The White Complex

Everything changes for 1109853, more commonly known as Christine, when her closest friend discovers cracks in the white complex, a massive living space filled with teenagers without memories. When people start to disappear, to what lengths will Christine take to escape the white?

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6. Bright White Pain and Agony

Slowly my body moves onwards, following a path only familiar to my knowing subconscious. The hallways seems to go forever. I gently graze my hands along the white washed walls as I plot onwards towards my destination. Now only five feet away from me looms a tall white door, standing ajar. Not even caring enough to push the door further open with my hand, I shove my body through the small opening, squishing the fat on my frame between the heavy door and the opposing wall. I stand there, uncertain, but still quite uncaring. I can feel the hair on the back of my neck start to tingle and I turn around to see three men standing In a corner of the list long room misted in shadows. Suddenly and quite shockingly, reality begins to set in. What had I done? Why had I come here? I look towards the door through which I entered seconds before, only to see it clamping shut with a hydronic woosh before my very eyes. Two of the men, both extremely well muscled and burly in stature approach me unhesitatingly, grabbing my wrists. I try to struggle and cry out from their tight grip. “No! What are you doing? Let me go!” I cry. I scream and wail unceasingly, fearing the impending doom blossoming before me. “Please stop,” I cry weakly after they clamp me to a manacled surgery table. The flexible but stiff plastic cuffs cut into my wrists tightly, bonding me as one the the surface on which I lay. Suddenly, there is a pounding sound and I adjust my head to see the cause. Mark. He stands just outside the door, peering in through the small, narrow window and banging his fists against its surface. I can see his mouth moving in desperate pleas, but hear nothing. Tears roll down my cheeks as I watch him, the anger I felt minutes ago towards him melting away like ice on hot, black tar. His passion for me breaks my heart and my head throbs. “Mark,” I mumble repeatedly. Mark, Mark, Mark. He was here, trying to talk to me for the first time in days, but then again it couldn't be considered a civil conversation, for I have no idea what he is saying despite his obvious screams. My attention quickly focuses to the man approaching me. He wears all white and a surgical mask and cap covers his head. All I can see of his is his unemotional cold brown grey eyes, staring at me like a specimen at a freak show or Museum. He pulls a rolling tray towards him and silently arranges his tools, only to pick up a single one. Suddenly I can hear the piercing sound of Marks desperate screams. No! No! No! He shouts through the glass and metal barrier. The man above me taps the glass chamber of the metal syringe and tests the plunger, a drop of murky, light green liquid spilling out, collecting and dropping onto my collar bone, bare above my white, loose shirt. The thick liquid slide down the valley on my chest and soon the thick cotton fabric of my shirt absorbs it. I focus on these feeling, trying to tear my anxiety from the penetrating needle looming before me. I suppress a yelp as the spike suddenly sinks into my arm, the thick liquid pouring into a vein. I can feel the pressure slightly, but it doesn't hurt that bad. I relax by instinct but suddenly cry out as a searing pain strike my body. My back arches in response, dreadfully restrained by my the plastic manacles. The burning increases and a new, sudden, pinching pain is added to the plate, like my muscles being squeezed into painful, elaborate knots. I scream in agony and tears stain my flushed cheeks. My head splits with a soul devouring migraine and my stomach lurches with the feeling of being filled with toxic acid. I heave and scream more until my throat is sore and my body is weak. It feels like the pain has been eating its way through me for hours. Weakly I adjust my eyes, my mouth open in a silent scream, and focus on a beautifully familiar face. Mark. My vision begins to blur with pain and my body and mind convulse into the sweet escape of darkness and solitude.

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