LOCKEN | Season 1

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The days that followed were a blur of pain and isolation. My cell became a prison of despair, a place where time stretched endlessly, marked only by the occasional visit from Dr. Lysander or the guards. Each visit was a reminder of my helplessness, a stark contrast to the freedom I had once known.

The guards' harsh voices echoed through the corridors, their footsteps heavy and unrelenting. I could hear them in the distance, the muffled cries and screams of other children mingling with the sounds of metal doors slamming shut and the relentless hum of machinery. It became a symphony of suffering, a constant reminder that I was not alone, but still completely isolated.

My body ached from the tests and the sedatives, and my mind was a jumble of fear and anger. I kept replaying the scenes from the testing room over and over, trying to block out the sounds of pain, but they haunted me, searing into my memory. The other kids, the small girl with the bruise, the boy who had tried to warn me—they were all part of this nightmare, and I couldn't shake the image of their suffering.

I was learning the routine of my new existence. Every morning, a guard would deliver a meager breakfast—sometimes a small piece of bread, sometimes a thin gruel—before leaving me alone again. At least once a day, Dr. Lysander or one of his assistants would come by to conduct another round of tests, each one more invasive and painful than the last. They seemed to enjoy the process, taking notes and making calculations while I lay on the metal table, struggling to keep my composure.

One afternoon, the door to my cell slid open, and I looked up, my heart sinking as I saw Dr. Lysander standing there, a cold smile on his face. He stepped inside, followed by two guards. This time, he was carrying a small device, a metal box with a screen and several buttons. It looked like something out of a science fiction movie, a gadget designed to inflict suffering.

"Edven," he said, his voice smooth and calculating, "today we're going to test something new. We're trying to determine the extent of your abilities, how well you can control them under stress."

I tried to muster some courage, but it was hard to hold onto it with the weight of dread pressing down on me. "What are you going to do?"

Dr. Lysander's smile widened. "Just a simple test of your resilience. If you cooperate, it will be over quickly."

The guards walked out from behind him, grabbed me again, their rough hands gripping my arms as they led me out of my cell. I was too weak to resist, too exhausted from the constant strain of fear and pain. They took me down a series of corridors, each one more foreboding than the last, until we reached another room, one that smelled faintly of antiseptic and steel.

The room was set up with a large chair in the center, surrounded by various instruments and monitors. Straps were attached to the arms and legs of the chair, and my heart pounded in my chest as I realized what was about to happen. The guards forced me into the chair, strapping me down, and I struggled weakly, my movements hindered by the restraints.

Dr. Lysander placed the metal box on a nearby table and adjusted the dials, his expression one of clinical interest. "This device will measure your responses to different stimuli," he explained, as if discussing a routine experiment. "It's important that we understand how you react under stress. The data we gather will help us determine the best way to harness your abilities."

I glanced at the device, my stomach churning. I didn't know what it did, but the way Dr. Lysander was handling it, with such care and precision, made it clear that it wasn't going to be pleasant.

The device beeped softly, and Dr. Lysander picked up a small wand connected to it. He approached me with a calm demeanor, but there was something in his eyes—a glimmer of anticipation that made my skin crawl.

Without warning, he touched the wand to my arm, and a jolt of electricity surged through my body. My muscles tensed, and I gasped, the pain sharp and searing. I tried to pull away, but the restraints held me in place, making the pain even more intense. I gritted my teeth, trying not to scream, but the electricity kept coming, waves of torment that seemed to last forever.

"Focus, Edven," Dr. Lysander's voice cut through the haze of pain. "Control your reactions. We need to see how well you can manage under pressure."

The words were like a taunt, a reminder of my helplessness. I could feel my resolve slipping, my control fracturing as the pain intensified. I wanted to fight, to scream, to curse at him, but all I could do was endure, trapped in a nightmare with no end in sight.

Finally, the device clicked off, and the electricity ceased, leaving me gasping for breath, my body trembling. Dr. Lysander stepped back, examining the readings on the device with a look of satisfaction.

"Very good," he said, almost cheerfully. "You've managed to hold up well under the circumstances. We'll have more tests tomorrow."

He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the guards following him. The door slid shut, and I was left alone, strapped into the chair, my body aching from the aftershocks of the experiment.

It took me a long time to gather the strength to free myself from the restraints, but eventually, I managed to undo them, my hands shaking as I rubbed the soreness from my wrists and ankles. I sank to the floor, tears streaming down my face, a mixture of pain, frustration, and despair.

In the silence of my cell, I let myself cry, the tears falling freely as I tried to make sense of everything. I was a prisoner in a hellish place, surrounded by others who were suffering, and there was no escape. But even in the depths of my despair, a flicker of determination burned within me.

I would endure. I would find a way to survive. And one day, I would escape this place, no matter what it took. Because I knew that if I didn't hold on to that hope, if I let the darkness consume me, then the Haven would have won.

And I refused to let that happen.

5 years later...

1101 words—adios!