A/N: Once again this may trigger some people. I also apologize for the short chapter. It is important, but I didn't want to give away to much to soon.
His eyes fluttered open staring at the same crumbling brick walls, and dirty concrete floor. He had lost count of the days he had been there. At first he had tried putting tally marks on the wall, but eventually, he lost track of day and night. The light was dim and occasionally would flicker. The air smelt musty. The door was some sort of metal with a small slit on the bottom with a door. Once a day a small tray would be shoved inside with a peanut butter sandwich and a juice box.
Phil sighed as the tray was pushed through once again. He crawled towards the door and grabbed the tray. He was silent afraid of what would happen if he spoke. He hungrily gobbled up the sandwich and drank the juice box. Whoever this was was feeding him just enough to keep him alive, but he was still hungry. He could tell he had lost some weight. He felt weak and knew that there was no way he could fight his way out. He would have to be smart about this if he wanted to escape, but how? The door never opened. Only that small once eat the bottom, but it was only big enough for the food tray. He sat back thinking for a moment. That's what it hit him. He knew exactly how he would get out, or at least how he would try. He just had to get it right. He would only have one chance at this.