I awake in a pure white room, maybe made of iron. Its pitch dark. I lie on a cheap torn up bed. A shiver goes down my spine as the light above my head flickers on and off, illuminating the vines that hang from the ceiling. A young boy, maybe 15 or 16 years old, is sitting in the corner staring at the floor. He wears a white T-shirt and dark blue skinny jeans. His feet are bare, no shoes. His face is torn and beaten, and his hair makes my eyes widen, its pure white with maybe a few golden lines flowing down his bangs. The boy doesno t blink. Ito s as if heo s waiting for something, or some one. I sit up on the bed and as the springs squeak the boyo s eyes open even wider than they are, and he looks up at me. o Dannyo ¦o The boy whispers to no one in particular. o Your names Danny?o I ask, wondering if the boy is okay. He looks around the room as if he has never been here before, although I am certain he knows something about this strange environment we sit in. He blows his hair out of his eye and introduces himself. o My names Jasper. You are Daniel. You dono t remember anything do you?o His icy blue eyes focus on me.