The Prototype

2. The New World

TEMPEST

My eyes dragged open like they'd been sealed shut for days. The blurriness wouldn't let up at first. I blinked, slow and steady, moistening my cornea to get rid of the blurriness of my eyesight. Shapes sharpened. Edges returned. What looked like a bedroom took shape around me. I sat up, rubbed my eyes hard, then blinked again, needing to be sure I wasn't stuck in some drugged-up hallucination.

Sitting up in this huge upholstered silver glass mirrored Canopy bed with a black velvet tall headboard. Thick white pillows surrounded me. A pure white comforter blanketed most of the mattress, with a heavy gray throw folded neatly at the edge. I glanced at the nightstands on either side—mirror-finished like the bedframe, polished silver, no clocks, no calendars. Nothing to mark time. Nothing to ground me.

The walls were a deep gray, smooth and clean, dressed with abstract art in sharp strokes of black, white, gold, and more gray. The ceiling sat high above me with a wide glass chandelier hanging directly in the center, the lights off but the crystals catching the minimal glow from ceiling spotlights.

A wide vanity and dresser matched the nightstands, topped with more glass and silver. A massive television took up most of one wall. A full-length standing mirror with a thick silver frame leaned opposite the bed, tall enough to reflect every inch of a person. I scanned every detail with unease crawling up the back of my neck.

Two black tufted ottomans sat at the foot of the bed with a small glass table between them. A cream rug with long, soft fibers stretched underneath them, warming the dark hardwood floor that stretched across the entire room.

This room is literally like a fucking house in itself

I threw off the covers, slid to the edge of the bed, and leaped off of it, standing straight. My bare feet hit the cool wood, and that's when I noticed my shoes were gone. Taken off without my permission.

Crossing the room, the floor cool against my soles. I reached the long gray curtains covering the wall of windows and yanked at them, trying to pull them open. Nothing. They didn't move, didn't shift, didn't even rustle. Either they were sealed with some hidden mechanism, or they were intentionally designed to stay closed.

I stopped fighting them, letting my hand drop. There was no natural light in the room, only the dim ceiling spots casting a soft glow that made the shadows feel closer. I turned, catching the glint of a silver frame. A set of wide sliding glass doors. I walked over, pushed them open, and stepped through.

My mouth immediately fell dropped open as the bathroom revealed itself like something pulled out of an estate catalog. The floors black-and-white marble, pristine and polished. The walls solid gray stone, cut with clean lines and sharp corners. A pair of double sinks sat beneath long silver-framed mirrors, everything gleaming under the recessed lighting. A massive glass shower enclosure stood to the side—big enough to fit a small group. And the tub—raised on its own platform in the corner—sat wide, clean, waiting.

Everything organized. Spotless. Silent.

Pure white towels folded on a silver shelf. Toiletries lined the counters—luxury brands I didn't recognized. Nothing was missing. Every necessity was accounted for. Even the air smelled expensive, like vetiver and cool marble. Another chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling, smaller than the one in the bedroom but just as intricate.

I moved farther in, catching the outline of another doorway tucked into the corner. Arched. Open. I stepped into it without hesitation.

"You got to be fucking kidding me." I spoke out loud in disbelief at the size of the walk in closet.