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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4. Escape the White

I continued my path through the tight metal shaft, inching my way along, trying not to make a sound, which turned out to be quite an impossible mission. The echoing of noises, although not in reality that loud seemed deafening to me. I try to keep my eyes forward following my guide but there is just too much on my mind to concentrate properly. Am I finally getting out of here? I think to myself. It seems unreal, an impossible mission, but just maybe... I quickly panic when I feel my hand suddenly drop out below me. I look down to see a vent, roughly a foot below. A small stream of white washed light seeps through and I become confused. How could there be another level under us? I had never thought of it that way before, that possibly our detainers were working under our very noses, in a most literal sense. I adjust my body and make it over the small gap with some struggle, continuing my trek down the long metal path.

Soon to my surprise, we stop. I just about slam into Mark’s butt, unaware of my surroundings. “There’s a fork,” He says. I echo the words back incase anyone didn’t hear his message. Like a game of telephone, the message travels backwards in a repertory stream. I can see the hesitation in Mark’s body, trying to deter which direction he will take. After several juttering movements, he turns left and the procession carries on.

My hands are tired. My legs are chilled with gooseflesh and A pounding sensation ricochets through my body with the thumping of many shaking hands and jerky knees on metal. The fear is slowly leaving me but a new sensation of emptiness replaces it. I feel as if our mission is hopeless and this ventilation system will go on for miles. Suddenly, from around the bend of a corner I can see a small amount of light filtering through. We take the bend and I am surprised to see the ventilation tunnels have widened increasingly. I can also see where the light come from. At the end of this very tunnel there is a large vent plate with little slats. Glorious light seeps through and fills me with hope for a moment. Could this really be happening? Would we escape? We near the end of our trail and slowly everyone comes to a stop. I can see Mark in front, fumbling with the plate, twisting off nuts from screws holding us in. Soon enough he is able to push in the plate and slides through. I stare in silence for a moment. This was it. We would escape and see the world in all it’s reality. Slowly, carefully, I following Mark’s steps and slide my body through the opening, only to feel it yanked harshly to the side, a hand over my mouth. I can see another man holding onto Mark on the other side of the vent opening. His eyes are wide and panicked, uncertain. I try to scream a warning to the rest, but all my attempts are muffled by the obstruction covering my face. Soon it becomes hard to breathe as I watch more and more of my peers falling from the shaft, only to be scooped up by strange, muscled men wearing white uniforms and surgical masks. Momentarily the man holding me releases his hand, but before I can utter a cry, he covers my face again, this time holding a strange smelling cloth to my nose and mouth. This makes my breathing even harder and soon enough, my vision begins to blur, shifting spots covering everything. The last thing I see is the panicked look on Mark's face, his eyes pleading horrifically, filled with pained emotion.

 

    I wake up groggy and sore. I look about me to find myself in a small room filled with narrow white beds. My comrades lay on them, hopefully sleeping. I notice one girl awake, her legs situated over the edge of her bed. I push my body out of my shroud of sheets and make my way sleepily over to the girl. She sits staring at the blank wall in front of her, not even registering my presence. “Hello?” I say softly, trying to attain her attention. She continues to stare at the wall, unmoving. I am about to walk away before I hear her begin to speak.

    “They put the needles in,” She says dreamily. She points to a bandage on her arm. I’m surprised to see a similar one on my own limb. She drunkenly pantomimes plunging a syringe into her skin, her eyes widening and suddenly slips off the bed. I race to her fallen body, her chest unmoving. “Hello?” I ask again. “Are you okay?” I suddenly recognize her as one of the girls Mark asked to escape with us. I believe her name is Hope. I press my fingers to her neck but feel no pulse. She is dead. Just like the other zombies.

    I pull the lifeless corpse onto the bed and close her eyelids in respect. She almost looked peaceful, but the underlying truth that Hope was dead filled me with despair. I abandon my post and stand up, scrounging the other beds. Roughly half the chests of the sleepers still rise and fall, unsteady waves  in a mountainous ocean of fear and struggle. I tear falls down my cheek as I look at a still form laying on a bed, her curly red locks cascaded over her face. “Pinky,” I say aloud in a heart wrenching whisper. I adjust her soft hair and touch her cheek momentarily, tears dripping down my own. She was dead, nothing more to it. Sighing between silent wrenching sobs, I pull myself away from the limp form and continue to take in the struggling room. So many helpless lives falling away from me, and why had I not been among them? I look towards the door stationed on the far end of the room, left slightly ajar. Mindlessly I move towards it, my hand grasping the cold metal knob and pulling it open to reveal a blank, white hall with a door on each end. I walk left only to find the door is locked. Strangely there is a small fisheye peephole, not unlike those in hotel rooms, which I look through and in shock, see the commons area. The place used to be so full of life and now it only held death, various forms sprawled on the floor, certainly dead. I suddenly knew what this door was. This was the ominous entrance kids had been disappearing through for weeks on end, and now I was on the other side. I continued to watch, for as to my surprise, someone was walking into the large chamber, completely conserved by a white hazmat suit. Two others identical in looks followed, carrying a long stretcher. They proceeded to carry bodies off on the stretch, hefting the corpses away. I turned away from the scene, bitter, sour bile rising into my throat which I then proceeded to gag back down again. Everyone was dead. Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air and I clumsily pried my body from the floor to which I had stooped.  Hastily, I walked towards the sound emanating from the other end of the hall to which I found the other door, a small, narrow, rectangular pane of glass providing a small look into a large,bright room. There was Mark, poor beautiful Mark clamped to table, screaming in agony as a tall man in a white Hazmat suit injected him with two needled syringes filled with a luminous, shiny, green liquid. Soon after, he removed the needles and slipped them onto a wheeled try and quit the room through a tall white door locking it behind him. I ripped hard at the handle to Mark’s prison, but it gave no way. I could still hear his pained screams, asking for release from whatever it was that bound him in agony. Tears burn my cheeks raw as I cry for him. I have no idea what is happening to him, to me, or anyone else. It is all a colossal compilation of pain, confusion, terror, and confinement. I tilt my head up to see Mark again, his body wracking as he sobs from evident pain. I cry with him. For a mere second he tilts his head in my direction, his shudders ceasing for a moment. I have never seen so much emotion in one human being than what I saw in his eyes. They look so sad and pained, somehow disappointed. In me? Maybe. He released my gaze and tilts his head back, his mouth wide open in a silent scream, no voice being uttered. I assume he must have lost the strength. He just lays there, no energy left and surrendering to the horrific pain. I cry for him. I cry.

 

I wake up again in a small white room, my stomach hurting tremendously and a slight pain stinging in my arm. I remember everything.

    It seems I’m in my old room, but something feels different. The bed is in a different position I realise. I push the thin, white blanket from my body and throw my limp legs over the side of the mattress. Slowly, I inch towards the ground and let me feet settle there, taking in reality. The white washed cement feels cold beneath my feat. I shudder. Stretching my body upwards, I pull myself up from the bed and work the small kinks from my muscles. Slowly, uneasily, I walk towards the bedroom door and find myself in a short hallway, an opening to the left of me revealing the commons, and a door across from me, set wide open. I edge near to see it is identical to my own, the blankets ruffled and a pillow laid aloofly on the floor. This seems familiar. I turn my back on the empty room and take in the short hall, barely more than an indent now. This feels like the hallway my old room used to be down, but much shorter now. I graze my fingers across the white, plastered wall. It seems new. I run my fingers down the new, barely detectable seams, then turn and walk into the commons.

    Everything feels empty. There's no one here and all the tables have been removed, with the exception of one octagonal surface placed ominously in the center of the room. I walk towards it a take a seat at the hard, white table, taking in everything. All the hallways have been closed off with new plaster, except the small indent I just came through. Of course, there is still the short opening leading to the mess hall, and the door. The door. I stands tall, it red glowing sign now dead and silent. These sights loom around me, and I feel very lightheaded. Hungry, Thirsty, and Tired. Sick. Dead Maybe. Everything hurts and nothing makes sense. It’s all just a lot of spinning. I woosily struggle to my feet and weakly walk towards the mess hall, supporting myself against a wall as I stumble. Slowly, clawingly, I force myself into the adjoining room and push my way towards the large counter where food is layed out. I manage to snatch a water bottle and an apple before I crumple to the floor. I shakily bring the apple to my mouth and force a bit with trembling lips. It tastes like nothing but it feels good to have food in me. I slowly sip the water, drenching my dry, cracked lips with a flood of liquid. I gag a bit as it goes down but it’s worth it. I take a deep, shaky, heaving breath and stretch my arm upwards, pulling myself up with the table as support. I soon make it to my feet but want to fall backwards in shock at the sight in front of my. Far across the mess hall at a table sits a sandy head of hair, facing away from me.

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