"What the-"
As I feel the hand of someone slap over my mouth, something rings in my brain; next time I go out, I'm gonna need a buddy system, I'm gonna have people with me at all times.
"Shut it, brat," this man growls, a low, intense murmur that matches the hum of the truck engine in the background. "See, kid, you're exactly what we're looking for, y'know, for our game."
For their game? What game? Instantly, I suspect rape, torture, some form of brutal murder. Nothing is a game in this world, not even those things classified as games. You may call me twisted for expecting the worst straight away, but when a man attempts to abduct you on your way back from the toilet, you can't assume that he wants to play with dollies or pony toys.
I struggle, I do. Yet nothing I do seems to budge me from his grab; I squirm like an insect, unable to fight back against the man who holds me back. There must be at least two men with him, because I feel one man grab at my writhing feet. Another pair of hands smooth something - a blindfold of some sort - around my shaking head, taking away one of my senses.
Relying on my ears isn't an easy job. Handcuffs - I'm guessing by the algid metal substance - keep my wrists together, disallowing me to fight back. Some tape seems to stick to my ankles, preventing me from kicking out at the man who formerly held my feet.
I count four pairs of hands on my body - the men carry me as if I'm some kind of corpse. Not gonna lie, I feel a little dead inside. When someone goes out to a public party, then leaves to use the bathroom - without telling anyone that I'm temporarily leaving - you can't help but feel defeated. No one, other than these men, knows that I'm here, held captive.
That humming of the truck, van, whatever, grows closer as the men make no attempt to make me feel comfortable as they saunter along, my deadweight body in their arms. Throwing another human into a truck isn't exactly the most luxurious way of treating your victims, but hey, what do you expect?
The worst part of this whole scenario is not knowing what to expect; I fear the unknown.
"Hey, a new person," someone whispers. "Hey, are you conscious?"
Groggily lifting my head, still blindfolded, I mumble slightly. No words form for a good thirty seconds, but I'm sure the other person knows I'm conscious and as well as the victim of an unexpected abduction can be. "I'm up. Hello?"
The person sounds as if they're crying slightly; deep sobs fill the echoing truck. "Thank god you're okay," he sighs, choking back some form of upsetting emotion. "Who are you? Have they hurt you?"
"My name is Ryota," I say, feeling the hysteria that the truck's atmosphere brings. "I'm sixteen, female. I was kidnapped after returning from the bathroom." Although I can't see the person, I'm sure they're listening.
"My name is Dexio," the person sobs. His voice is muffled slightly, as if he's trying to hide himself behind his clothing or something. "Male, fourteen, kidnapped on the way home from a football game."
My mind races. "Fourteen?" I cry out. "That's ludicrous, you're so young!" All I can do is sob for the younger boy. "They didn't hurt you, did they?"
He sighs. "My arm hurts a little bit," he whimpers, obviously trying to suck in his breath to sound braver around me. "But nothing major. Hey, Baiyou, you up?"
No response; silence. "Baiyou?" I ask, confused. "Someone else is in here with us?" What do they want us all for? Around the UK, only one or two major kidnappings happen once a year. Now I can't help but fear that we're going to be involved in an experiment of some kind, something that puts our bodies to the absolute limits.
"Baiyou," he repeats. "Seems that he was thrown in before me." Dexio lets out a deep sigh as the shuffling of fabric is heard to my left. "Seems that Baiyou was attacking them as best as he could, so they knocked him out. Cold."
Poor boys, I can't help but feel for the pair. "Someone say my name?" A gruff voice murmurs, causing me to jump slightly. Thank god they can't see how petrified I am right now.
"Baiyou," Dexio calls out; relief washes over me knowing that the boy isn't suffering from fatal brain damage or something. "How you doing buddy?"
"My head is a mess," Baiyou groans, shuffling slightly - I assume the boy is sitting up or something. "Who else is in here? Anyone?"
"Me," I squeak, intimidated by the boy. "I'm Ryota."
"Ryota, huh?" Baiyou laughs. Not a giggly laugh, but a confused chuckle. "You know a guy with the nickname of Animal, right?"
Taken aback, I can only gasp. "I-" I stutter. How does he know? "I do; he's my neighbour. How do you know him?"
Baiyou laughs, more of a giggle this time. "Ever heard him talk about a guy, referring to him as Metalhead or something?" I respond with a yes and he seems to breathe heavily through his nostrils. "Animal used to pick on me for being a fan of metal, but now he respects me. That dude who broke his nose? That was me."
My mouth opens and closes, like that of a fish. "Pleasure to meet you," I laugh. Back in a time before the UK was corrupt, names like Steve and John were apparently really common. Dexio seems to be a really common name nowadays, whereas Baiyou is a little rare. Never have many people heard of someone names Ryota though, so I'm not surprised that someone made the connection between me and my hooligan of a neighbour.
Before anyone responds, I feel someone fly into me, followed by the apology of a higher pitched apology: Dexio. As we detangle ourselves as best as we can without the gift of sight or the full control of our limbs, the grumble of the vehicle seems to subside; we've arrived.
"Where are we?" Baiyou demands, growling as the metal doors of the truck fly open; even through the blindfold, the difference in light is significant. If it was winter, I'd wonder how bright it'd be through this material - it'd probably have little difference.
"Oh, we forgot to tell you," one of the men laugh. "This is our new office, right by the airport of Heathrow. Targets from all around the UK are being picked up - thirty of you to be precise. After tracking you, we know you all have one hobby in common, along with one fantasy."
How the hell have they managed to track us? It's not like there's anything explicit or revealing on the internet regarding my safety - I refuse to tell people anything other than my name, age, gender and country.
Then again, how many sixteen year olds named Ryota live in London?
The next voice is higher than the first. "Say, what were you all doing at eight o'clock, last night?" They ask, cackling as they do so?
"Playing video games, as always," Dexio says; I feel him shrug as his shirt brushes against me. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"We know you all have one hobby in common, along with one fantasy."
Then it hits me. "This is going to involve gaming, isn't it?" I question. Part of me feels excited, knowing that games will be involved during whatever they have planned for us. Then again, they kidnapped us, so I have a reason to be fearful. "And the fantasy is to be transported to the video game worlds we love, right?"
How even is that possible though?
"Quite right, Ryota," the man says; I shudder as he spits my name. "You're going to be involved in human forms of your favourite videogames. But not as you know them."
Not that I need to see his face, but I know the exact sadistic look on his face. No one is gonna escape lightly. I'm not talking about having you graze your knees like someone on Tony Hawk games would.
They're gonna torture us until we can't take it no more.
Dexio speaks up, voicing my thoughts. "Let me guess: some of us are going to die?"
"Correct," the first man laughs. "These are video games, but not as you know them. Now say goodbye to the world for a while - we need to inject you."
Before I can object, the cooling point of a needle is inserted into my neck, sending shivers up my spine, leaving goose bumps on my arms. Feeling the liquid seep into my body, I can't help but feel a little nauseous.
The last thing I'm aware of is the needle being vigorously ripped from my neck as the part of the world that wasn't black, turns as dark as the rest of my blocked vision.