All right, this is a work in progress, and there are really no chapters, but what I post this time seemed like a natural stopping place in the story, even though it is a cliffhanger. So, tune in next time, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel! And give me CC, okay? It might turn out pretty long, so that's another good excuse. Anyway, here it is, or at least, what I've written of it.

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It started innocently enough. But then everything spiraled out of control and out of imagining afterward. I still ask myself, �How could such an innocent, harmless act lead to such misery?� And still, I haven�t found the answer. Nor have I learned where these people come from and why they do what they do. Maybe it�s political correctness gone completely berserk, maybe it�s the [insert abused subculture here]-rights movement advanced to the very limits of believability and plausibility. It could be either, both, or neither, I don�t know. But enough speculating, let me get down to what actually happened, what actually is.
One morning, I got up. Nothing special there, six billion people do it every morning. After I awakened, I looked around my bedroom, reveling in what was mine. It was the first day in my new apartment, and I had bought some new stuff to furnish it the day before. I had bought a desk and a TV stand, cheap ones. They looked like white pine but if you tapped them, you could clearly tell that this was not the case. They were lying. They was made of plastic with a wooden pattern imprinted on it, not actual wood. On top of my untruthful desk lay a computer, a nice one. It was all black and if you looked at the CPU head on, you couldn�t tell that it was anything but a smooth black box, you couldn�t see the assorted drives jutting out. The monitor was also black, very black. It ran everything on the market with breathtaking fluidity despite the fact that had owned it now for two years. This would explain why I had the cheap desk. My TV was not, however, of the finest quality of the day. It was 25" and I had owned it for five years. The only reason that I had the cheap stand is that, hey, I only have X amount of money.
After wallowing in my new possessions, I got up out of bed, throwing the dark green sheets back casually. Still bleary-eyed, I shambled into the bathroom and took a brief shower. Feeling refreshed and awake enough for the day ahead, I walked over to my closet clad in a dark blue bathrobe and picked out what I was going to wear. I took a pair of briefs from the bottom of the closet and slipped them on discreetly, despite the fact that no one was around. I pulled a pair of work pants of their hanger and slipped them on. Being a secretary, (yes, it�s undignified, but it�s money) the interviewer had told me I needed nice clothes, black pants and a white shirt, in particular. When trying to get my shirt off its hanger, I accidentally got it tangled up with the hangers for my other work shirts. They were stuck in a way that none of the shirts would come off. For the first couple minutes, I was calm in my attempts to release the entangled hangers, moving them to what looked like the solution but coming up at dead ends every time. After that, I just started moving them randomly, but quickly. After that didn�t pan out, I rushed to the kitchen and got a knife so I could maybe cut the hangers loose. After 15 minutes of this not working � and time running short until I had to leave for work � I grabbed a hammer out of one of my kitchen drawers. I pounded one of the hangers with all my might to no avail. Sweaty and fed up with the whole situation, I went back into the kitchen, put the hammer back, and opened up the refrigerator for some breakfast. Then I heard a knock on the door.
I wondered who could possibly be visiting me this early in the morning. I shouted, �Just a minute!� so that I could start to fix breakfast before I let them in. It was then that everything lost its grip on reality. The door was kicked in hard enough to make the hinges break and the door fall to the floor. Three men rushed in clad in riot gear, stamping on the floor and making quite a racket. All three of them were carrying guns, one with a shotgun, and they had them pointed at me. I screamed and leapt back, forgetting about my breakfast. I stood there, trembling from head to toe and scared out of my mind. What have I done? I wondered.
�Freeze!� shouted the person with the shotgun. �Put your hands behind your head, you�re coming with us!�
I complied, moving my arms as quickly as I humanly could, but still asked, my voice shaking so I was barely comprehensible, �What have I done? Why are you people here?�
�You know what you�ve done,� said one of the others, leveling their gun even more menacingly at me.
�No, really, I don�t,� I replied, some of the fear gone out of my voice, replaced by pure confusion, which made it sound the same, if not worse.
�First class assault and battery on a hanger, that�s what.�
I was stunned. I stopped quivering and stood there, motionless except for my eyelids, which were twitching uncontrollably. Assault on a hanger? I thought. It ran through my mind, over and over, getting louder and louder every time, the stress being placed on the �hanger� more prominently with each repetition. I thought I was going to pass out, but doing so would result in me lowering my hands, something I didn�t dare do. So I stood there, paralyzed, for several moments, each one seeming like eternity.
When I finally came to, so to speak, the fear had gone completely out of me, replaced by incredulousness. All of this didn�t seem real, didn�t seem like it could possibly be real. I laughed, a short, incredible chuckle.
�What�s so funny, boy?� one of the officers yelled.
�Since when is assault on a hanger a crime?� I asked, a tone of incredulousness ruling my voice.
�So you don�t deny that you assaulted a hanger?�
�No.�
The officer holding the shotgun looked briefly at his comrades, as if not believing what I had just said. �All right, boy, we�re going down to the station, so we can get that on tape.� He looked at the cop to his right. �Frank, cuff him.�
�I�ll come peacefully,� I said.
�We�re going to cuff you anyway,� said the one called Frank while moving quickly to my side and pulling out the handcuffs. He slapped them on my wrists and pushed me towards the door.
The officer with the shotgun, who was clearly the leader, grabbed me by the chain between the handcuffs and pulled me to the stairwell. I cooperated, but he still tugged me along, down the three flights of stairs, out through the lobby, and out onto the street. The sun was just coming up, so I could barely see. They pulled me to a flat-white car with no markings and shoved me in the back seat. I couldn�t see out the windows, they were tinted so that you could see in but not out. Then the car started moving. We drove for a while, maybe half an hour or two, I couldn�t really be sure. When we stopped, the one called Frank pulled me out of the car. I looked around for a second, trying to get my bearings. All I could tell is that we were out in the middle of nowhere. The only thing in sight was a building that looked uncannily like a gigantic sock, complete with hem lines near the top.
The leader was standing with his back to me and looking at the peculiar building. He sighed and said, �Ah, good old HQ.�
�This is you headquarters?� I said derisively. �It looks like a huge sock.�
He turned around abruptly and angrily shouted, �So what, boy? You got a problem with that, boy?� He walked over to me and punched me in the gut, making me double over and knocking the wind out of me. �That�s what you get for insulting the HQ, boy.� He turned around again and started to walk away. �Steve, get this boy.� he spat the last word.
The other officer walked up to me and grabbed my cuffs, leading me on the same way as before. �Don�t you ever insult the HQ, kid. Especially not in front of him.� He pointed at the leader.
We walked a short distance until we reached the entrance. Steve put his hand up to a seemingly ordinary piece of the white wall. It flashed briefly and the door opened. We went inside and was instantly blinded. The place was completely white, like a place where they make microchips. The multitude of lights glaring from the ceiling gleamed off every surface. I screamed and tried to cover my eyes with my hands, but Steve held them firmly in place. I closed my eyes, but that barely helped. The light seemed like it was coming right through my eyelids. I looked down, and that helped a little, but not much. So I walked, head down, until Steve stopped. I opened my eyes at this point.
Much to my surprise, everything wasn�t white. In fact, it was red, blood red. There were flecks of dark blue that covered every wall. I was pushed into a wooden � actual wood � chair on one side of a circular table and my cuffs were removed. I sat silently with my arms folded. Steve was there, and it seemed like he was going to interrogate me, seeing as there was no way out visible. He sat down in the chair opposite me. For a few moments, he didn�t say anything. He just looked at me. No, it was more of a glare than a look, per say. He seemed to be shooting knives from his eyes. After a couple minutes of hating me silently, he began.
�All right, kid, let�s begin.� He cleared his throat. �Did you or did you not attack that hanger?�
�Yes, I did.�
He seemed pleased at this. �And why did you do this?�
�Well, I was trying to get a shirt for work. Somehow, all my hangers got all caught up in one another so I couldn�t get any of my shirts.� I paused for a second. �At first, I just tried to pull them apart. After that didn�t work, I got desperate. So I got a knife, and then a hammer, and tried to break one so I could release the others.�
He seemed to ponder this for a second. His eyes grew blank, devoid of any emotion, and he seemed to stare through me � or around, or something strange and disconcerting like that. His entire body went completely rigid, like someone completely taken over by fright. It was quite an odd sight to behold. After a few minutes of this peculiar behavior, he suddenly seemed to reanimate, to come back to life. He blinked once or twice, then said, �So, you were trying to save the group by destroying the one?�
�Uh, yes, I suppose, if that�s the way you want to put it,� I stammered, my mind still trying to work out what I had just seen.
�I see,� he said very slowly, as if he was testing each word to see if it was correct. He paused briefly, Then yelled, �Did you get that, chief?�
I looked around, trying to figure out which wall was the two-way mirror. I didn�t see any light coming out from underneath any of them. I wondered how they could be monitoring me, because they had to be. You see that sort of thing all the time on the crime dramas on TV. I even looked at the ceiling, even though doing so would be a huge waste of space.
Then, unexpectedly, and apparently to no one, my interrogator uttered, �Good. Hey, you wanna go get something to drink after work?� There was a short pause. �All right, maybe some other time, then.� Another pause. �All right, all right, I will. You don�t have to yell.�
I looked around again, just to make sure that no one was there. �Who were you talking to?� I asked.
�The chief. Didn�t you hear me say �Did you get all that, chief?��
�Yeah. . .but there�s no one around.�
�So? That doesn�t mean that he can�t see and hear you.� He paused. �Well, you�re going to spend the time until your trial in the cells.�
I was aghast. I shook my head vigorously in disbelief. I wondered what was going to happen to me. I thought, briefly, about how mad the boss was going to be when I didn�t show up for work for who knows how long. I wondered what was going to happen to all my stuff and my apartment. So many things ran through my mind all at once, each one demanding attention. I thought I was going to black out. I think that, just for a few seconds, I did. I clutched my head and tried to scream, but nothing came out, even though there was a terrible wailing echoing inside my head.
Then � they must have gassed me, because all that went away at once � I calmed down. �How long will it be until my trial?� I inquired calmly, like the weight of the world and several others had just been lifted from my shoulders. And, in my mind, it had.
�A week.�
�Hmmm. . .and how much time will I get if I plead guilty?�
�Probably five years in a special prison for people like you.� He spat this last word, etching it with contempt.
�Five years?! What will happen to all my stuff? What will happen to my job?�
�You should have thought about all that before you acted, kid.�
Even though I knew it was futile, I still pled with Steve. �I didn�t know that I was doing anything wrong! I was just trying to get ready for work! What about a plea of insanity?�
�Same thing, probably,� he replied casually.
�What?! Shouldn�t I go to a psychiatric ward or something?�
�That�s for the judge to decide, kid.� He paused and stood up. Come with me, kid, we�re going down to your new home.� He grabbed my arm, squeezing it viciously, and dragged me across the room, back through the room with too much light, and into an elevator. We went up to the top floor, got off, and walked up two flights of stairs. There was the cell block, clad from top to bottom, inside and out, in bright, eye-scorching pink.
I covered my eyes with my one free hand and blotted out the monstrous color as best I could. Even so, I repeatedly screamed, �Ahhhhhhh!!! My eyes! This is inhuman!� and acted like I was dying.
Steve walked on, unfazed, yelling �Ah, shut up, kid!� at random intervals. He then threw me into a cell and slammed the horizontal iron bar door shut right as I tried to escape.
A voice came from behind me. �Tryin� t� �scape? Don� bother, �s imposs�ble .�
I whirled around to meet my cell mate. He was a short albino man, but the color of the walls and floors made him look a barely perceptible shade of pink. �Yeah, well, I�m gonna make it out of here one way or another. I can�t stand all this pink.� I spat this last word, trying as best I could to convey the intense disgust I was feeling.
�You get used t� it.� He paused. �So, whatta you in for?�
�I tried to break a hanger. What about you?�
�Broke one a� m� kid�s toys aft�r I stepped on it for the forty-thousan�th time.�
Even though I dreaded the question somewhat, I still had to ask it. �How long ago was that?�
He looked up at the ceiling for a second, as if he was in deep thought, and sighed as if he were recalling the good old days. �Musta been �bout a year an� a half ago. In fact, I thin� it will be th�s Tuesday.�
This was the essential question that I really dreaded asking.�And how long did they tell you had until your trial?�
He furrowed his brow at this. �I thin� they said �bout a week. They tol� me over �n over that m� trial had been �moved back.� But they was lyin�. I didn�a know that then, so I had �ope. Then, aft�r a month or so, I lost �ope.�
�Oh, man, they told me that I had a week, too. I am going to rot here, just like you.� I instantly regretted saying those last three words, so I quickly added, �No offense or anything.� I didn�t want to alienate the person I was more than likely going to spend many, many days with.
��s all right.�
�So, do they feed us here, or what? I�m starving.�
�Yeah, a coupla meals a day. �Nough t� get by. It oughta be comin� soon.�
And so it did. A few minutes later, a tray with some matter that looked like food was shoved through the bars. There were no utensils, so I ate with my hands. Sure, it vaguely looked like food, but it didn�t taste that way. In fact, it didn�t taste like anything, not even bland. It was filling, though � I couldn�t have eaten another bite even if had wanted to. I turned to my cell mate and asked, �What is this stuff?�
�Dunno, I think it�s s�pose ta be vitamins or sometin�. Don�t taste like much, do it?�
�It doesn�t taste like anything. It�s like eating anesthetic, or something.�
The pale man said nothing, just looked at me, then looked at his plate, and then fell asleep suddenly. But it didn�t seem like sleep, it was more like he had just gone unconscious � had blacked out. This worried me immensely, but only for a few seconds, because then I also passed out.

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Well, there it is, the unofficial Part 1. Remeber, I want CC (and I don't mean Chrono Cross).