It was a stark room. The walls were molded from dark concrete. The floor was made of the same concrete as the walls, as was the ceiling from which hung an assortment of lamps. Those lamps were, along with a digital thermometer mounted by the door, the room's only appointments.

"So what are we doing here?" Jrue Holiday asked. The twelve men were seated on the concrete benches that jutted out from three of the room's walls, dressed in their mesh shorts and tank tops. It was warm, but not inhospitably so.

"They told us we had to face the heat tonight," said Spencer Hawes.

"Did they? So why are we here?" Holiday asked.

"Said we had to face the heat away from home."

"I see."

The digits on the thermometer began to rise as the overhead lamps began to click. 80....82...84...

Hawes looked up and saw what were once garden-variety fluorescent lamps turning orange.

"I know what's going on."