I
A man lay on the cold, metal floor of a long, silver hallway. Large glass tanks line the hallway, giving it a post-modern macabre look. The hallway seemed to go on for miles, but there was a left turn at the end. The prospect of salvation beyond that corner is nigh incredibly unfeasible- this facility is not made to be a vacation spot. In the darkness that lay beyond the curiously still body of the man, there was a solitary pulsing red bead of light that seemed almost outcast, suspended in the mid-air as if hoisted by transparent lanyards. The ambiances were nerve-wracking and almost bare enough to induce goose bumps. The crimson-hued fluid that was carefully contained within the large panes of glass that would serve as tanks for aquatics was dense enough to leave almost no bubbles breaking the surface.
The mans' head was resting on his right forearm, the right side of the male's face pushed into the fabric of his white, cotton sleeve. These legs were pressed together haphazardly, thrown over each other, rippling the once-pressed khaki-colored dress pants. The footprints that were slowly disappearing in the puddle of blood that was casually pooling around the base of his skull didn't not belong to his own black and white sneakers. Strangely, the pearl-white lab coat lab coat that adorned the man's body did not have a single drop of taint on it; the man's white polyester turtleneck wasn't so lucky and acquired-as well as absorbed- quite a bit of the crimson fluid on the torso area. The silver crucifix that hung around his neck lay still and lifeless on the metal floor, ever so effervescent in the bright light from above.
The male, who seemed apparently wounded, was around 35 years old, judging by the wrinkles sculpted on his plain, unassuming face. The man wasn't law enforcement, ad if one might judge by his garb- he was a scientist. The logo that was printed perfectly to the security card hanging from the man's left breast belonged to Umbrella Corporation. The hair on his face or lack thereof, is almost nonexistent- peculiar for a man of his age. Obviously, this man was not some form of mad scientist or a threat to society. There were no scorch marks laden his clothes or head, and there was virtually no evidence of a struggle.
The dream faded, and the indignant adhesive that subdued the man's eyelids subsided, allowing them to slowly flutter open. The jade green color of the man's irises quickly enlarged, dilating his pupils to a minuscule size as the cruel, unforgiving fluorescent lighting hit him like a tank. His eyes quickly closed and reopened, focusing in on the environment. It was a pleasant, plan, and uncharismatic environment to wake up in; visually, but, like they say, beauty is only skin deep. It seemed like the atmosphere was heavy, and it was just then when the silence came to his attention- it was deafening. The uneasy silence was an early warning sign that something was amiss; it's never this quiet.
His legs were heavy, and the imagined weight on his shoulder didn't assist him in moving. Nevertheless, his body moved on command, lifting itself up. He stood, the lab coat falling to his ankles and his crucifix settling itself on his torso. He moved his right hand to the wall, leaning on it for support until he regained composure. His eyebrows furrowed and he gave his head one last shake as he pushed away from the wall. One after another, his feet began to shuffle forward slowly; his eyes were open, taking in the view.
Where am I?