Ughh… cold.
Suddenly, a phantom ache flared in my neck as the memory of that unknown syringe hijacking my system flashed through my mind. But surprisingly, the burning sting wasn't nearly as brutal as the agonizing jolt I felt when I first regained consciousness earlier. No—honestly? I actually felt refreshed. It was that distinct, heavy euphoria you get when you finally crash for a 20-hour slumber after pulling a ruthless two-day streak of all-nighters just to gamble on online betting.
So damn good. Even if the backdrop to this rebirth was a punishingly cold floor. But hey, a win is a win, a good thing is still a good thing—no matter how ugly the girl is. As long as her grip is tight enough to hold your little guy, all you have to do is close your eyes, imagine she's Lucy, and savour the moment. Am I wrong?
I rolled over, the icy chill of the floorboards seeping through my skin, and took in my surroundings. The room wasn't nearly as spacious as the concrete cavern where I'd been tied up earlier, but it looked decent, packed to the brim with sprawling, humming machinery whose purposes were entirely beyond me. The air here was noticeably sharper, biting at my bare skin. Maybe 10 degrees Celsius? It had that exact, crisp, thin quality of the air when you're hiking a mountain trail in the dead of night.
Groaning against the stiffness in my joints, I slowly and cautiously pushed myself up to a standing position, my bare feet stinging against the floor as I looked for a way out. My eyes swept the dim space and locked onto a tall wardrobe standing in the shadows. *Jackpot.* I might as well look for a change of clothes—especially pants. Never in my life had I hung around people, let alone teased a lady, without a pair of trousers guarding my little guy. But hey, bygones be bygones. What can you do?
I slid the wardrobe door open. To my surprise, it was lined with rows of crisp, high-end formal wear. Tailored trousers, stark white shirts, and even a full tuxedo hung neatly on the racks. Is this place some kind of high-end lodging? But if it's a hotel or a lounge, why the hell does it have all these weird, monolithic machines whirring in the corners? Whatever. Too much thinking isn't gonna bring you anywhere. Better just grab something to wear first.
As I peeled off my ruined shirt, the sheer state of it made me grimace. The fabric was stiff, heavily stained with dark, crusted blood across the shoulder and chest. And the smell? Ugh. The stench of dried blood mixed with stale saliva hit my nose—literally the furthest thing from a pleasant aroma. I honestly wondered how Adam could stay completely put in the same car with me earlier without gagging. I guess his blockhead wasn't just a metaphor; his nose must have been completely blocked up too. Only God knows.
I slipped into a fresh outfit and caught my reflection in a nearby mirror, pausing to admire the view. Hmmm, look at this. Am I, to be completely honest, destined to be an important person? This style of clothing suited me effortlessly. The stark white shirt contrasted sharply against the pitch-black, gleaming trousers. What do they call it? A Corporate Executive look? God, how elegant. The monochrome look paired perfectly with my rich brown skin and short, curly hair. Ah, and let's not forget about my amber-colored irises—they practically glowed in the dim light. Perfect. The only blemish on the canvas was the prominent, dark baggage shadowing the undersides of my eyes from a constant, merciless lack of sleep. No wonder my mom always praised me as a handsome boy when I was a kid.
Now, looking down, I couldn't find any shoes to wear. Never mind. I should look for a way out.
After scanning the room, my eyes glued themselves to a thick metal door at the far end. As I took slow, quiet steps toward it, I began to analyze its heavy-duty perks. The door itself was a massive, imposing slab of solid metal, driven by a thick hydraulic arm that served as its engine. But what really picked my interest was the locking mechanism. A sleek digital interface indicated it required a specific keycard to grant access.
I leaned in closer, narrowing my eyes to focus intensely on the device.
"Whoaa..."
It hit me like a sudden tuning fork striking inside my brain. I could actually receive the wavelength already—the polarity, the invisible pulse of the electronics humming inside the wall. I focused even harder, tuning out the ambient noise of the room, examining the digital lock's invisible signature. Immediately, a blueprint snapped into focus in my mind; I knew exactly how it worked. It received a highly specific digital wavelength from a keycard, and as long as that frequency matched the lock's programmed sequence, the hydraulics would engage.
Hahh... if only I had the power to actively inject a certain wavelength back into it, how overpowered would this ability be? Nevertheless, what can I do right now? Nothing. But man, if there was ever a competition on how to find the right keycard out of a pile, I could easily identify the exact frequency and win with absolute ease. I seriously hope there's a competition like that in the future so I can make some easy money.
But for now, what do I do? Should I just sit here like a stray dog waiting for the person in charge? Or... I could examine the equipment used here like some sort of mad scientist. Well, it can't go wrong, right?
While waiting for my captors or caretakers to show up, I wandered around, finding the strange equipment increasingly fascinating. On the side of each unit, a brushed-metal nameplate detailed the technical specifications. Pretty cool, isn't it? Eventually, I found myself completely glued to three specific machines that were constantly leaking a distinct, vibrant wavelength into the air:
The Infinition Doppler Radar: This one was quite small compared to the massive servers nearby, but it was paired with a high-tech, lethal-looking computer monitor that made the whole setup look incredibly intimidating. It was positioned at a precise, perpendicular angle directly facing a long, narrow raceway. At the very end of the track hung a stark bullseye target. I figured it was meant for recording or high-speed analysis... but for what?
The Phantom Camera: At first glance, it just looked like a high-end camera meant for a Hollywood filmmaker. Nothing overly special about its sleek exterior, but it looked undeniably cool.
The Simulation Gaming Set: I'm not lying—it was literally a top-tier, futuristic gaming rig. It boasted massive monitors arranged in a sweeping semi-circle, a heavy-duty vertical support arm designed to hold your body nice and tight, and to top it all off, a massive omnidirectional treadmill that allowed you to sprint or step in whatever direction you pleased. Every damn house should have one of these.
As for the other machines filling out the room? I figured they were just supporting hardware and testing materials, but I couldn't be sure. I've never applied for a scientist or engineering job in my life. But it was cool—very cool, even.
Not long after I began examining the omnidirectional treadmill, the thick metal door suddenly hissed open, the hydraulics whining in protest.
"Mr. Edgar, please com—" A sharp intake of breath cut the voice off. "Don't touch anything! For fuck's sake!Did you think this was your private luxury room?!"
"Yes? O-ok, understand," I muttered, raising my hands defensively.
Damn it. Just when I was starting to feel alive again, someone had to come along and ruin the vibe. And what's all the fuss about not touching things? Why put me in a room like this of all places if I'm just supposed to stare at the walls? I might find myself saying this over and over, but seriously—do these people literally have heads just for decoration? Fuck me.
The man let out a long, exhausted blow. "Huft... it's Tayley. Your support assistant from now on. Anything you need to learn or analyze, you just come to me. And here's your Card." He extended a sleek, rigid piece of plastic toward me. "The card is used as a key to your room and a means of communication. Just tap the logo right there, and your voice will be transmitted directly to my station. And just to make sure, please alert me a few times when you call; we don't know if I'm away in the toilet or just sleeping. And that's it. Any questions?"
I stared at him, bewildered. Look at this guy explaining a whole operations manual in a single breath. How am I supposed to memorize a data dump that fast?
"Ah, yeah, here," I said, pointing down at my bare feet. "Do you have any shoes? It would be absolutely perfect if I had shoes to match this outfit." I didn't give a damn about the card or his transmission rules right now. Walking around barefoot inside someone else's establishment just isn't my forte.
Tayley blinked, giving me another completely blank, soul-sucking look. Hahh... I didn't even want to utter my usual sacred curses anymore; it just tired me out.
"Ahh, of course. Let me check," Tayley sighed, scanning the floor. "What is your size?"
"42," I replied, fast and certain. I wanted to finish things nicely and get out of this freezing room.
I watched him rumble around, peering behind counters and checking storage crates, until he finally pulled out a pair of polished black leather shoes—exactly like the ones those corporate suits wear.
"Here are your shoes," he said, handing them over with a distinctly mocking intonation. "Now. Any related questions?"
"What do I do from now on? And where is my room?"
"Nice question. What you'll do in the future is... well, I don't exactly know. You need to get your assignment first from your direct supervisor or team leader. And that will happen tomorrow. Today it's already 08:39 p.m., which is already past my shift, so I need to go claim my overtime, yeah, yeah... hmm, and what was it again?"
With a heavy facepalm, I dragged my hand down my face and repeated slowly, "Where. Is. My. Assigned. Room?"
Like I said, there was something fundamentally wrong with the people in this place. What should I call them? Lunatics? The guys before this had literally punched me before even offering a greeting, then injected me with a syringe out of nowhere. And the thing that I would never be able to forget, of course... transmitting an ultra-high frequency directly into my brain just to make me behave. Ah, and one last thing—the source of all my suffering: the director lady. She had left me with nothing but a name card while smiling so beautifully - a smile that still made the hair on my arms stand up because of how hollow it felt. Just right before I ended up tied to a chair to meet her at exactly 10:00 a.m. No wonder all of her employees suffered from lunatic syndrome. It all made perfect sense now.
"Aha! Your room," Tayley snapped his fingers, completely oblivious to my internal crisis. "Follow me. I'll take you to your quarters. But you need to remember: tomorrow at 05:45 a.m. sharp, I will pick you up. Better not wake up late, or I'll tell your supervisor," he added, flashing me a vicious, petty smile.
"Got it," I murmured, stepping into the leather shoes. They fit perfectly. "Now... do you have any cigarettes on you?"
It had already been a full, agonizing day without a single cigarette touching my lips. My throat felt so parched and dried up that my lips felt like they would shatter into pieces with a gentle touch. I needed a smoke. A heavy one at that.
"Ohh, we don't have any of those here," Tayley shrugged dismissively, turning toward the corridor. "You could ask your supervisor tomorrow, or ask your assistant to get one for yo—"
He stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly clapping his hand tightly over his own mouth as the realization hit him.
I knew. Oh, I knew.
A slow, vicious smile spread across my face as I locked my amber eyes onto him, leveling a heavy, triumphant stare.
"Tayley, my love," I purred, my voice dripping with satisfaction. "Get me a pack of cigarettes."
He stared at me, horrified.
"Ah, and don't forget about the lighter."
His eyes widened slightly.
"Ah... and bring them over to my place before 10:00 p.m."
Ahahaha! Finally! Just look at that utterly defeated, distrustful look on his face. It was the ultimate reward for having to listen to him talk nonsense for the past hour.
Nothing beats a cigarette before sleeping. I could already imagine to taste the rich, heavy smoke filling my lungs, settling my frayed nerves before I finally crashed into a proper bed.
"Now," I gestured grandly toward the hallway, entirely owning the corporate executive look. "Bring me to my room."