Written by Wren Marco

I wake up.
I can’t tell where I am.
I try to move my arm,
but I can’t.
I try to move my leg,
but I can’t.
I’m tied down.
I’m sitting, and I’m tied down.
I try to say something,
but I can’t.
There’s a towel in my mouth.
No shoes.
I try to move my foot,
and I can,
but I pull it back.
The floor is cold and dark and wet,
but I can’t do anything about it.

I’m so hungry.
I’m so thirsty.
I’m so lonely.
I think I’m someone’s prisoner,
but I can’t do anything about it.

I don’t remember coming to a place like this, certainly not of my own free will. I don’t remember how I came here, or why I would be here in the first place. I don’t remember what happened before this. How much do I remember exactly? I still remember enough to want to go home.

…

After what I assume to be about ten minutes, I remember enough of what happened to know why I might be here, and who the person keeping me here might be. But… I’d rather not go into any of that with you. I’m not proud of what I did, and if I explained all of that to you, I don’t think you would understand me. I doubt you would have done the same if you were in my shoes. 

Still, I can’t mistake what I’m feeling now: a heavy and empty sort of guilt. The kind you lost the chance to atone for. 

I stop struggling in my chair. It’s only now that I stop shouting for help through the layers of tape and cloth over my mouth. I want to apologize, 

but I can’t do anything about it.

…

An hour passes. I’m starting to fall asleep, deliriously content with this possibly being my last experience of consciousness. It’s only now that the room suddenly illuminates. For a brief moment, I’m blinded by blue light until I can see a collection of eleven… no, twelve monitors, arranged in a unique sort of way. I see two at the top, and beneath them, two rows of four, and two more monitors beneath those. The wall they’re all mounted on looks to be only about as tall as it is wide, confirming to me that the room is smaller than I hoped it would be.

My attention locks back on to the top two monitors. The first is suspiciously cracked and out of commission. Was something on there before? Who or… what broke it? I don’t remember.

The second is the one illuminating this prison that I’m trapped in. I crane my neck to focus on it, where a message is displayed in green, digital letters. 

From underneath the monitors, a collection of PC’s and other electronic devices not only appear to be connected to the screens above, but to me as well. An array of thin tubes and wires connect to my legs, my arms, my throat, my forehead and temple. And considering that the text on the screen seems to be responding to my inner thoughts, I can’t help but wonder if this equipment allows my captor to read my mind.

It’s disgusting…

What do you want from me?

After a moment, the text on the monitor changes in response to my thoughts.

My exposure?

Hypocrite. If all they want is my attention, then why were they willing to go so far as to take my freedom too? Can you even call it “asking” at this point?

Yes, it is a bit much to ask.

A new message flashes on the screen, seemingly ignoring me. 

And then I’m free to go?

I can’t help but feel surprised by the voice’s apparent intensity for upholding a fair and agreeable negotiation. But hang on… Eleven more times? Has this happened once already? I know for certain that I’ve never been here before. Maybe this wasn’t who I thought it was…

Who are you?

This rapidly teetering sense of humility and pride pisses me off like nothing else. But, like everything else, I can’t do anything about it.

Then I don’t really have much of a choice here, do I?

Then why do you act like we’re negotiating?

I’m… tied… to… a… chair.

Fuck you…

The monitor flickers and sound begins, introducing a camera feed of some kind. On screen, is what appears to be an industrial looking elevator. Inside, a man with a very distinct appearance stands patiently still. His face and stocky build strikingly resemble that of Theordore Roosevelt, but the similarities stop there. His lab coat, and the aforementioned elevator suggest to me that he’s a scientist or a lab worker of some kind, but his black cowboy hat makes me think otherwise. Despite how much I hate my current circumstance, I can’t deny feeling a little curious to see where this is going to go.

But something else is immediately off putting about this experience. 

Monsters down there…

A voice makes its presence known within my mind, but it’s saying things in a certain way that makes it distinctly clear to me that these are not my own thoughts. The thoughts don’t even come from the same place in my mind. It feels like someone placed speakers next to my brain. Still, however this works, there’s no denying that somehow, I can hear what this man on screen is thinking. I conclude that the tubes and wires are somehow making this happen as well.

On the screen, In green letters and numbers, a date and location appears at the top left corner:

…