The click of the beaded chain on the light fixture woke Duke from his slumber. Soft blue-tinted light filtered through the translucent lid of his Rubbermaid® prison, faintly illuminating row after row of cells made from clear plastic and cardboard. A personnel file covered the rear wall of each cell, but Duke ignored the one in front of him. He’d read the damn thing innumerable times, and nobody gave a fuck about Snow Job anyway.
The light soon roused his fellow inmates, and a cacophony of madness howled through the container. Firefly was haggling with an invisible employer again, the price of his services steadily declining. Rock ‘n Roll gibbered an incessant stream of random heavy metal lyrics, and Destro begged for death in whispers, having ruined his vocal chords futilely raging at the walls. Duke remained silent, but he fared no better. After an eternity entombed in plastic and near constant darkness, none of them were even remotely sane.
Duke instead awaited the inevitable—for the beaded chain to click once again and return the interminable night. When it did, Duke swore he could hear his .45 laughing from where it hung, suspended in plastic, just beyond his reach.