Leah woke up in a smaller white room. It had the same hazy off-white glow that the medical room did. The lights made a quiet buzzing sound, and the lonely atmosphere hung around like a heavy fog. She was lying in the bottom of a bunk bed, and the thin white sheets were tucked neatly in underneath her.
She blinked slowly, groggily, as her body shifted beneath the weight of sleep that still lingered. Her head pounded dully- residual pain from whatever the hell they'd injected her with. Cold sweat clung to her back, and her limbs felt like damp sandbags.
Leah grasped onto the cold metal bars of the bed, pulling herself upward. Her shoulders ached from tension she didn't remember holding. She felt as if she'd been asleep for years and somehow also not at all. She lifted her aching hand to brush the hair away from her face, then caught a glimpse of something black on her wrist.
It was a number.
833
Tattooed directly onto her skin. The ink was a stark contrast against the paleness of her wrist, jagged from slight swelling, but clear enough to read.
Her stomach dropped. Her fingers trembled as they hovered above the ink, unsure whether to touch it or not- like it would burn. A number. She was a number now. A label. Someone -something- had done this to her while she was unconscious.
She pushed her damp hair behind her ear, realizing it was wet. So were her arms, and even her clothes had a faint dampness to them, like they hadn't fully dried after a scrub down. Her skin smelled faintly like antiseptic and something industrial, like she'd been washed with the same cleaner they used on floors.
They bathed her. Branded her. Prepared her.
Panic nipped at her throat, but before it could fully take hold, Leah noticed someone else in the room.
Across the space, sitting at the top of another bunk bed, was a girl. She looked maybe a few years older, with a layered shaggy brunette haircut and a wiry, athletic build. She sat cross-legged, hunched forward, fiddling with something small in her hands. Her skin was slightly darker than Leah's, and her expression was hard as stone.
The girl wore the same uniform Leah did -grey vest and shorts- but it fit her much tighter, showing off the muscles in her arms and legs. She hadn't noticed Leah wake up.
"...Hello?" Leah said quietly, voice still hoarse from sedation.
The girl's head snapped toward her like a cat catching movement. Her eyes were dark, cold, and disinterested. Her sharp jawline and permanent scowl gave her the appearance of someone constantly chewing on bitterness.
"What." The word came out as a snarl. Her voice was low, raspy, and somehow still feminine. Something about it made Leah's stomach twist- unsettling, but... alluring, in a strange way.
"Um..." Leah cleared her throat, suddenly regretting speaking. "Where am I?"
The girl tilted her head, clearly irritated. "Am I supposed to know?"
Leah flinched at the response. "Who are you?"
"You don't need to know," the girl said flatly. She turned her head back toward her hands, fiddling with the same object- something metallic. Maybe a spoon? A broken fork?
Leah felt irritation rise in her throat. She hated being ignored.
"I'm Leah," she offered, still trying to be civil.
"Nice. I don't remember asking."
Leah clenched her jaw. "What's your problem?"
"Leave me alone."
The words weren't yelled. They weren't even particularly aggressive. But they were said with a kind of finality that made it clear: this girl didn't care. About her, about anyone. Maybe not even herself.
Leah sat in silence for a while, letting the stillness settle. Only the humming of the lights and the occasional metallic clang from outside the room could be heard. She leaned her head back against the cold wall behind her bed and exhaled.
Her eyes scanned the room again. There were no windows. The door was a smooth, featureless panel with no handle on the inside. Two more bunk beds lined the opposite wall, currently empty. Three more numbered victims could be moved in here any time.
Her fingers ran unconsciously over her wrist again.
833.
That number was permanent.
After a long pause, she spoke again, more gently this time. "Did they... do the same thing to you? The number?"
The girl didn't look up. "Everyone here has one. Get used to it."
Leah blinked. "How many are there?"
"I don't know. Hundreds? Thousands? They don't tell us anything."
"You've been here a while, then?"
This time, the girl looked at her. Her expression softened just a hair, as if Leah had earned half a point. "Long enough."
A beat of silence passed between them.
"Why are we here?" Leah asked, almost whispering. "What is this place?"
The girl hesitated. Her fingers stopped moving for a moment. "Call it a lab. Call it a prison. Call it whatever helps you sleep. But don't think about leaving. That's the only real rule."
Leah's throat dried up. "So we're just stuck?"
"You're not stuck," the girl said. "You're stored."
The words hit Leah like a slap.
"What's your name?" she asked again.
This time, the girl didn't answer right away. Then, after a few seconds:14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrQEXWCpWGF
"...Roxanne"
Leah nodded, the name anchoring her to something human in this inhuman place. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me," Roxanne said. "I'm not your friend."
"I didn't say you were."
"Good."
Leah laid back down, exhausted again. She didn't realize how heavy her body still felt, how dizzy her mind had grown. Her vision began to cloud, dark spots creeping in from the corners.
Maybe it was the drug still in her system.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡnTtemIIHNl
Maybe it was the stress.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡEuKm2amd3j
Or maybe it was just this place -this sterile, buzzing, soulless place- pressing down on her until she could barely breathe.
She felt her hand slide off the edge of the bed, her number visible under the flickering light.
833.
She didn't even know what that meant.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJH0t1k4yrp
But it was her now.
Her thoughts slowed. Her chest rose and fell steadily. Her eyes slipped closed.
Everything turned black.
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