Chapter 11 | Dakota Williamson

  I open my eyes to a blinding, yellow light. The dusty stone brick walls in this place give me chills. Where am I?

  The room is small, only able to fit a small bed in the corner, a desk, and a small dresser. Am I in prison?

  "Glad to see you’re finally awake," a robotic-sounding voice says over a loudspeaker in the top corner of the room. "I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up any time soon!"

  I start looking around for cameras. There’s one in the opposite corner from the speaker.

  "Oh, don’t feel special. We need to keep tabs on you all."

  I give a confused glance to the camera.

  "Do you have some questions? Please, ask away!"

  Is there a microphone in the room with me? "Are you able to hear me?"

  "Quite well. You’d be surprised at the whispers we hear from the other rooms."

  "So then," I begin, about to ask the big question, "where am I? Why am I in this room?"

  The voice from the corner begins chuckling. "Wouldn’t you rather know who you are first?"

  I’m confused. Who I am? Why wouldn’t I know who I was? I’m…

  Wait. I don’t remember. Who am I? In fact, I don’t remember anything from my past. This… this is all I remember.

  "What did you do to me?" I yell at the camera. "Where are my memories?"

  The voice begins laughing again. "Who says you had any memories to begin with? Why do you assume we did something?"

  The tone in the voice makes me angry, but he’s right. I have no clue if something was done to me, or how they’d do it for that matter.

  "Then who am I? And why am I here?"

  "You are the newest recruit into our little charade here, and your name," the voice trails off, as if deciding whether to tell me or keep my interest dangling just out of reach, "well, let’s just say your name is Ghost."

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  "Ghost? I’m named Ghost?"

  "A nickname of sorts, to represent your story! Many people believe you are dead, Ghost. Too many people, for that matter."

  "Why? Why do they think I’m dead?"

  "You, dear Ghost," the voice clears its throat, "were in a terrible accident."

  An accident? Why can’t I remember anything? "What happened to me?"

  "Oh, poor soul, you fell victim to an attack. You were struck down and buried under the weight of your own pride and shortcomings. But don’t worry… this will be the end of all of your misfortune."

  "Misfortune? You call this a place away from misfortune?" My voice quickly turns into a scream. "I’m trapped in a cell with a voice who won’t tell me why I’m here or who I am!"

  Out of nowhere, my back erupts with pain, a burning sensation consuming my entire body. I can’t help but yell as I collapse to my knees. The loudspeaker in front of me crackles. The agony stretches on for what feels like an eternity before the pain finally fades, leaving me gasping for air.

  "Oh, dear Ghost, you must realize your life is no longer yours. Your actions, your voice, your utility are all ours. Your body is under our influence. You have little say in this situation."

  I try to regain my balance, struggling to stand. This is unfair. What did I do to deserve this?

  The voice continues, "Poor Ghost, don’t believe your life is over, it’s far from that. You still have many things to do for us."

  "What are you going to make me do?"

  "Oh, just simple things, really. Taking out the trash, removing the grime from the colonies. Simple tasks. You, poor fool, are our newest weapon."

  Weapon? My mouth stutters trying to speak. I can only say the word in my mind. "What do you mean?"

  "Just as I said. You are removing the people we do not need, so we, the ones with lives still under our control, can utilize them. Isn’t that fascinating, young Ghost?"

  My fists clench with rage. I want to kill this guy more than anyone. If he needs people dead, why doesn’t he do it himself? Why me?

  "Yes," the voice muses, "let the anger inside of you become apparent. It’ll help you when you meet the other tools."

  "Other… Ghosts?" I turn toward the camera, hoping I’m staring right into his eyes- wherever he is.

  "We call each of you prototypes. You’re merely the newest addition to the array. They’ve killed more than you could ever count, and they don’t bode well with newcomers."

  A loud snapping noise interrupts the voice. My head snaps toward the sound. The door to my cell is unlatched, slowly creaking open.

  Beyond the threshold, I see them. A room filled with men and women sitting around tables. Knives, guns, and bullets flood every surface. The air is thick with something… something wrong.

  "It’s your time to join them, Ghost. Go meet your new coworkers."

  I take a step forward, but hesitation grips me. What was just my prison now feels like my sanctuary. I don’t want to leave.

  My fingers wrap around the door handle, but I can’t bring myself to push it open further. My hand trembles, and I let go.

  I take a step back. Then another. And another. Before I know it, I’m back in the center of my room. I don’t want to leave.

  A sharp pain rips through my spine, a searing heat scraping against my bones. My muscles ignite as if they’re on fire.

  The pain disappears just as suddenly as it came.

  "What’s wrong, Ghost?" The voice hums with amusement. "You’re not afraid, are you?"

  I grit my teeth through the voices laughter and force myself to step forward. My hand reaches the door handle again. My grip tightens.

  There’s no escaping my fate.