My initial panic had subsided, replaced by desperate cunning. I knew my best chance to escape required me to cooperate, at least for the moment. I forced myself to watch passively as the man who brought me my food and changed my bedpan went through the rigmarole of changing into a hazmat suit before wheeling a trolley into the inner chamber, then repeating the whole process in reverse. The most he ever said was, Good morning, Mr Beche, or Good evening, Mr Beche, no matter what I said or asked.

By my estimation, three days passed like this before they sent the shrink in to talk to me.

On the morning of the fourth day, someone new arrived with my breakfast. He wore a dark suit that looked curiously old fashioned, with a narrow tie and a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a button-down white shirt; he didn’t bother with the hazmat suit. Neither did the burly individual accompanying him – the same man whom I’d attempted to decapitate by throwing a plastic tray at him. This time, when the inner chamber door opened, I detected no sigh of air indicating a pressure differential between the two chambers. My quarantine, then, was over.

He wheeled a trolley inside and wordlessly handed me my tray of porridge and coffee, a look of warning in his eyes. The other man entered carrying a plastic chair in one hand and a briefcase in the other. He placed the chair near the bottom of my bed before taking a seat and opening the briefcase on his lap.

‘Guess I’m safe to be around after all, huh?’ I asked.

‘There is no EVE virus any more, Mr Beche,’ he said. ‘We had to take precautions, of course, until we were absolutely sure. But there’s no trace of the virus in your bloodstream. In fact, all the evidence points to the EVE virus being extinct.’

‘But it was airborne . . .’

‘Not any more,’ the man explained. ‘Not even in a dormant form. We checked.’

I stared at him, thunderstruck, still far from sure whether he was lying to me or not. ‘Who are you, exactly?’

‘My name is Doctor Sykes,’ the man replied. ‘I can imagine how frustrating it must be for you, being kept in the dark like this. I know it doesn’t make any sense right now, but, rest assured, there are good reasons for it.’

‘There’s no good damn reason to keep me chained up like this.’

‘You’ve been violent,’ he said. ‘It’s for our protection.’

‘Why can’t I see out of the window?’

‘All in good time.’ He held up a card. ‘Now, tell me. What’s the first thing this makes you think of?’

I stared at the Rorschach card held in his hands and laughed out loud. ‘You absolutely have to be shitting me.’

‘Mr Beche, please. This won’t take long.’