Three days after Max Tyrell got his "upgrade", they realized that it was a mistake keeping objects in the same room as him, especially when they found him knocked unconscious and his room in complete shambles, with a broken chair, a broken table and a bed upended with half the mattress on the floor. It would not do for them to loose their test subject, so Max ended up being moved to a room that was completely empty, a windowless room with cushioned floors and walls so that he would not hurt himself if flung about. Apparently, he also needed to be kept bound at all times in a straitjacket in case he hurt himself being flung about by his own uncontrollable powers.<br/><br/>It was no way to live, and it was depressing to realise that this might end up being the life he would lead from now on. Gone were the huge king-sized beds, the bedroom the size of a middle-class apartment, the marble flooring, the servants at his beck and call, the fine dining, the designer clothes, the parties, the flashy cars, the girls, the alcohol (no; he could not think of that now, especially since alcohol was all the more tempting in a time like this. Plus, there was no way they would be giving him alcohol; he did not even want to think of the effects of alcohol on his current self). All there was now were cushioned floors, walls and a straitjacket. And, of course, water and cafeteria gunk.<br/><br/>Of course, Max kept these images of splendor in his mind, clinging to them stubbornly, even though his brain told him that he would ruin them anyway. These glamorous flashbacks were the only thing he had now, the only way of sustaining him and keeping him sane throughout all this. It also did give him the drive to determine for himself that by nook or by crook, he would get himself back to that lifestyle. He would learn to control himself. He would not stay here for the rest of his life in some cushioned room. He hailed from one of the richest families in San Francisco. And soon, his time would come.