He had taken the last of it. The last experiment, the last bit of neglect. He had taken the last of the abuse, both verbal and physical. He turned his weary, exhausted head toward the ceiling.

But there wasn’t one. He turned to look at the walls, realizing he could easily climb over it. He wasn’t going to do it today, though. No, he would wait until they had let him sleep and eat. Then he would have enough energy to escape.

A few weeks passed, and at last he was fed and rested appropriately. He grabbed the first handhold he found, then another, and a foothold, until he got over the edge. He heard the alarms sound, and he did what his instinct told him to. He ran, ran until he could no longer breathe, and his limbs collapsed beneath him.

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