PANIC ROOM

Nine

In the face of imminent death, I am having a full-blown personality crisis.

Who was I before?

As the cackling echoes around the corner, I close my eyes and pray for a miracle.

~

"Gray, Alexa?"

The masked doctor looked up expectantly from his clipboard, as I stepped forward.

He led me towards the office, down the white corridor. The office itself smelled strongly of disinfectant, making my eyes water.

"Miss Gray, you passed the medical assessment. Our tests indicate you will be positive for Alzheimer's Disease in the future, making you the perfect candidate."

"When do I start?" I asked, watching the doctor's face carefully. He sighs, taking off his glasses.

"Miss Gray, watch these records. The research carried out by this company is... radically experimental. Most candidates die before the final test-"

"Just send the money to my family. They deserve to live more than I do."

Nevertheless, I took the black DVD case from his desk and put it in my bag. I stopped, before exiting, staring at the seat by the door.

The seat had been empty in my original memory, the faded blue plastic shining under the harsh hospital lights. Instead, a man sits there, surveying me calmly with his unnerving black almond shaped eyes. He wears armour, like my own in the Panic Room, various injuries scattered on his tanned face and neck.

"You should get out now, them fuckers are tryna kill ya." He speaks with a thick Australian drawl, jerking his finger behind me.

~

I open my eyes. The black-eyed Australian man is gone, replaced with a swarm of ravenous Fallen, ripping my armour to pieces, shredding the skin underneath with their yellow nails. Their white bodies block out the red tinged light from the outside, constricting my line of view.

The claws rake through me like bullets. As blood pours down over my eyes from freshly unwrapped injuries, the swarm diffuses.

Blurred and muffled, the figure fights off the Fallen, struggling to hold them off as they crowd around it. It's the man from my dream.

He cuts the rope, grabs my arm and, with the last of his strength, throws me to the opposite end of the corridor.

My head buzzing, I look behind as I limp away. It's not the man from my dream, it's Eric. The boy who bandaged me up last night.

All I can see of him now, beneath the corpses, is a gloveless bloody hand reaching up, resisting until the fingers crumble and his screams die.

The tattoo on his wrist glows in the red light: "SAINT" it scribes ironically.

Candidate 010 was eliminated.

The Fallen poison penetrates my bloodstream, my vision tinted with a green vignette.

You have four hours left to live, 020

I stumble on through the maze, blood dripping down my chin.