The White Room

Complete darkness shrouded Anthony from the moment of his awakening. A heavy veil of shadows devoured his surroundings, leaving him with a chilling sense of isolation. As he attempted to focus his mental faculties, his memory resembled a chaotic jigsaw puzzle, with fragmented images clinging to the recesses of his mind, much like a distant fog on the horizon, hinting at the ominous secrets lurking beneath.

The darkness enveloping him remained all-encompassing, suffocating in its intensity, and upon further exploration and self-examination, he discovered a few unsettling facts that sent shivers down his spine:

1. His name is Anthony. He clung to this single thread of identity like a lifeline in this abyss of uncertainty.

2. He was trapped in a room, its dimensions shrouded in this enigmatic void. The walls, invisible but palpable, confined him in a claustrophobic embrace. Every outcome when exploring ended in twenty paces in each direction before hitting an impenetrable barrier.

3. He was clothed, his body free from restraints, yet a gnawing unease whispered that freedom in this Stygian prison might be an illusion.

While pacing about the unfathomable darkness, Anthony toyed with the idea of using his voice to call out for assistance. The ability to speak lived within him, but as he contemplated unleashing his voice into the void, a strange thought gripped him like icy fingers. He couldn’t recall ever having spoken before. A sudden wave of dread washed over him, and he dismissed it with haste, attributing it to the fog of his shattered memory.

“Hello?” Anthony’s voice broke the oppressive silence, sounding alien and fragile in the engulfing darkness. “Is anyone around? Is anyone listening?”

No response.

“Hello!” Panic coursed through Anthony’s veins, his voice pleading. “Can someone please answer me?!” His heart pounded like a drum; his breaths labored as if invisible weights pressed down on his chest. He dropped to his knees, hugging himself in desperation.

A glimmer of hope ignited within Anthony’s soul as the vents above him whirred to life, a faint hum cutting through the suffocating silence. In the perceived sounds, he discerned the shifting of panels on the ceiling.

Is this freedom? Am I being released? The questions filled his heart and soul with a fragile sense of joy.

As the ceiling panels ceased moving, Anthony’s focus sharpened on the fans within the vents. A sinister hissing, like a serpent on the prowl, descended from above. It melded with the previous noises, weaving an industrial symphony that sent shivers down his spine.

Within seconds, Anthony breathed in the gas seeping into his nasal cavities, a cold, metallic odor invading his senses. Panic surged as realization dawned. He now understood why the fans had been turned on.

A split second later, Anthony’s consciousness plunged into the abyss, his world consumed by the pitch-black room, and his fate sealed in chilling obscurity.

****

When Anthony awoke, his eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden harsh light flooding his prison. Four blindingly white walls enclosed him, rendering his sense of direction meaningless. He glanced upward and realized the ceiling was a distant, unreachable twenty feet above him. The center of the ceiling bore light fixtures and vents, casting an eerie glow.

The haunting notion he had never, in truth, seen before gnawed at him, much like when he found his voice. The intrusion of light reignited his memories, and they rushed back, vivid and overwhelming. He remembered speaking to people and cherished moments from his past, but his body refused to corroborate those recollections.

Anthony examined his hands, noting their soft, delicate texture. His skin possessed an abnormal silkiness, a far cry from the rougher, weathered texture he remembered. He should have a sun-kissed complexion, but it was as if his entire existence had been stripped of its vitality. He also took note of the white clothing clinging to his body, a shade darker than the walls. The clothing, though strange, registered as comfortable on his skin.

“Where am I?” The need to experience his own voice dominated his thoughts. “Hello? Where am I? Why am I here? Is my voice reaching anyone?”

Without warning, a seamless, smooth white wall before him underwent a subtle transformation. A rectangular panel slid without noise on the wall, revealing a tray equal in whiteness, extending toward Anthony. On it, a steaming, soupy meal sat in a white bowl displayed as a piece of culinary art, accompanied by a glass of water.

The aroma of the soup enveloped his senses, a tantalizing scent that beckoned to his insatiable hunger. He scooped the nourishment into his mouth with bare hands, barely pausing to chew as he devoured it with voracious animal instincts. The water followed as a relief that quenched his thirst. Such a simple meal had never left such a divine impression upon his palate. When he finished, he placed the empty bowl and glass on the tray.

The tray retreated in an instant, sliding back into the wall from whence it came, and the rectangular panel resealed the wall, rendering it solid once more.

A searing explosion of pain erupted within his head as if his mind had been torn open. Anthony attributed the agony to the flood of memories that surged like a tidal wave. Every minute detail of his life unfurled, frame by frame.

“Collins,” he whispered through the mental torment. “My last name is Collins.” He sank to the ground, rubbing his temples as the anguish subsided with gradual ease. At that moment, a clear image flashed through his mind, vivid and unsettling. “Vanessa.” A sad tone dominated his voice.

Vanessa, a beautiful brunette with an insatiable figure to die for, haunted his thoughts. She carried a childlike passion for cotton candy and amusement parks. Her dark brown hair entranced him, and he loved her more than life itself. She was his everything.

The memories of their closeness and intimacy plagued Anthony’s mind, sending a shiver down his spine. His body responded to these intense recollections in unsettling ways. A surge of unfamiliar sensations coursed through him, and an uncontrolled reaction surprised him. The erection was sudden and unyielding; his member throbbed with a maddening intensity. His mind recalled the experience in the reservoirs of his memories, but the body seemed to experience it all for the first time.

Lustful thoughts of Vanessa, her beauty, and their shared moments invaded his mind. He remembered the softness of her skin and the passionate kisses they shared. His five senses almost experienced the sensual curves of her voluptuous body, teasing him to act during those most intimate moments. Though he stood alone in the white room, the mind transported the body elsewhere with an imagination more vivid than any reality.

“What’s happening to me?” he muttered, his voice laced with confusion.

He stumbled about as if in a drunken stupor.

“Vanessa!” he called out, and a sudden rush of emotion overwhelmed him; the explosive ejaculation lasted only a few seconds, but those precious seconds existed as an eternity’s worth of escape from his current situation. The sensation was fleeting, and he ended up with a profound sense of being as lost as when he had awoken in darkness.

As the overwhelming sensation faded, a strange guilt washed over Anthony for the uncontrollable response. He realized these memories held power over him, causing his body to react in unexpected ways. It was maddening, and he hesitated to delve deeper into his recollections, fearing how else his body might betray him.

****

In the sterile confines of his white prison, the only markers of time were the arrival of the meals. Each serving presented a stark variety, shifting from solid substances to soupy porridge, but the water remained a constant, unchanging companion. Anthony’s memories teased him with flashes of other beverages—crisp sodas on hot summer days — but they were cruel mirages, dissipating into the monotony of the same stale water served with every meal.

The enigma of how Anthony came to this place persisted as an inscrutable riddle. A mental barrier shrouded a specific memory, concealing it like a shadow in the recesses of his mind. If he could only unveil this hidden knowledge, he believed he might, at last, decipher the purpose behind his eerie confinement. Yet, despite his relentless efforts, the concealed truth remained out of reach with stubborn determination.

****

The pursuit of the elusive memory hidden within Anthony’s mind consumed every waking moment. With each passing day, his quest to unravel the enigma slipped further away from his grasp. Isolation, a torment that might have shattered a lesser spirit, instead fueled his determination.

The maddening loneliness and silence that enveloped him could have easily broken him by now. But the missing memory, the one that held the key to his predicament, had become his singular mission. It was the fragile glimmer of hope that sustained him, an obsession that both haunted and preserved his sanity.

****

Frustration couldn’t encapsulate the turbulent emotions surging through Anthony’s veins. The constant battle to grasp the elusive memory was exasperating beyond measure. When he needed a respite from this fruitless struggle, his thoughts turned to Vanessa. During these moments, a peculiar and overwhelming awareness settled upon him.

He remembered Vanessa in vivid detail, reimagining every nuance and experience stored in his mind. His internal voice served as a haunting narrator, recounting the streaming memories as he relived each moment in his thoughts.

“It was a Thursday, February 21st, 2007,” he murmured the thoughts out loud to himself. “Vanessa and I began the day with an argument, a senseless clash of wills. We were running late to meet her parents, and I—Anthony, you fool—picked the wrong day for a fight. I was too preoccupied with our heated exchange, not paying attention to the road. I didn’t even see the red light.”

A flash of the horrific accident raced through Anthony’s consciousness. The brutal impact, as their vehicles entangled into a nightmarish mesh of twisted metal, shattered glass, and human suffering, replayed itself with agonizing clarity. He locked eyes with Vanessa as she died, her life extinguished in an instant. The questioning expression on her face of why burned into his mind.

Then, in a chilling revelation, Anthony realized the horrifying truth: on that fateful day, he had died as well.

****

After hours of wallowing in despair, teetering on the brink of complete insanity, Anthony’s ears perked up at the faint sound of the rectangular panel sliding open on the smooth white wall. The tray, a familiar presence, advanced towards him as it had done countless times before. However, this time, it greeted him with a chilling deviation from the routine.

Laid out before him was not the usual meal, but a long, razor-sharp silver blade. It gleamed in the sterile light of the white room with ominous undertones.

“What is this?” Anthony’s voice trembled as his gaze fixated on the menacing weapon.

In that chilling moment, Anthony experienced Vanessa’s voice echoing within the recesses of his mind. It’s your way out, Anthony. Be with me again.

“It’s my way out?” He spoke with a hint of madness; believing he could hear her voice intensified his desperation.

Yes. Use it. Escape the white room.

“Escape…” The idea of escape was so appealing; he just wanted it to end.

Do you love me?

“Of course, I love you.” He admitted.

Then do it for me.

With a deep breath, Anthony took hold of the blade and allowed the sharp instrument to pierce the flesh of his abdomen. The pain grew to levels he didn’t know he could tolerate, and the blood spilled freely, running across the pristine whiteness of his clothing and the floor beneath him.

“I’ll see you soon, Vanessa.” The sound of his voice as life left his body made Anthony smile. He was finally free.

****

Calib and Eric stepped into the stark white room where the lifeless power source lay on the ground, its vitality extinguished. The two men were clad in matching black jumpsuits adorned with distinct yellow badges on their left arms, denoting their respective ranks within the company’s hierarchy.

These patches served as a silent reminder that Calib and Eric occupied lower rungs on the corporate ladder. It was why they found themselves tasked with the unenviable duty of cleaning up the spent power sources.

Calib, a tall and slender man with a head of dark, almost ebony hair and a Mediterranean complexion, cast a casual glance at the lifeless power source. He shrugged his shoulders with an air of nonchalance.

Beside him, Eric, a younger recruit in the company, monitored Calib’s reaction with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Eric’s short, blond hair and light blue eyes betrayed his newness and nervousness about his role in this operation.

“Is this how it always goes down?” Eric ventured to ask, trying to hide his unease.

Calib shifted his gaze toward Eric, observing the fresh addition to their team as he ran a hand through his short, blond hair. The veteran cleared his throat before responding, “The solitary confinement in the white room is the easiest way to deal with the expired power sources.”

Eric frowned; his gaze remained fixed on the lifeless body. “Aren’t they just clones in the end?”

Calib gave him a slow nod, understanding the young man’s concern. “You could see it that way, but these clones are created from genetic material that’s over five hundred years old. The law prohibits cloning from more recent material. Samples have to date back at least five centuries.”

“The white room is the easiest way to handle them?” Eric inquired, his voice tinged with sadness.

Calib cleared his throat once again before explaining, “Unfortunately, yes. When a clone in the central power station malfunctions in the stasis pod, it’s because they’re beginning to recall memories of their life centuries ago. The company tried rehabilitation, but the memories of their death mixed with the awareness of actions they remember performing but never happened in their cloned bodies drove them insane.”

“So, there’s no alternative,” Eric sighed, recalling his first tour of the central power station, with rows upon rows of stasis pods containing these cloned power sources. “All those brains, serving as an organic network.”

Calib sensed Eric’s distress and spoke reassuringly, “I felt the same way when I first started here. But remember, this plan was put into action during a volatile time in our history. It was a necessary alternative power source. At first, bringing back the dead was frowned upon, but it spared the living from potential extinction. Besides, these subjects have been dead for centuries.”

Eric turned to Calib; his gaze appeared troubled. “What if, in five hundred years, you wake up in a room like this?”

Calib shrugged, seemingly unaffected. “I’m the original. That’s a problem my future clone would have to deal with.”