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Snowfield

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Randoman

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Post Sun Oct 07, 2012 10:20 am

Snowfield

Snowfield
A mysterious organization begins a project to alter human genetics, but becomes the breaking point for a war turning since the beginning of time.

Chapter One
Spoiler:
Run. Down the hallway. The door is right there; it's close enough that I already have my hand out to grab the handle. Fading. Seems like it's getting further away. Keep running. There's a reason. Exactly what it is escapes me at the moment. Shouldn't I be there by now? Fading.

Jack springs to life from his bed. A strange dream that is already fading from his memory lingers for the first few moments of consciousness. He runs his hands up his face and through his hair, trying to adjust to being awake.

The room was an unsettling dark. A darkness to all senses. He cannot see a thing in front of is face and all sound feels like a pressure on his ears as if he were sitting in a vacuum.
He pulls the covers off of himself and swings his feet over the side of the bed. His bare feet touch a burning cold floor made of tile or metal. The cold shocks him and he pulls his feet up slightly.

He stands and walks forward. He raises his hands and feels for something in the darkness. They touch a smooth wall, just as cold as the floor. Feeling around, he searches for a light switch, but he finds nothing. This is his bedroom, isn't it? He should have a better sense of direction than this. Come to think of it, is this his room? Between the bed that felt too low to the ground for comfort, the smooth walls and floor, the darkness in which he recognized nothing, these were all very unfamiliar feelings to Jack.

The lights flash on with a loud click, yet Jack hadn't flipped a switch or pressed a button. The light was dim, but his eyes still burned from it; he could see just as little as he could a few moments ago. Once his eyes had adjusted, however, all illusion of familiarity was completely lost for Jack.

The room was cold and sterile. The walls made of stainless steel with no decorations of any sort. A black panel on the wall, to the left of Jack. Upon a ceramic floor lay a metal toilet, next to a sink and mirror. In the center of the left wall was an alcove where a thin, barely padded slab that served as a bed hung out from the wall, above it, an air vent. Behind him was a rectangular break in the steel walls, presumably a door, though there was nothing on his end to open it with.

In the mirror, he noticed himself. At first, he did not notice his clothes, which were only a white jumpsuit with no markings. He did not notice the large cut on his forehead that had already begun to scab over. He simply noticed himself. He looked at himself in the mirror as if he did not recognize the man in it. He acted as if he had never once seen his face before.

Jack was a fairly good looking man. Looked to be about in his mid-twenties. From his short, thick black hair to his fair complexion, there was certainly nothing to complain about. At the moment he had a good bit of stubble around his face. He must have been here for a little while. Of course, there was the cut as well. Jack felt it, but had no recollection of how he got it.

The panel beside the door lit up. It was a little computer screen. Jack went up to it and tried to fiddle with it, but it looked like it was locked for the moment. After a few minutes of waiting for something to happen, he decided to just sit back down again.

Five minutes he had been awake, and his mind raced. Where was he? How did he get here? Why didn't he recognize his own face? He didn't even remember his own last name. Hell, for all he knew, Jack might not have even been his real first name; it could have been something he dreamed.

He sat and wondered. He thought of how unnaturally calm he was being about the whole situation. Surely, he thought, he should be panicking. He should be pacing around the room, fruitlessly searching for a way out. Instead, he sat on the uncomfortable bed.

A speaker on the panel buzzed to life and a voice rang out of it. A female voice, with a cold, lifeless infliction. It was automated.

“Jack, it is time to wake up. You will be needed of The Curator in ten minutes.”

He stood and ran to the panel, yelling. “Hey, is there anyone there?” he yelled. “Hello?”

There was no response.

Jack finally hit the state of panic. He spent his ten minutes walking around the small room, trying to examine every little detail of it, from every crack to every bend. Nothing that would help in escape. Maybe something to use as a weapon?
He thought about breaking the mirror and taking a shard of glass as a knife, but he thought better of it. It would be too noticeable. Instead, he felt around the mirror and found a latch. He lifted it and the mirror swung open to reveal a small shelf. In it sat a white towel, a tooth brush, toothpaste, bar soap, shaving gel and a small smooth electric razor. How generous of his captors to provide the little things. Nothing to use as a weapon, but he thought if he was going to meet the people that put him here, he might as well present himself nicely.

He shaved away the stubble on his face. Once it was gone, he cleaned away the gel with some water from the sink. The water felt nice and helped Jack collect himself. He dried his face with the towel.

He sat on the bed again, trying to think further about where he was and how he got here. He couldn't remember much at all, if anything. He remembered something about running down a hallway. But he didn't know if that was relevant to his current situation or if it was just a lingering memory from some other event.

His thoughts were interrupted as the door at the front of the room slid into the wall. A blinding white light came from outside, once again preventing Jack from seeing much of anything. He stood and walked to the doorway. Jack took a deep breath and walked through.
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Dareigan

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Joined: Tue Jan 17, 2012 9:07 pm

Post Sun Oct 14, 2012 1:11 pm

Re: Snowfield

Bloody amazing, sir.

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