Chapter One - Day 1

Charlie stirred in bed, his muscles aching with a dull soreness. He groaned and shifted, pulling his arms out from between the sheets, realizing with a foggy mind that something felt different. The sheets didn’t feel like his sheets. Groggy, he opened his eyes, blinking out into the absolute darkness of his room. No, not his room, something wasn’t right. He bolted upright—too quickly, and a sharp, blinding pain shot through his skull. He held his head as it throbbed from the sudden movement, waiting for his eyes to adjust. But they didn't, he couldn’t see a thing.

The room was pitch black, thick with silence. His heart rate spiked. Where was he?

Breath quickening, Charlie’s hands instinctively patted his body, searching for something, anything. His phone, his clothes, something familiar. But all he found was bare skin. He was in nothing but boxers. A wave of unease washed over him.

“H-Hello?” he called out, his voice sounding small in the oppressive darkness. The sound barely traveled, swallowed by the void. He swallowed hard, forcing down the rising panic. The sheets rustled as he cautiously swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet hit the floor, cold and unwelcoming.

He stretched his hands out in front of him, taking tentative steps forward and groping blindly in the dark until his fingers met something solid. Charlie flinched, frightened by the sudden touch, but forced himself to reach out again, trembling slightly. A wall. He nodded reassuringly to himself. 'Follow the wall,' he thought. 'There’s got to be a door. A window. A light switch. Something.'

He began to shuffle forward, hugging the wall, fingers tracing the cool surface, mind racing. How had he ended up here? His thoughts whirled as he tried to recall the last thing he could remember. He had been at a bar… His graduation—he and his cohort were celebrating finally receiving their PhDs together.

He remembered the evening, the clinking of glasses, the congratulatory toasts passed around among his three friends, being called Dr. Anderson officially for the first time. But everything after that... He had left the bar, walking home. Lina, he remembered, I was texting Lina. He and his friend were messaging as he made the familiar walk back to his place. And then what? How had he ended up here, in this dark, strange place?

Suddenly, his fingers brushed something cold, metal. It shocked him, and he jerked his hand back, startled, the sharp sting of the surface sending a jolt of fear through him. But then, just as quickly, a memory flashed in his mind—the sting of a needle, piercing his skin. That was it.

Someone had grabbed him on his walk home, hadn’t they? He’d been texting, distracted. There had been a figure, moving out of the shadows faster than he could react. The sharp prick in his arm had left him momentarily dazed, and his phone slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground. That was the last thing he remembered before everything went dark.

His breathing hitched as the realization sunk in: he’d been drugged. Taken. 'But why? And by who?' His heartbeat drummed louder in his ears.

“Is anyone there?” he shouted, louder this time. “I need help! Please!”

The only response was silence.

Suddenly, a mechanical whirring sound came from above him, breaking the oppressive stillness. Charlie looked up instinctively, and blinding light flooded the room, pouring in from above. He squinted against the brightness, shielding his face with his hands. Once his eyes adjusted, he looked up and found the ceiling was no longer solid. It had opened up to reveal a skylight, the sun’s bright rays flooding the small room.

His heart sank as he took in his surroundings.

The room was small, no more than 15 by 15 feet, and sparsely furnished. There was a bed—gray sheets, plain and nondescript—in the corner, with a small wooden nightstand beside it. Charlie found himself standing next to a small table with a lamp sitting on it, with one matching chair in the same dark-toned wood. A loveseat and coffee table sat in the center of the room, facing a modestly sized TV mounted on the wall. The floor was wooden, the walls blank and white, with no windows.

He took a shaky breath and looked at the wall he had been following earlier. A small metal panel was embedded into it, the offender that had shocked him previously. He spotted another one above the nightstand near the bed.

Charlie pressed his back against the wall, trying to take it all in. Everything in the room felt too clean, too sterile. It was unsettling, the lack of any form of decor, like a hotel room stripped of any warmth or personality. His eyes darted around, finally landing on the only door in the room, opposite the bed.

Charlie’s pulse quickened with hope. Maybe that was his way out.

Without thinking, he sprinted across the room and threw the door open. His heart plummeted when he realized it wasn’t an exit at all. It was a bathroom—white-tiled, simple, with a toilet, sink, shower, and separate tub. There was no mirror above the sink, and it had the same eerie lack of decor. Another metal panel was embedded in the wall here too.

Confused, Charlie turned back to the main room, panic rising in his chest. 'There has to be a way out.'

He paced back to the bed, scanning the walls and the ceiling, where he spotted something small and dark. He squinted. There, in the corners of the room, were cameras. Two of them, fixed in place.
Fear crept up his spine.

The TV clicked on, pulling Charlie’s attention. The screen was blank—just a white background. And then, words appeared in bold black letters:

HI CHARLIE.