I open my eyes and am bombarded with vibrant, white lights from the ceiling above me, so I squint while I look around. Brain aching, I lie flat on a table under what seems to be a surgical lamp and fight to remember how I got here. All I can recall are bright colors and random numbers. So many numbers...none of which make any sense.
Accompanying the colors and numbers are the dreams. Sometimes, I am talking to someone, but other times I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and pounding my fists against a wall. Was I drugged?
I shield my eyes with my hands so I'm not blinded, and slide off the table, keeping my head low to further block out the light. Unfortunately, even staring at the white tile floor is too much. When I tip my face up to the walls to search for an exit, I gasp and stare at a girl with radiating, fire-engine red hair. Every wall is a mirror, causing my reflection to multiply hundreds of times around me. There are no windows or doors, just mirrors surrounding me as if I've been locked inside a funhouse. I look up and down, searching for a hatch or trapdoor, but come across nothing. Every room has a door, but I can't find one. This place is sealed off, allowing no space for entrances or exits.
"Right you are."
I spin around, startled. Standing before me is a man dressed in solid white from head to toe with long, slicked back white hair. He's dressed in a white, form-fitting bodysuit which appears to be made from some hybrid material of spandex, leather, and metal. As he nears me, I notice his disturbing, translucent irises blending in with the whites of his eyes, giving way to his jarring black pupils.
The man strolls pompously in my direction, his head held high, taking one step at a time as I back into a corner. Before I can comprehend it, he has me pinned against a wall, unable to move. He leans forward, leaving mere inches between us, and places his arms on both sides of me to box me in. I watch him scrutinize my wimpy arms and shoulders—my laughable defense—as I catch my breath.
"Aurora Jane Mayfield," he says without flaw, before backing away. I want to demand how he knows my name, but I am too afraid to say anything. "Age eighteen, but soon to be nineteen as your birthday is the fifth of September."
I grimace at his knowledge.
Before continuing, his lips pull into a smirk as if he's got the best kept secret. "Let's get more specific, shall we?" He takes slow steps in front of me, his bony fingers at his chin. "Ah yes...you were found at your parents farmhouse on Aberdale Ln, where it seems you took shelter after the Scarlet Effect began." He stops to chuckle. "Did you think that would stop us?"
My eyes frantically search the floor to find solidarity, to find something, anything that will stabilize my frenzied mind.
"You had a couple friends with you." My teeth clench in frustration at the mention of Travis and Katie, the only people who kept me sane, who kept me on my feet after the outbreak. "It's too bad they had to die."
My chest caves in and heat floods my cheeks. "What?" I whisper.
His slender white eyebrows raise. "Didn't you know?" he asks.
My breathing accelerates and I find myself sinking toward the blinding tile below me. "N-no," I stutter. My hands hit the floor and I hang my head, ready to sob as the man hovering over me bursts into manic laughter.
"Hah! Who knew you would be Number Five? After all this time, it's nothing but an amateur, someone who knows nothing!" He scoffs, disappointed. "And here I thought you knew far too much."
Dead? Katie and Travis...dead?
"Stand up," he growls.
But I can't feel my feet. I struggle to lift my head and stare at him with teary eyes. "Who are you?" I croak. "Where am I?"
He shakes his head and crosses his arms. "Don't you want to know who you are?"
My jaw trembles as Travis and Katie pass my mind. I know what I am. I'm a failure.
"Pathetic," he spits at me. "You're so weak."
His hand comes out from behind him, revealing a small syringe between his fingers. My eyes widen and before I can make a move, I'm screaming as he jabs the needle into the side of my neck. I struggle on the ground, attempting to keep my focus, but I grow heavier and heavier with each passing second and crash onto the tile.
***
Something is suctioned to my mouth. It feels like a pacifier I can't pull out. I wiggle and squirm to reach for whatever it is, but I'm restricted. I glance down the length of the table I'm lying on and see that my arms and legs are bound tight by metal clamps. I move my head around, noticing the room is nearly identical to the last, minus the funhouse mirrors. The walls are white and engraved with a geometric pattern across them. Shining through the engravings gleams more white light.
To my right are a few monitors, none of which appear to be tracking my heartbeat. I'm not exactly sure what is being tracked, but each machine's display is unreadable to me. No pictures, just graphs, lines, and numbers scroll across each, leaving me clueless. Beeps go off at irregular intervals, and I can only imagine that means I'm still alive—or that the machines are still on. To my left is a single swivel chair accompanied by numerous controls like that of a cockpit, all of which are out of my reach.
Is this a hospital?
Out of nowhere, a voice speaks from an intercom embedded in the ceiling. "Aurora Mayfield, in ten seconds you will be assisted out of this room and taken to Sector A. Force will ensue if you do not comply." It shuts off, but I recognize the voice to be the guy from the mirrored room.
How did he know those things about me? Had he been tracking me? But why?
I hear a sound emanate from the corner and I shriek as a mannequin-like body comes to life. I hadn't even noticed him before because he had blended in with the walls, but his human resemblance is terrifyingly accurate. The machine-man is dressed in all white like the guy from the mirrored room, but as he comes to, the pattern carved into his white suit glows teal as his short, angular haircut fades into the same color—right before my eyes. Last, his eyes spring open, revealing two luminescent irises of the exact same teal shade.
I am a statue as he robotically gaits over to me. As I hold my breath, he reaches across my body and presses the buttons to release the restraints on my legs and arms. One by one, he pops off the cuffs, finally liberating my hands and feet.
Before he can grab onto my wrists to take me wherever that guy said, I tear the suction cup off my mouth and immediately start choking. I get to my feet and stumble around the room, my hands grasping the walls for support. My chest pulses erratically as my lungs burn from invisible flames.
"Help," I wheeze as I tumble onto my knees, out of oxygen.
Breathe, Aurora. Just try to breathe.
My eyes balloon desperately at the man, who appears unphased by my motions. At his own leisure, he turns and hits a large button, opening hidden vents in the ceiling. Wind strikes me from above, and I take in a breath—two, then three. Oxygen enters my system once more and I rise to my feet when I get back working lungs.
With no remorse, the robotic man grabs my arm and shoves the suction cup back onto my mouth, which I now accept as a breathing device. After, he presses the button once more to close all the vents and hauls me out of the room. We enter a tiny glass room next, which must be an elevator, given the tiny space and array of buttons. Keeping his grasp on me, the guy clicks the number "2" and the glass doors glide closed.
We shoot down like a torpedo. The speed is unmeasurable, and I have no time to see what lies outside the elevator because I'm too focused on keeping my balance and trying not to scream. After coming to an abrupt stop, we step into a white hallway with the same engravings on the walls, only now, they emit turquoise light.
Numerous people identical to the guy clasping onto my forearm populate the corridor. They have the same choppy, teal haircuts—no brown or blonde—and all wear unifying white and blue suits, the males and females alike. Each of them moves with awkwardly robotic strides which resembles a march. Every man's face is congruent to the next, and the same goes for the women.
"Where am I?" I ask aloud, thinking maybe these people have some information. Can they even speak?
"Level Two, Sector A, Hallway 1," not one but many of the people reply simultaneously, including my escort. Their answer means nothing to me.
My escort doesn't pause for more questions, but instead leads me to a door with the label "1-O" off to the left side, just above a scanner and keypad. He punches a number in and swipes a card from his pocket, and the door glides open following a successful buzz.
I sigh, frustrated by the chaos in my confused brain. Hopefully, I will get answers here and will not be tranquilized within the next five minutes. "What room is this?" I wonder aloud. Maybe he'll have a description ready to spew out.
He stays silent and gives me a small shove into the room. When I spin around in shock, the door slides closed, and he is gone. I am left alone.