Book 1: Chapter One - Introductions

>Get back to the apartment around 3:30 AM.

>Had to work 'til just a bit ago on that last college term paper.

>Thankfully, all classes are over for the Summer.

>You still have work, but no classes at the same time is still nice.

>And it's Friday.  

>Happy, Happy Friday.

>Gonna sleep 'til Sunday.  Fuck Saturday.

>You flop down face down in bed, don't bother getting undressed.

>You forgot to take your meds today.

>One day won't hurt.

>Besides, it is way too late to take them.

>My Bi-polar swings have been better lately, anyway.

>Doc says he's thinking about cutting the dosage.

>Why the hell am I thinking about this.

Brain, go to sleep.

>Oddly, you shut off like a light when you think that.

 

>Your dreams are horrifying visions of a war-torn world,

>filled with fire and hell-scape where beauty once was.

>As you look on, you see quadrupeds – horses? - being forced into hard labor at the whip cracks of men.  >Something about this sight brings tears to your eyes.  

>The men look up and see you, and you run.  

>Maniacal laughter fills your ears as you run, eventually coming to the edge a bottomless, empty void.  >You turn around only to have a blood-soaked figure grinning at you.

>He pushes you into the void.

 

>As you fall endlessly, a voice rings pure in your head, from all around you and nowhere at all.

 

>“You are needed.”

 

>You wake up with a start, in a cold sweat.

>Deep breathes, Anon.  Deep breathes. It was only a dream.

>Not gonna go to sleep after that, Anon.

>At least, not for a bit.

>You start sliding out of your Queen sized bed and

>Backthefuckup.jpg.

Brain?

>Yes, Anon?

I have a twin sized bed, correct?

>Checking... Yes.

This is not my bed, is it, brain?

>It would seem so, Anon.

Thanks, brain. Do you know where we are?

>Nope.

Well, fuck.

>Judging from the light in the room coming out of the large windows, the sun is just coming up.

>It's too early for this shit.

>You look around and see that you are in a large bedroom.

>The floor is all marble, by the looks of it.

>It looks like a plain, white room with tools lining the walls.

>The white floor is, oddly, completely clean.

>Life, someone took a toothbrush and cleaned it.  There's not a spot on it.

>The room is very well maintained and ordered... and very sparse.  

>Except for the tools, there is a dresser, a bed, and two tables lining the wall to your right.

>That's it.

>Despite the cleanliness of this plain room, everything seems a little... darker, than it should be.

>The walls are covered in tools.  Sickles, hammers, knives, scalpels...

>As the light starts hitting the walls, you notice that the tools on the wall are pristine.

>There are some rusty tools on the table, though.

>You get up, checking your clothes as you do.

>Same stuff you were wearing yesterday.

>How the hell did I black out and end up here?

>Where is here?

>You think about the situation for a second before remembering that most people don't have a strange

>array of tools in their bedroom.

>You go and inspect one of the sickles.

>Your heart rate quickens.  

>This is definitely not your room.

>Or any room that you'd care to be in for long.

>That's not rust.

>That's blood.

>Some of the tools have dried blood.

>Some have fresh crimson on them.

>The dirty ones are lying on the table near a tub of water.

>They were, apparently, being cleaned.

>The water is tinted red.

>You back up, covering your mouth instinctively.

>You look around as the room illuminates.

>There is a table with manacles attached to it, covered in dried blood.

>There is an apron hanging in the corner, blood stains riddling it's exterior.

>All of the tools on the wall, in their clean glory, start spinning around you in your mind.

Where the fuck am I, brain?!?!

>Cap'n, we're too busy fightin' the urge to puke to think straight.

>Your head starts spinning as you reel backwards, trying to take this all in.

“This is a dream, this is a dream, this is a dream...”

>You repeat those words as you curl up on the floor, vowing never to skip your meds again if this is the >side affect.

>You hit your head on the floor trying to wake up.

>Nothing happens.

>You're about to do it again when you hear what sounds like footsteps coming down the corridor outside the door.

>You stand up, frantically looking about for a place to hide.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

>It's just a big, square room.

>A voice, quiet yet familiar, sounds in the back of your head.

Take it like a man, Anon. Die standing tall.

>You go to the wall and grab a knife, ready to jump on the first person to walk through the door.

>The footsteps stop outside.

Knock knock knock.

>”Sir Anonymous, are you ready?  It's almost time to do your... duties.”

>You stand there, stunned.  How did that person know your name?

>Why did he sound disgusted at duties?

>You look around the room again.

>Your stomach turns at the thought of what “your” duties may very well be.

>”Sir Anonymous? Are you alright?”

>Did he just call you “Sir Anonymous?” What the fuck?

>What the fuck is going on?!

>”Sir, we're coming in!”

>The door opens, revealing two guards. They each have an AK-47 strapped around their shoulders.

>There is fear in there eyes when they look at you.

>”S-sir Anonymous?”

>You stare at them, knife in hand.

>Quickly you compose yourself, jovially tossing the knife in the air and catching it by the handle.

“Of course I'm fine.  I was just … getting ready.”

>You were a bit surprised that you caught the knife.

>One of the guards looks at you oddly, but a small glance from you makes him stand at attention.

>”Of course, Sir Anonymous. When you are ready, we will escort you to the room.”

“Let me just get my... necessities.”

>As you walk over to the apron and put it on, you fight the urge to retch at the smell of decay.

>You grab a small selection of tools and put them in your apron.

>You then take a deep breath, putting on the biggest poker face you ever have in your life before >turning around.

“Lead the way, gentlemen.”

>”Yes sir!”

>They lead you through a set of winding corridors, which you desperately try to commit to memory.

>Eventually, after a short and silent walk, you make it to a door at the end of a short side corridor.

>The guards open the door and file in.

>You follow.

>You wish you hadn't.