Somewhere in Scarran space, Sometime

Once again, Stark had sat in his cell for what seemed like forever. It might have been forever, for all he knew. Time wasn't such a fixed constant as people believed; Stark knew that well enough by now. It might have been days that he sat there, staring at the walls. It might have been weekens. Food still didn't come at regular intervals. He wasn't being starved. He was just always hungry. At least, with Scorpy, there had been food and water most of the time. And there had been the Chair. "The Chair the Chair remember the Chair..." Stark's voice trailed off as he realized what he was saying. First he missed food cubes, now he was almost wishing for an Aurora Chair to break up the tedium of endless arns in this cell. Maybe everyone was right and he'd been crazy all along. He felt crazy now.

The door opened then, interrupting thoughts of sanity or a lack thereof. This time it was food, or what passed for food here. And there was food, regularly even, for a few solar days after that. Stark was suspicious, but this was better than no food and so he ate.

( Inna box! (Finally?) )

Had Stark been conscious, he would have been muttering to himself about how he never should have left the island in the first place and how snow monsters and zombies were infinitely superior to Scarrans. But he wasn't conscious and so there was no muttering.


[Emo aliens do not get holiday breaks. Or something like that. At least he got a shiny box for the holiday?]