't know, an idea popped into his tiny crow head. Until then, follow me!

Not giving it a second thought, he jumped off the roof and spread his wings.

A few seconds later, they were soaring through the clouds. Even in the dream, he could feel the wind tug at his wings and feathers, boosting him forward every now and then. If crows could laugh, they were laughing. There wasn't a feeling like it - pure freedom, but it was cut short the moment something pulled them back to reality.

Finn woke with a start, the moment his eyes opened, he bolted upright, scaring a handful of people flocked around him. Cold, wet cloths slipped off his wrists onto his lap. He quickly noticed his surroundings in about two seconds. He was in a small, dark room with glossy wood floors and a window to his left - a door to his right. The teal green room reminded him of the old mansions he'd seen in movies when he was younger. There was a nightstand by his bed and a dresser at the wall across from him.

One of the people whispered something to another before running out of the room. There were about four people in all, most of them older looking, all of them dressed in fancy looking scrubs. One of them - an older man with red hair - was sitting at his bedside, mixing some kind of liquidy-paste in a wooden bowl. Finn knit his eyebrows, glancing back and forth between the bowl, the people, and the man. He had a bushy red mustache that stopped at his upper lip.

"Where am I? Who are you? What am I doing here? Wh-"

"I'd suggest you save your questions until they can be answered." The man only glanced once at Finn as he spoke, a smile played across his mouth. The man's knowing smile aggravated Finn, who clenched his jaw to keep himself from saying something he'd regret. Doing something he'd regret though, he didn't mind.

He nodded at the man's remark before surprising the group by jumping off the bed and pushing past them to the doorway. For a split second, he was sure he now had the upper hand, then his legs wobbled and he collapsed to the floor.

The small group started helping him up but the mustache man stopped them, causing Finn to fall to the ground a second time.

The man chuckled, bothering Finn even more. He got into a sitting position, ready for the people to help him back up.

"They won't help you, young sir. If you want to stand, you must do it yourself. Oh, and when you do, make sure you come back into the room this time."

Yeah right, he thought, grabbing onto the wall for help as he struggled to get off the floor. By the time he got into a standing position, his whole face was red with effort and anger. He waited, glaring at the older man, who waved away the others.

"Now, where are you going to go from here?"

"Away from you. Now, thanks for the help but-" he'd spun around, looking down the hallway in the direction the others had gone, taken a step forward, and fell to the floor.

He could feel the man repressing a laugh.

"Are you going to help me or not?"

"Oh - I am helping you. Help comes in ways you will not want or understand sometimes, young sir."

Great. He pulled himself off the ground again, his body shaking from the suddenly laborious effort, and turned to the hallway. This time, this time for sure!

After a few painful minutes of trying to make it to the exit of the hallway, he gave up, too tired to be angry at the old man.

"Are you finished yet?"

Finn said nothing as he sat on the ground, staring into the room.

"Now, come on in and sit yourself down so I can help you. By the way, you must be starving."

Finn hated how when the man mentioned it, his stomach did feel empty. He really wanted to get as far away from the room - and the old man - as possible, but hunger and soreness won out, urging him back into the room. He pulled himself to his feet one last time, gripping onto the same spot in the wall that he had so many times already.

He willed his legs not to shake as he took a step, leaning on the door handle for help, but they shook anyway as if they were taunting him. From the door handle to the next wall, to the end of the bed, then into the bed itself. He sat facing the man though, bent on making himself feel less like a helpless baby.

"That's better, isn't it?" the man stated it more than asked. He held out the bowl, waiting for Finn to take it.

"Now, drink that and it should help with the wrist burns."

"There's no way I'm drinking-"

Not more than two minutes later, the bowl was being pushed against Finn's mouth, making him gag as the thick liquid trickled down his throat. It tasted mysteriously sweet and metallic at the same time - which was not a good mix.

Someone appeared in the doorway, distracting the man as Finn half coughed, half spat the gooey mixture out. He only heard the last part of the sentence.

"... is going on here? Sir Albert, I thought we talked about this . . ."

"You thought right, we did." The old man - Sir Albert - turned back to Finn, who pressed himself as hard as he could against the mattress to avoid the nasty goo. The man at the door told him off, letting out a chuckle. Sir Albert reluctantly moved away from Finn, handing the bowl to the man at the door.

"Just make sure he takes this, please," Finn pulled himself up, regretting ever waking up from his wonderful dream. When Sir Albert was gone, the man stepped into the room, standing before Finn. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the man's face.

He had salt and pepper hair, looked about sixty, and had green-grey eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt that read I EAT PIZZA IN MY SLEEP, a beaded brown bracelet, and tan beach shorts. He looked - minus the outfit and smile - exactly like the creepy doctor dude back at the hospital. Finn pulled himself nervously back onto the bed. The man's smile wavered when he noticed how Finn acted.

"Who are you, really?"

"What do you mean? Ah, nevermind. You may call me Grean."

"What are you doing here - I don't understand."

"The real question is what are you doing here, isn't it?"

Finn glanced around the room at his comment. When he returned his focus to the man, Grean was already staring intently at him - eyes narrowed. The wheels seemed to be spinning in his head - then something clicked and he leaned back a little.

"You mistake me for my brother, don't you? Yes, you must. Well, I'm happy to tell you, you are safe from him here."

Finn didn't say anything, his eyes flicking towards the door. Grean drew attention to it by turning around to see what he had glanced at.

"You can try to leave if you like, but I'm guessing you've already learned your lesson about that."

"Yeah, I have. Why can't I walk anyway? And where's Ash?"

"Slow down, take a breath."

But Finn was on a roll.

"Where are we exactly and what do you want with us? How much do you know? Do you have anything to do with the people from before? W-"

"Enough, Finntainian."

"It's Finn."

The man - Grean - spoke calmly, but with power. His welcoming smile was gone. Finn glanced nervously at the bowl in his hands, and the smile returned. In fact, he even chuckled.

"Oh, don't worry about this. Sir Albert has a hard time knowing when to stop. I don't suppose you want any after . . . anymore."

Finn shook his head, closing his eyes as if it would somehow get the thought of the taste to go away. Grean set the bowl on the nightstand and walked over to the door.

"Well, are you coming or not?"