apocalyptic thriller... ive always wanted to write something like this so now at long last im getting chance to :)
Her eyes opened slowly. She was alone. Part of her wanted to panic but she knew that that wouldn't be wise. She got up off of the bed and stretched her legs. She approached the only window in the room and stared out, raising her hand to block out the harsh light. But she couldn't see anything outside. There was a sort of mist. A fog.
She heard a flickering. She turned to see a screen built into the wall. She looked at it, puzzled by its existance. She didn't know where she was, but she guessed from the modern and minimalist furnishings, that she was in some sort of hotel. The screen just showed static so she ignored it and contiued to explore.
She looked to the desk. It was some sort of wood with a rich grain in; it was something her father would know all about yet failed to interest her. At that thought, she checked her pockets for her mobile phone. No signal. She returned it to her pocket and opened the desk drawer. There was an empty notebook and a couple of envelopes. She thought nothing of it and opened another drawer.
There was a gun.
She panicked and immediately shut the drawer. Her hasty reaction had caused the drawer to crash into the frame, making a loud noise. She sat back down on the bed and entered a trance-like state as she thought. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the recent past but it was all a blank. She was trapped in that room.
"Wait," she said, snapping her eyes open, "why am I trapped?"
Then she noticed that there wasn't a door.
She ran to the window and tried to smash her way through but it was a lot stronger than she thought; definitely not glass. For a split second, she thought she was in prison but the lack of bars on the window, the screen and the non-existant door made her realise otherwise.
Suddenly, she had an idea. She opened the second drawer and picked up the gun. She pointed it at the window and shut her eyes. She could feel the sweat drip slowly down her face as she held the thing she feared the most. Tentatively, she pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. The gun wasn't loaded. She threw it at the window in frustration. She began to work her way around the room, trying to check the walls for secret doorways. After a fruitless search for a fair few minutes, she gave up. She was running out of ideas.
After an hour or two, she checked her phone one last time before it died. Still no signal. She started to scream again, not caring if her voice went hoarse. Her fists added to the noise by banging against where she thought the door should be. Once it started to hurt, she gave up, finally admitting defeat.
She stepped across the room to sit down but first ran her fingers across the screen. The static stopped and turned into nothing. She stared at the blank screen, amazed at how it was the first thing to react to her presence. She tried repeating what she had done but nothing happened. She sighed and began to think that it had just given her false hope when a picture of a man appeared on the screen.
He was old with a short grey beard. He had relatively muscular features and bony cheeks. He had a small bald spot on the top of his head that she thought he must be self-conscious about since he was clearly trying to hide it. He spoke with a soft voice and elongated words.
"Welcome to the Compound."
Then she remembered everything. She understood.
"What is your name?" the man on the video said.
"I am Passion." she said in a strong, proud voice, despite her worry about feeling unstable on her feet.
"Hello, Passion." the man said.
"Hello," she replied, stumbling and skipping over his name.
"You are now free to take your place in society. Go forth Passion."
A panel of the wall fell away and she stepped out into a corridor, feeling normal again. The panel replaced itself before she could get back in and she couldn't find the edges so she went in search of someone else.
The screen still flickered with life. The man hadn't gone anywhere. His image jumped occasionally but he said nothing for a few minutes. Then his face appeared large, as if he had pressed it up against the camera. He was scared and covered in blood.
"Help." he screamed quietly and simply.
The picture then reverted back to his usual face.
"Passion repeat number:" he faltered, "12" he said.
The images on the screen suddenly rewinded to a point further back that she had seen.
"Passion video. Played," the man faltered again, "12 times. Commencement of," a third falter, "13th viewing. Going into sleep mode. Preparations for 13th Passion complete. Long live the Compound."
The screen returned to static and the room once again fell silent, ready for its next inhabitant. Everything in the room sat still, knowing that there wouldn't be another living being in that room for a few days. And when they turned up, it meant that the last one was gone. Everything in the room was sad. Everything went to sleep.
Unknown to her, there were three other rooms in that corridor. All of the rooms were identical. They each housed a person. One had already escaped. The rooms knew they all would. It was only a matter of time.
In the first other room, a well built man opened his eyes.
In the second other room, a slender man opened his eyes and put his glasses on.
In the final other room, another woman opened her eyes.