A loud clang filled the air of the dark, wet room.

Mercedes jumped in her seat, eyes widened at the sudden sound. She looked around, even though the room's dim lighting conditions weren't in her favor. A thin layer of dust coated a concrete floor while swirls of particles danced in the air, trying to find a place to settle. The only source of light was emitted from a small lamp slightly swaying from the ceiling. The faint yellow bulb seemed as though it was nearly out of juice, but was enough for Mercedes to make out objects in her near surroundings. It reminded her of an abandoned factory; a large vent rested on the wall, a few wooden tables were scattered with papers and tools, and pipes littered the wall, leading to the ceiling.

Then came the metallic taste.

The girl swallowed, feeling a sharp pain in her tongue. It was faint, but she swore she could taste a few droplets of blood. Naturally she jerked, wanting to get up and run away from the scary scene. To get back to her bed and cuddle under the blanket. To wake up from this nightmare and feel alright.

Metal grips held Mercedes' wrists down to the chair, fastened tightly to the arms of the seat. A shrill scream echoed the room, high enough in pitch to cause a few of the windows to vibrate. Her body spasmed, nearly seizing in panic, trying to get out of her chair and restraints. Clamps around her ankles were fastened to the chair's legs, forcing her to stay in the seating position.

A sudden static noise caught the woman's attention.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed. "WHO'S OUT THERE?"

Mercedes squinted, her eyes trying hard to adjust to the light. The only movement she caught was the constant swirling of dust, almost dizzying her. Then a small white light burst through one corner of the room. The girl whipped her head to the side, staring at the source of light. Sitting on one of the work benches was an old, small television with antennas producing nothing but static and white noise.

The diva intently stared at the screen, waiting for something to change. Seconds went by, each one seemingly longer than the last. Then the static disappeared, switching to a black and white scene. Mercedes watched as her body was resting on an operating table, with a hooded figure sticking a metal tool into her mouth.

"WHO THE FUCK IS DOING THAT TO ME," she bellowed, frantically looking around the room. The darkness blinded her, her eyes having been used to the television's white static.

Then the scene went dark. "Hello, Mercedes." The black girl jumped once again, shocked to hear something. Her own name, nonetheless.

The television continued to show a black screen, but the audio continued. "For years in your life you have demanded attention from others. For years, you have wanted people to listen. You have cared about one person, and one person in particular - yourself. Tonight, we're going to change that. Tonight, you're going to learn that it's not always you who gets to do the talking." On cue, more yellow lights completely filled the room, revealing more work benches and junk. Mercedes winced at the sudden light, but forced herself to look around. As she panoramically scanned from left to right, the room's paraphernalia caused Mercedes to panic and convulse against the constraints once more. Littering the room was countless jars, each filled with different sharp items. Glass, nails, screws, razors. They were under the tables, on top of the tables, lining the walls, everywhere. Each one had a small timer that blinked to life, revealing a bold ":60" in red, digital print.

"As you can see," the raspy voice continued, "there are jars placed around the room. Your goal, however, is to survive. Do you have what it takes to survive, Mercedes?" The girl's eyes were welling up, trying hard to force back the tears. "In sixty seconds the jars around you will explode, ultimately ending your life. To stop them and to leave this room, you simply must enter the four-digit code into the computer against the wall behind you. If you recall what you saw earlier on the television, you'll find the code etched deep into your tongue. As you can see, there are no reflective surfaces in this room." Mercedes looked around, trying to prove the voice wrong. The jars were discolored and worn, there wasn't a single mirror in the room, and the only window was high above the tables on the second floor. "You'll find a knife under your chair. Will you choose to end your constant carefree talking, or will you choose to end your life? Let the game begin. Make your choice"

Mercedes yelped as her restraints were undone. The hundreds of red numbers started to count down in unison, one high-pitched beep at a time. The girl launched herself over to the only door in the room. It was huge, rusted, had no apparent handle, and was bolted shut. She rammed her body weight against it, to no avail. Mercedes sharply swore under her breath and looked at one of the closest jars.

":52, :51, :50."

"SHIT!" Mercedes darted back to the chair which once confined her, reaching underneath and pulling out the promised knife. Holding the knife close to her mouth, she stuck her tongue out and attempted to angle the knife to where she could see the code, but the knife was dull and unreflective, too.

Out of anger, the girl nearly chucked the knife across the room. "Come on girl, you got this." Oh, how Mercedes wished Kurt was there. Not only would he look in her mouth to get the codes for her, but he'd know exactly what to say to uplift her. "Come on, you got this." More tears had welled up, streaming down the teen's face. There were too many jars for her to hide under any of the tables, and Mercedes noticed that her usual denim jacket was stripped from her prior to being placed in the room.

That meant less layers to block the shards. She shuddered, not wanting to think about the impending doom. "Just DO IT MERCEDES!"

The diva stuck her tongue out as far as she could and placed the sharp edge of the knife against the top. She slowly lowered the knife, causing the blade to press against the mouth's muscle without breaking any skin. Scared, she yanked the knife away from her tongue. "I can't do it," she sobbed, looking at one of the clocks.

":27, :26, :25."

"Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit," she rambled. Mercedes' eyes viciously darted around the room one more, landing on one tool that could help her out. Knife in-hand, she ran to one of the several work benches and started to twist open one of the clamps on the edge of the table. Mercedes chose to ignore the horrible sanitation from the clamp. After all, it was just for wood.

When the clamp was about an inch open, Mercedes bent over and stuck her tongue in before madly starting to twist the knob. The opposite wall of the wood clamp started to press against her tongue, finally pressing it firmly in place. The pinch hurt, but Mercedes tried her best to ignore the pain. In her peripherals, she could see the time continuing to count down. It was do or die.

The knife was once again lifted to her fully-exposed tongue. The foreign metal felt cool and rugged against the skin, but Mercedes held it in place. She had no more time to think. No more time to react. No more time for feelings.

"Uhn," she counted, struggling to form actual syllables.

"Dooh."

The grip on the knife's handle tightened as Mercedes shut her eyes, yelling the last number.

"DREH!"

Before Mercedes could rethink her actions, she started to madly saw the knife back and forth. Pain immediately shot through Mercedes mouth, muffling her screams. She couldn't stop, not then. The girl continued to cut away as the red timers edged closer and closer to the end. Several streams of tears lined Mercedes' face, guiding that morning's applied mascara down to her neckline.

Mercedes gave one last slice, severing the last strand of her tongue from her body. She unclamped the tool and ran to the computer, slouching over to let the blood from her wound freely drip out. On the monitor was four blank boxes, awaiting one digit to be inputted in each. The girl fumbled with the dead muscle before finally finding the numbers literally tattooed into her tongue.

":05"

She typed in the first number, a two.

":04"

The next number, a six.

":03"

The third number, a zero.

":02"

Mercedes' eyes widened in horror at the fourth number, or lack thereof. She could barely make out the tip of one tattooed line, but hadn't cut deep enough to uncover which digit it was.

A familiar face popped up on the computer's monitor, as if in a video chat. Mercedes glared at the person, in utter shock. "VOU DID VIS DUH ME," she shouted, muffled by her wounds.

":00"

Hundreds of beeps filled the room, instantly sending thousands of sharp objects flying. Mercedes' body hopelessly fell to the floor, impaled within nearly every square inch of her body.