"When Am I Going to Go Home?"

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In a trial, you have to be aware, alert, and attentive. Words that Jake continues to live by. Day by day, the entire thing repeats. Campfire, trial, rest, and do it again. It didn't help that he knew there wasn't a true escape from this hell he and his friends lived in. Not that it mattered anymore. After the first handful of sadistic events, the Korean gave up trying to get others to listen. As long as he knew it was true, hem didn't need others to listen. What did matter? Him keeping his sanity. Even now, he sits at the fire, only speaking when spoken to. And does that help?

No.

Jake still finds himself picking at his skin, pulling his hair when he's alone. Even the occasional crying. He wished he could leave. Could go back to his solitude. But, alas, he's stuck here. With the friends he's made, with the regret he carries from not saying what he should've back home, and with the pain in his body from every trial he's lost.

"When am I going to go home?" Is the one question on his mind. It seems that's the only thing that's left unanswered.

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