Michael opens the heavy door to his personal quarters, also known as the storage room.Deep in the abandoned sewer system, he enjoys the company of the rusty cogs and broken vials, robot heads and many other things no one wants more than he enjoys the presence of his fellow humans above. The room itself lacks any source of lightning, with a snap of his fingers, Michaels' worn coat is being shredded to pieces by an invisible force and each part transforms into a luminescent bug, the swarm following him obediently as he walks.<br/><br/>Under his gaze, the room shatters like glass, each shard levitating into blackness.<br/>The noise created by his finger snap resonates in the darkness, each fragment responding and rearranging themselves, creating walls, floors and furniture...This time, however, they do not reflect the image of a vile and minuscule storage room. Michael's eyes see an elegant dormitory, fit for a king. A human one.<br/><br/>Mahogany wood floors, cream-colored walls, rare paintings protected by the splendid frames that embrace the works of art.<br/>Book-cases and a sofa with soft cushions, an actual lamp and a tea service are in the far back of the room.<br/><span style="font-style: italic">La piece du resistance</span>, the bed. Big enough to allow two people to stretch and still squeeze in a third, skinny fellow, with satin sheets and silk pillows, a soft and welcoming red-colored blanket gently laying on top of them.<br/><br/>Michaels shrugs and repels the illusion, he turns his back to this room and gazes at the disgusting and wet "ruins", like always, it is empty and silenced, if not for the constant reminding of "Vikki" one that lives here might as well just forget about the world outside.<br/><br/>The boy picks a direction and starts walking, his light steps echoing as he marches.