Author's note: Wow, the response to my question was amazing! I must admit that even though I said I was thinking about leaving it at that, the story stuck in my head and I wrote some more last night. Let me know what you think!
Oh, and one more thing. I forgot to note it in the first part, but this is set after the most recent movie (Island of the Haunted). I don't think there are any spoilers, but...
Back in the Centre
(All Wrong, part 2)
The dim light never changes, and I haven't seen anyone for a long time. I can't be more specific than that because I really have no idea of how much time has passed. I've slept three times, but that doesn't mean that three days have passed. They've given me a little water, and no food. I know I'm dehydrated, but I'm not dead--yet. If I didn't know better, I'd think they might have forgotten about me down here. But I know I'm more important to them than that. This has to be some kind of mind game. Have they forgotten all the SIMs I did on prisoners of war? I have to admit, though only to myself, that I really would like to know what's going on up there. I could try to SIM it, but I don't have enough information... and this place doesn't really put me in the mood for SIMing.
I spend the entire "day" (i.e. period between waking and sleeping) thinking--I try to keep my thoughts off my capture. And about my life outside--I'll miss it too much. And about my life inside--don't exactly have a lot of pleasant memories from growing up in this hellhole. Really, there's not much that I want to let myself think about--thinking hurts. Finally, I settle for sleeping; who knows, maybe that will be the next thing they take from me.
After I wake up, I don't notice the note immediately. When I do, I cross the cell to look at it. It's typed, and just has three words: "Ready to SIM?" If I had the saliva I would spit on it--as it is I just tear it up furiously and throw it out of the cell.
As if in answer my whole cell is inundated with ice-cold water. It lasts just long enough to soak me through the few clothes they've left me. I manage to get some in my mouth, though, and it's refreshing.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're doing. There is cold air flowing through my cell, and it's not long before I can't control my shivering any longer. I stand up, moving as much as I can within my small cell. I'd guess I've made it about two hours when I start to feel the first signs of hypothermia--instead of feeling cold, I'm beginning to feel warm. What are they doing, trying to kill me? Now that I think about it, I just don't care that much. I'm tired. Exhausted, really. I give up on my attempted exercise, lay down on the still damp floor, and slip off to sleep. Part of me is hoping that I don't wake up again.
Unfortunately, I do. Now I feel cold again, even though I can feel a warm blanket over me. I'm disoriented--what's going on, what happened to me? It looks like I'm in a hospital. "Oh, you're awake," says a nice voice, the face out of sight. I struggle through the fog in my mind to identify the face that goes with that voice, I think I know it. He interrupts my thoughts. "I bet you're pretty hungry, aren't you?" Now that he mentions it, my stomach feels as though it's about to start devouring itself. I nod weakly in agreement. "Just follow my instructions and then we'll make sure you get plenty of food. Just follow this with your eyes... that's right, very good. You're feeling very tired... your eyelids are getting heavy..."
-----
I wake up and for a moment I don't know where I am. Then I laugh at myself--I'm in the same place I wake up every morning. I run my hand through my short hair, then over my face, where stubble is beginning to form. I drag myself out of bed, and the lights stop flashing over my head. After a cold morning shower, I move to the living room, where my daily nutritional supplement is waiting as always. When I'm finished, the door opens to reveal Sydney. He hands me an electric razor, following me into the bathroom to supervise me--I don't know why he bothers, I've been doing this for long enough now. I hand him the shaver and he disappears for a moment while I rinse my face.
When I emerge again, Sydney smiles, but for some reason it seems a little forced. "Okay, Jarod, are you ready to start on a new SIM?" I nod, my thoughts about Sydney's behavior vanishing, at least for the moment. He tells me about the SIM as we walk to the SIM room, and soon I am immersed in my work, just like always.
Oh, and one more thing. I forgot to note it in the first part, but this is set after the most recent movie (Island of the Haunted). I don't think there are any spoilers, but...
Back in the Centre
(All Wrong, part 2)
The dim light never changes, and I haven't seen anyone for a long time. I can't be more specific than that because I really have no idea of how much time has passed. I've slept three times, but that doesn't mean that three days have passed. They've given me a little water, and no food. I know I'm dehydrated, but I'm not dead--yet. If I didn't know better, I'd think they might have forgotten about me down here. But I know I'm more important to them than that. This has to be some kind of mind game. Have they forgotten all the SIMs I did on prisoners of war? I have to admit, though only to myself, that I really would like to know what's going on up there. I could try to SIM it, but I don't have enough information... and this place doesn't really put me in the mood for SIMing.
I spend the entire "day" (i.e. period between waking and sleeping) thinking--I try to keep my thoughts off my capture. And about my life outside--I'll miss it too much. And about my life inside--don't exactly have a lot of pleasant memories from growing up in this hellhole. Really, there's not much that I want to let myself think about--thinking hurts. Finally, I settle for sleeping; who knows, maybe that will be the next thing they take from me.
After I wake up, I don't notice the note immediately. When I do, I cross the cell to look at it. It's typed, and just has three words: "Ready to SIM?" If I had the saliva I would spit on it--as it is I just tear it up furiously and throw it out of the cell.
As if in answer my whole cell is inundated with ice-cold water. It lasts just long enough to soak me through the few clothes they've left me. I manage to get some in my mouth, though, and it's refreshing.
It doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're doing. There is cold air flowing through my cell, and it's not long before I can't control my shivering any longer. I stand up, moving as much as I can within my small cell. I'd guess I've made it about two hours when I start to feel the first signs of hypothermia--instead of feeling cold, I'm beginning to feel warm. What are they doing, trying to kill me? Now that I think about it, I just don't care that much. I'm tired. Exhausted, really. I give up on my attempted exercise, lay down on the still damp floor, and slip off to sleep. Part of me is hoping that I don't wake up again.
Unfortunately, I do. Now I feel cold again, even though I can feel a warm blanket over me. I'm disoriented--what's going on, what happened to me? It looks like I'm in a hospital. "Oh, you're awake," says a nice voice, the face out of sight. I struggle through the fog in my mind to identify the face that goes with that voice, I think I know it. He interrupts my thoughts. "I bet you're pretty hungry, aren't you?" Now that he mentions it, my stomach feels as though it's about to start devouring itself. I nod weakly in agreement. "Just follow my instructions and then we'll make sure you get plenty of food. Just follow this with your eyes... that's right, very good. You're feeling very tired... your eyelids are getting heavy..."
-----
I wake up and for a moment I don't know where I am. Then I laugh at myself--I'm in the same place I wake up every morning. I run my hand through my short hair, then over my face, where stubble is beginning to form. I drag myself out of bed, and the lights stop flashing over my head. After a cold morning shower, I move to the living room, where my daily nutritional supplement is waiting as always. When I'm finished, the door opens to reveal Sydney. He hands me an electric razor, following me into the bathroom to supervise me--I don't know why he bothers, I've been doing this for long enough now. I hand him the shaver and he disappears for a moment while I rinse my face.
When I emerge again, Sydney smiles, but for some reason it seems a little forced. "Okay, Jarod, are you ready to start on a new SIM?" I nod, my thoughts about Sydney's behavior vanishing, at least for the moment. He tells me about the SIM as we walk to the SIM room, and soon I am immersed in my work, just like always.