You can't shut me out (Antisepticeye-Jacksepticeye Fanfiction)

Final Blood

It is said that White Torture is the worst type of torture. Experts and sufferers themselves have claimed that even after months or years of escaping this torture, it never really leaves you. 

White torture is a type of psychological torture that includes extreme sensory deprivation and isolation. Carrying out this type of torture makes the detainee lose personal identity through long periods of isolation. 

"Since I left Evin, I have not been able to sleep without sleeping pills. It is terrible. The loneliness never leaves you, long after you are "free." Every door that is closed on you ... This is why we call it "white torture." They get what they want without having to hit you. They know enough about you to control the information that you get: they can make you believe that the president has resigned, that they have your wife, that someone you trust has told them lies about you. You begin to break. And once you break, they have control. And then you begin to confess." 

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The room was entirely white. There were no walls, just a white floor and empty white echoing space. Sean woke up on this floor, with his own body. He wasn't watching from the TV or he wasn't in his own mind anymore. As far as he could tell, he had his own body back. He sat up, testing out his body and cracking all his rigid bones. He was himself again. Sean felt elated. "Ha, hahaha yes! YES! I'm me again! Yes finally!" He hooted. He hasn't been happier in weeks. But one thing remained. He was still in this white empty expanse. This silent, white, almost dead space. His heart started to pound. Something was wrong. "Hello?" He asked. There was no echo. It was just him by himself. But what was this? The deal had been broken. Hadn't it? He struggled to remember. He thought back really hard, as if his life depended on the answer. Before the bright flash of light, there was Antisepticeye transforming to his original form. He remembered vaguely Paulie confessing to the girl (Jack couldn't remember her name) that he murdered...someone..then that was it. Sean started to walk across this space. The floor was almost bouncing with him as he walked across it. He looked all around him. There was nothing but empty white space. It seemed as if the "walls" were closing in on him, but it was just his eyes tricking him. Sean started to run. He ran slowly to try and find an ending, but then he started to sprint. There had to be something. Anything. Even a glimpse of a different color rather than this godforsaken white. The only thing that wasn't white was his pale skin, which looked tan in contrast to the space. His clothes were white, his glasses were clear, and he couldn't tell what color his hair was. He continued to sprint, not stopping for breath. He didn't care about breath. He cared about an exit. 

He kept running for what he figured was an hour and a half, and by the end of it, his legs gave out and he crashed to the floor. The floor wasn't hard, it was almost plush, but Jack didn't notice. "Get me out of here.." He muttered to himself, but it didn't sound to the rest of the blank expanse, as if he was in his own air bubble. "PLEASE! LET ME OUT!" He shouted. His words rang in his ears and nothing prevailed. There has to be a way out, some way, any way, he didn't care what he had to do. He just needed to go. He laid on the floor for a long time. Or maybe it was a short time but time stretched out before him. There was nothing but white. White space. White air. White. White white white white. He couldn't hear anything, there was no one to talk to, there were no windows or exits, there was no food or water, and there were no other colors except for. White. 

More hours have passed. It's possible days have gone by. Sean didn't know. There was no concept of time in this makeshift hell hole. Actually, this might be much worse than being trapped inside his own head. When he was in his head, he felt isolated, but he guessed he still had company in a morbid way. In here, he was all by himself, and even then he wasn't really here with himself in a way. His body was here, but his mind was numbed with blankness. No thoughts came to him. He forgot how to formulate complete actions. He was forgetting himself. He forgot his name for a split second, then as the days went by, a split second turned to two, then four, then eight. One leg shuffled in front of the other as walking, but even that was tiring for him. He had no energy, no motive. His mind ebbed to mush. Anti was a distant memory. This room and himself was all he had left. He wanted out of his mind, so he got out. In this white room, he had all the time in the world all by himself.