The suited man's head snapped toward him, his eyes widening in a flash of surprise, shock, and something darker, horror, perhaps. "What?!" the man exclaimed, his voice breaking from its polished restraint, raw and unguarded.
The speaker fell silent, its mechanical hum fading into a void that pressed against the room. The suited man stared upward, his polished facade cracking as his eyes lingered on the unseen source of the voice.
Subject 24238 watched him, his breath shallow, sensing the man's quiet desperation, a hope that the call had been a mistake, that the name Subject 24238 would be rescinded.
But the silence stretched, deliberate and unyielding, a wordless decree from the voice behind the speaker: This is no error. We mean it.
The suited man's shoulders sagged, a faint tremor in his hands as he opened his mouth. "He's new," he said, his voice weak, a protest too fragile to hold weight. "We normally take only those who've adjusted, prisoners who've had time to settle into this place." His words faltered, hanging in the air like a plea, but the speaker offered no mercy.
Another bout of silence followed, heavier this time, until it broke with a crackle. The voice returned, sharper now, edged with an anger that cut through the room like a blade. "It has been decided. The people find Subject 24238 interesting. He must go."
Silence descended once more, final and absolute. Subject 24238's mind reeled, questions clawing at the edges of his fractured thoughts. The people? Who were they, faceless watchers, unseen judges? Why did they find him interesting?
And why was he here, trapped in this sterile prison, his past a blank slate and his future a shadow growing darker by the moment?
His chest tightened, dread coiling like a serpent around his ribs. Whatever this was, it felt like his fate was about to plunge into something far worse than the cell he'd woken in.
The suited man turned away from the speaker, a heavy sigh escaping him as he faced the line of prisoners. "Dismissed," he said, his tone flat, drained of its earlier eagerness. "Except those called. You stay."
The unselected shuffled out, their footsteps a muted shuffle against the smooth floor, leaving only the four behind, Subject 24238, the bloodshot man, the stocky elder, and the trembling young woman.
The suited man's gaze swept over them, lingering on Subject 24238 with a flicker of something, pity, perhaps. "You know the drill," he said. "Survive the Abyss, and you'll be rewarded when you return. Good luck."
The others moved toward a narrow door at the far end of the room, its frame rusted and unassuming. The bloodshot man led, his steps steady, resigned; the elder followed, slow but sure; the young woman hesitated, her shaking hands clutching at her uniform before she forced herself forward.
Subject 24238 lingered, his feet rooted to the floor, uncertainty gnawing at him. The Abyss, what was it? The word carried a weight that chilled his blood.
But the others were going, and he had no choice. He took a step, then another, drawn by the tide of their motion.
A hand seized his arm, yanking him back. The suited man's grip was firm, his polished veneer gone, replaced by a grim intensity. "You shouldn't be going to the Abyss this early," he said, his voice low, urgent. "Normally, you'd get weeks, time to rest, to prepare. You must've pissed off someone powerful." His eyes searched Subject 24238's face, as though seeking an answer the prisoner didn't have.
Before Subject 24238 could respond, the man pressed on. "You'll probably not make it out anyway. The Abyss, it's full of deadly creatures. Don't try to fight, just find a good hiding spot." With that, he shoved Subject 24238 toward the others, the push sending him stumbling.
He caught himself, joining the trio at the narrow door. The others didn't look at him, their focus fixed ahead.
A metallic voice broke the silence, echoing from somewhere above. "Six." A countdown. Subject 24238's pulse raced, his mind scrambling. What was it for? "Five." The floor beneath them vibrated faintly. "Four."
The young woman whimpered, her trembling worsening. "Three." The elder's breath rasped louder. "Two." Subject 24238 braced himself, dread surging. "One."
The floor gave way.
A scream tore from his throat as he plummeted, the world tilting into darkness.