With a watch on his wrist, no memory of his past, and a puzzle-filled room, Atlas tries desperately to escape the elevators.
Upon waking to darkness, Atlas stumbles into the white room. His desire for answers driving his feet to move. In the firs...
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Moving his hand across a beat-up mattress, Atlas opened his eyes at the unfamiliar texture. Through the haze of sleep, he could make out a room with concrete-lined walls.
Where am I?
His brain ran through the possibilities and none of them were promising. The last thing he remembered was being caught by those threatening combat boots. Panic beat in his heart. He had to escape. He forced his body to cooperate as he groggily lifted his head. Pain shot through his spine. He pulled himself onto his elbows and reached to ease the discomfort in his neck. His eyes widened as warm blood trailed down his hand. He pressed down on the wound and gritted his teeth.
What did they do to me?
Atlas' blood went cold.
Hope.
He had been so disoriented that her well-being hadn't crossed his mind. Guilt gripped at his heart as he jumped to his feet. He walked around the blue curtain that separated the room. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw Hope's sleeping form on a mattress identical to his. He rushed over to her side and knelt down on the ground. He watched as her eyes moved behind their pale lids.
Gingerly, he moved his hand on top of hers. Her skin was soft and warm. It reminded him of a warm summer day. Atlas smiled as he looked down at the sleeping girl. Closing his eyes, he begrudged stood up. He needed an escape plan for when she woke up. They wouldn't keep them here again. Curiosity piqued his interest. He stumbled across the room to the other curtain that lay beside Hope.
Moving it out of his way, he stared at the disheveled and empty mattress. His mind was racing again as he assumed the worst.
Will. Where did they take him?
"Good, You're awake!" a deep voice spoke from somewhere behind him. The sudden appearance startled Atlas. He whipped around to face the attacker. Instinctively, he reached into his back pocket for his trusty scissors but found nothing. Nothing but lint and empty promises. Atlas moved in front of Hope and assumed a protective stance.
I'll use my fists if I have to. He can't have her.
"What do you want? Where is Will?" Atlas spat the words as he glared at a middle-aged man with dark brown hair and deep chocolate eyes. Atlas felt his world spin and his vision getting blurry. He wasn't sure if the ground was moving or if he was spinning in place. The intruder's face shifted from a smile to confusion. Just as quickly, the flood of emotion was replaced with apprehension.
"Ah, the boy! He is with the others getting settled in. You're home now, Admiral Witton!"
Those words elicited a reaction from Atlas' subconscious. Immediately he reached for his bloody neck once again. It was still spewing the thick liquid as he fell to his knees. Atlas squeezed his eye shut as images flashed behind his eyelids. It was the man in front of him. This man was imprinted into his brain hundreds of times. The image that burned the most was an image of the man wearing a mask. Atlas reached for it as if to find the source, but he felt his grip whiff past the memory. Snapping to reality, he was vaguely aware of the man touching his shoulder.
