PANIC ROOM

One

Candidate 020.

I stir as a cold robotic voice echoes in my head.

Welcome to the Panic Room.

A coffin traps my body, slowly suffocating me.

Breathing heavily, I put my hands up to my face, recoiling slightly as I feel the cold metal barrier against my fingertips. A mask. My hands shake as I try to pull it over my head. It lingers like a permanent fixture of my skull.

You must escape the labyrinth before midnight of day three.

It is now morning of day one.

The coffin door swings open at the top, the blinding lights of the outer room stunning me slightly. I climb out, gasping heavily.

Panic Room Enterprises accepts no responsibility for mangled remains.

The voice fades, as the bright lights dim. Silence.

Where am I?

The walls are crystal clear, but I don't see anything but vast blackness behind the glass. On the transparent ceiling, bags hang like nocturnal creatures, more than a few inches out of my reach. I see my reflection in the dark glass. Black scaled armour glints under the light, like a giant reptilian beast, concealing the curves of my body. My mask, like the armour, covers my head like a helmet, concealing my features. I try to remember my appearance in vain. 

What is this place?

CLUNK!

The tiled floor splits seamlessly, more coffin doors swinging open, their prisoners clambering out, disorientated.

Your first test. "Survival of the fittest".

Dozens of masked figures are dressed in the same segmented armour as me, gleaming like scales under the lights.

There are twenty-two of you.

All the provisions you need to survive are in those backpacks: food, water, weapons, medical supplies-

The sinister voice hisses, circulating around my head like a scavenger. Encircling its weakened prey, encouraging them to fight amongst each other. I can see why.

I gaze up at the ceiling. There are ten backpacks. And twenty-two of us. The creeping realisation hits my gut.

We're going to have to fight for them.