The Prototype

2. The New World: Captive

TEMPEST

My vision returned slowly, resistance heavy in my skull as my eyelids forced themselves open with effort that felt physical rather than sleepy, the lingering thickness in my head making the first few seconds feel unreliable. Moisture burned faintly across my eyes as I blinked again, then again, steady and deliberate, letting the blur thin out until shapes stopped swimming and edges finally held. A ceiling took form above me, smooth and distant, followed by the weight of bedding beneath my body, firm and unfamiliar. Pushing my body upright sent a mild wave of disorientation through me, dragging my palms over my face as if friction alone might confirm this being real, not some chemically induced hallucination lingering too long.

The bed itself demanded attention the moment awareness settled fully. A massive canopy structure framing it, silver and mirrored, the surfaces reflecting muted light back at themselves in a way that was intentional rather than decorative. The headboard rose tall behind me, upholstered in deep black velvet that absorbed light instead of reflecting it, thick white pillows stacked around my back like they expected me to sink into them. A pristine white comforter covered most of the mattress, heavy but smooth, with a gray throw folded with precision at the foot as if no one tolerated disorder here. On either side, nightstands matched the bedframe exactly, polished silver with mirrored faces, their surfaces bare. No clock. No calendar. No phone. Nothing that acknowledged time or place.

The walls wrapped the room in deep gray, flawless and unmarked, interrupted only by abstract artwork rendered in sharp blacks, whites, gold accents, and layered shades of gray that mirrored the room's palette too closely to feel coincidental. The ceiling rose high overhead, a wide glass chandelier suspended at its center, unlit but catching the soft glow from recessed spotlights that ringed the space. Even without illumination, the crystal pieces scattered light subtly, creating reflections that shifted whenever I moved.

A vanity stretched along one wall, paired with a dresser that echoed the same glass-and-silver design of the nightstands, their surfaces immaculate. Across from them, a massive television occupied nearly the entire wall, dark and dormant. A full-length standing mirror leaned opposite the bed, its thick silver frame tall enough to reflect every inch of a body without distortion. The longer my gaze lingered, the more unease pressed into the back of my neck, the precision of the room feeling less like luxury and more like control.

At the foot of the bed sat two black tufted ottomans, perfectly aligned with a small glass table positioned between them. Beneath, a cream-colored rug spread across the dark hardwood floor, its long fibers softening the contrast while doing nothing to hide the expansive room. The floor extended uninterrupted in every direction, polished and cool, amplifying the realization that this space was far larger than any bedroom had a right to be.

This room is literally like a fucking house in itself

The covers slid off as I moved, my body swinging toward the edge of the mattress before standing fully. My bare feet met the cool wood, the temperature biting just enough to ground me, and that was when the absence registered. Shoes gone. Removed without my permission. The thought tightened something sharp in my chest.

Crossing the room brought every sensation into focus, the floor firm beneath my soles as I reached the long gray curtains spanning an entire wall. My fingers closed around the thick fabric and pulled hard. Nothing responded. The curtains didn't shift, didn't ripple, didn't even whisper in protest, their resistance absolute. Whether sealed by mechanism or design, the result was the same. No daylight. No view.

I stopped fighting them, letting my hand drop, accepting their resistance that would not bend. The lighting remained dim and intentional, ceiling spots casting a controlled glow that shortened shadows without eliminating them, keeping the corners of the room uncomfortably close. My body turned, revealing the glint of glass and silver as wide sliding doors came into view. I firmly pushed them, gliding them open, silent and smooth, then stepped through without hesitation.