• The change in air is what Gray first noticed. From the stale, hospital-yuck smell of the hall, the two were soon taking in fresh fragrant breaths. About them, trees threw up their slender, spreading arms to block out the warming light of the sun, and Gray did a double-take to verify there was, indeed, a sun.

    “All fake,” said Twelve, yawning.

    Through the middle of the room, a stream ran over clear chunks of quartz. It made a tranquil gurgling sound as it flowed, blending with the lilting cries of songbirds, which flitted, above their heads, to and from each others’ nests.

    Twelve padded over to the scaly base of a thick, pink-leafed tree and wearily sat down.

    “The room is quite a bit smaller than it looks. And, you’ll love this – it’s because of television! Millions of tiny, excellent televisions, which coat the walls and ceiling to create, well, this.” He gestured, somewhat grandly, at the comfortably wooded valley which seemed to stretch before them.