It had been a week. A week of solitary confinement. His captors, whoever they were, said nothing. Food was shipped into his cage. A gilded cage to be sure. Deacon recognized the room simply enough as being part of the resort he had been working on. He could see every minor imperfection in the room, not due to any power granted to him, but because it was his hands that built it, and so many similar suites. He knew where the monitors were, even the hidden ones because he was the one who installed the wiring for them. Someone, something had taken him and taken over this place. Terrorists? Criminals? Crazy cultists? He had no idea who could have done this. All he was certain was, if they wanted to trap him here... then here was the last place he wanted to be.<br/><br/>Over the days he had worked with what he had at hand. Just his utility knife, cutting at the drywall and texture, cutting through a place he knew had no blocking between the studs, no wires, someplace out of sight of the cameras. There was no telling what they took over. He had been cutting a hole, finally reaching the other sheet rock panel. His blade dulled out days ago, he kept slicing at it, feeling weak from hunger. He had been unwilling to eat the food they brought, not trusting the unidentified captors. He had been passing out, his hands trembled as he cut away as quietly as he could at the wall. He had no idea who was in the suite next door, he didn't want to risk alarming them, finding something truly horrible waiting for him on the other side.<br/><br/>But he couldn't stay here. While the Almighty Ones plotted his destiny, he cut his way towards something else with a knife that would have had a tough time dealing with butter now. He was almost out, his exhaustion and hunger staved off at this point only by the knowledge with just a little more effort he might finally get some answers. Or even a way to escape.