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HE'S YOUNGER. Strapped down to a chair and dressed in all white from head to toe. His hair is slicked back with gel, but his face is covered in sweat and his cheeks are hot. With the exception of Samson, the room seemed empty. It was dark and eerily quiet. The silence echoed around him, driving him crazy. Samson struggled against the restraints, his wrists turning a bright pink colour. The binds burned his skin, screwing his eyes to tears. That familiar feeling of blind rage enveloped Samson. He pulled at the binds again, letting out a blood-curdling scream.
"Let me out of here!" he roared, throwing himself forward in the chair.
From the other side of the room, tendrils of fog slid along the floor towards him. Samson's head shot up towards the door. A loud clicking noise rang through the room. He cocked his head at the sound, watching the empty space closely. Slowly, the mist began to disappear, revealing a large metal container. Samson gulped, sitting up in the chair. The container hissed and then split into two. Two long legs stepped out from the box, creeping out onto the floor. Its metal claws scraped the ground beneath it. Samson winced at the sound, turning away from the container.
He didn't know what it was. He just knew it was a monster, something he associated fear with. And as the creature poured out of its box, one leg after the other, Samson recognized the thing. It was a Griever. The one that stood in front of him was much smaller than the one who had stung him, like it was a beta or prototype, but it was just as terrifying nevertheless. Its spider-like arms and its wet, glistening complexion stayed standing over him for a moment before it began to slide itself along the ground towards him. It crept up to the chair and Samson held his breath. He'd never been so scared before. Long, metal spikes flew out of the Griever's sides, one stopping just centimetres from Samson's face. But Samson remained paralyzed, with fear and determination, praying it would leave him be. He shut his eyes tightly, a single tear falling onto his cheek.
But then, the Griever's spikes receded and it shrunk away, back into the hole it had come from. Slowly, Samson forced himself to open his eyes. He sighed out of relief, tears pooling out of his eyes. His shoulders relaxed against the chair. Samson did not fight against his restraints or cry for help. He stared back at the empty walls, taking deep breaths. His fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as he tried to keep himself calm. He wanted to show them that he was strong enough for them. He was in control.
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The room faded out into darkness, the memory turning upside down, and then he was running down a long hallway behind Thomas. He was older now, his muscle peeking through his thin grey shirt, his hair still slicked back but longer and much more mature-looking. Teresa ran next to him, glancing behind her to make sure nobody had followed them. Thomas suddenly stopped at a door on the left side of the hall and Samson nearly crashed into him. He pushed the door open and it hissed in response. The three of them quickly stepped inside and shut the door carefully behind them. The room was small and dark. Computer screens lined the walls and one long table stood in the middle of the room, littered with folders and sheets of paper.
