The first sensation that pierced through the veil of darkness was the cold. It seeped into his bones, a biting chill that felt like a thousand needles pricking his skin. He gasped, the sound echoing in the emptiness around him. His eyes fluttered open, but the world was a blur of indistinct shapes and shadows. Panic surged through him as he struggled to sit up, his body heavy and unresponsive.
Where am I?
The last thing he remembered was the sharp pain in his arm, the figures in the corridor, and then… nothing. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. Gradually, the shapes began to coalesce into something recognizable. He was lying on a cold, metallic surface, surrounded by walls that glimmered with an eerie luminescence. The air was thick with a sterile scent, reminiscent of antiseptic and something else—something organic.
He pushed himself up, wincing as a wave of dizziness washed over him. The room was small, almost claustrophobic, with no windows and only a single door that loomed ominously at the far end. Panic clawed at his throat as he realized he was alone.
"Hello?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and weak. The sound echoed back to him, swallowed by the silence. He strained to listen for any response, but the only answer was the rhythmic hum of machinery somewhere in the distance.
He swung his legs over the edge of the table and stood, his knees buckling slightly beneath him. He steadied himself against the cold surface, taking a moment to gather his bearings. The room was devoid of any personal effects, any indication of who had brought him here or why. It felt like a tomb, a sterile prison designed to keep him isolated from the world he once knew.
As he took a tentative step forward, a wave of nausea hit him. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to shake off the disorientation. Memories flooded back—his research, the breakthrough, the warning, the figures in the corridor.
He had to escape.
With a newfound determination, he approached the door. It was solid, unyielding, but he could see a small panel beside it, a keypad that likely controlled the locking mechanism. He glanced around the room, searching for anything that could help him. There was nothing but the table he had awoken on and the cold, metallic walls.
He approached the keypad, his heart racing. He had no idea what the code might be, but he had to try something. He pressed a few random numbers, but nothing happened. Frustration bubbled within him. He needed to think clearly, to remember the last moments before he lost consciousness.
Suddenly, a memory flickered to life—a fleeting image of his computer screen, the data scrolling by, the anomaly he had discovered. It was a breakthrough that could change everything, but it had also drawn the attention of those who wanted to silence him.
He took a deep breath, focusing on the numbers that had been etched into his mind during countless nights of research. The sequence of data points, the calculations, the patterns. He began to input a series of numbers, his fingers flying over the keypad.
1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8.
The door clicked, and he felt a rush of adrenaline as it swung open. He stepped through, ready to confront whatever lay beyond.
The corridor stretched out before him, dimly lit and lined with more of the same cold, metallic walls. He could hear the distant hum of machinery, but there were no signs of life. He moved cautiously, his senses heightened, every sound amplified in the silence.
As he walked, he began to notice the details around him. The walls were covered in strange symbols and markings, almost like a language he couldn't decipher. They seemed to pulse with a faint light, as if alive. He reached out to touch one, but the moment his fingers made contact, a jolt of energy surged through him, causing him to recoil.
"What the hell?" he muttered, shaking his hand as if to dispel the sensation.
He pressed on, his mind racing with questions. Where was he? Who had taken him? And most importantly, what had happened to his research?
The corridor twisted and turned, leading him deeper into the unknown. He passed through several doors, each one locked, each one a reminder of his isolation. The further he went, the more he felt a sense of dread creeping in. It was as if the very walls were closing in on him, suffocating him with their silence