Flora was looking at the cells, a feeling of apprehension trickling down her spine. She should have realized that a facility built to house psionics would require a wing like this, but it clashed so harshly with Sartonic's friendly resort-like image that it got her worrying. She was a test subject here, after all. What if her powers ever grew dangerous? Could she one day find herself in a cell down here?"
"Wotcha lookin' at?" sneered a rat when her eyes passed over him, making her jump. Unlike the others, he had a very oddly-designed metallic chair that he was resting in. It seemed to be made of spoons.
"Nothing, sorry!" stammered Flora, backing up.
The rat pressed himself up against the cell wall. "It's not polite, you know. These are our homes. Say you're sorry."
"Sorry!"
"I'll forgive you this once," he leered. "But only if you give me something. A pebble, a strip of tissue. Anything at all."
Flora shook her head anxiously, backing up quickly.
The rat observed Marita and the others. "Oh, I'm so lonely...All this old man craves is some material possessions. Could you spare me any objects at all?"