Addiction Bunkers: The Eliminations

Chapter 1: The Awakening
The world swam into focus in blurry, fragmented bursts. A low, throbbing hum vibrated through the floor, up my spine, settling in my teeth like a persistent ache. Cold. The overwhelming sensation was cold, a damp chill that seeped into my bones despite the thin, scratchy blanket pulled haphazardly across my body. My head throbbed, a dull, insistent pressure behind my eyes. I tried to move, to sit up, but my limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. Panic, cold and sharp, began to claw at the edges of my consciousness.

Where was I?


The question echoed in the silence, a desperate plea lost in the oppressive stillness of the room. My eyes, slowly adjusting to the dim light, focused on the stark, unforgiving environment. The walls were smooth, cold concrete, the color of a bruised sky. The floor was the same, unyielding and chilling against my cheek as I attempted to turn my head. A faint, metallic tang hung in the air, a sharp, acrid scent that burned in the back of my throat. The only other discernible feature was a small, barred window set high in the wall, too small to allow even a sliver of light to penetrate the gloom. The air itself felt heavy, thick with the smell of stale disinfectant and something else… something indefinably unsettling, like the metallic tang of blood.


Memories, or rather, the ghost of memories, flickered at the edges of my mind – disjointed images, flashes of light and shadow, snippets of conversations I couldn’t quite grasp. Faces swam into view, only to dissolve before I could focus on them. Faces filled with fear, or perhaps anger. Or were they my own fears reflected back at me? My own face remained a frustratingly blank canvas. Who was I? What was my name? The questions pressed in on me, urgent and terrifying. The absence of answers created a vacuum, a terrifying void in the core of my being.


Slowly, painstakingly, I managed to heave myself into a sitting position. My muscles screamed in protest, protesting the sudden movement after what felt like an eternity of immobility. The blanket slid from my shoulders, revealing a thin, threadbare garment that offered little protection from the bone-chilling temperature of the room. My hands trembled as I ran them over my arms, searching for any clue, any mark, any distinguishing feature that could provide a lifeline in this terrifying ocean of uncertainty. Nothing. Just pale, smooth skin, marred only by a few faint scratches and bruises, silent testament to a past I couldn’t remember.


The hum grew louder, more insistent, a constant, gnawing pressure that seemed to amplify the growing dread in my heart. It was the sound of machinery, powerful and relentless, a sound that suggested a vast, hidden mechanism churning away just beyond these cold, unyielding walls. The realization struck me with the force of a physical blow – I wasn’t alone. I was trapped.


A wave of nausea washed over me. I pressed my forehead against the cold concrete, trying to quell the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm me. The silence, broken only by the rhythmic hum of the machinery, pressed in on me, suffocating. It felt as though the very walls were closing in, squeezing the air from my lungs, stifling every desperate attempt to regain control.


I was a prisoner. But a prisoner of what? And why?