“I don’t remember, ma’am.”
“Not even your parents?”
“I have parents?”
“Nor you friends?”
“Friends?”
The interrogation bounced back and forth, leaving the teenage boy’s head little room to reflect on what he was being asked.
“What about your school? Do you remember anything about it?”
“Letters. Numbers. Sounds.”
His eyes were clamped tight, filtering the massive light that blazed into his face. The conversation lasted minutes, he didn’t care to count how many. The feminine, stale voice that delivered his questions spoke rapidly, leaving little room in between each one. Siblings? Rooms? Symbols?
To each question, besides those revolving learning, he answered with the same reply: “I don’t remember.”
“Subject 3 is a go. The amnesia performed flawlessly, with no effects excluding the cleansing of memory,” he heard her state, as 3 felt the steel surface he was bound to start sliding. The light faded, then bolded, then faded, and then bolded again. He was being moved.
Whispers raced around him. Was he in a dream? Was he asleep, and would wake up the next morning in the promising arms of a mother and father?
He would never yet be gifted with such a sweet awakening. Subject 3’s eyelids peeled open moments later, though he felt as if it had been hours. In great contrast to the light, his surroundings were obscured with shadow. At least he could see, even if it there was nothing to see. A dim light pointed away from 3, illuminating the opposite wall with a pale, sickly green glint. He remained snared to this plank, frozen into place by exhaustion. The clamps that grasped Subject 3’s wrists tightened with any struggle. His feet had been propped up by an edge jutting from the board, holding him up.
The sounds of an opening door clicked throughout the room, giving him an idea of how large the room was: not very. Footsteps stomped behind him, moving towards his left.
“Hello?”
No answer. The footsteps romped past Subject 3, as he reached out his arm as far as he could. 3 felt just a graze of cloth. It seemed so familiar but so alien of a feeling: as if there was a time where the boy would feel it so often, but it had ceased long ago.
“Hello?” I repeats.
3 began to see a shadow appear in the light.
A man with thin, wiry glasses that had obviously been bent into shape and shaking, spindly hands took a seat in a hidden chair. His hands started tapping at the light, like little spiders leaping up and down for the fun of it. He realized that the source of the green light was actually a computer monitor.
“Sir?” the boy called. Either he was ignoring the boy or was preoccupied, because he only began muttering unintelligible words to himself.
Another set of footsteps sounded through the room, the sound of someone in sneakers rather than boots hitting what Subject 3 could only assume was stone floor. This time, the figure stopped next to 3. It turned to face him. He could only tell because she held a tablet that illuminated her face in a bluish light. Her face was pale-skinned, young, and flawless. She looked only a year older than 3 was, though he didn’t even know how old that would be. She clicked at his restraints, then did the same on her device.
“Hello?” 3 tried one last time. He was glad when she looked up, staring into his eyes with her colorless ones. She smirked.
“Hello, 3,” she greeted, and returned to her work. Lowering the device, Subject 3 could then see she was dressed in a t-■■■■■, jacket, and shorts. Nothing that he’d imagined anyone wearing wherever he was.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You are in an implementation facility,” she waved off, not facing him this time.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” She pressed at the restraint, and Subject 3 heard the sound of it locking. “that you are about to become the future, Mr. 3.”
“And what does that mean?”
She gave smirk and withdrew into the darkness.
It’s been a while since I’ve made a topic on this side of the Boards, so I decided to post something I’ve already had ready. I recently changed the perspective from 1st to 3rd person, so if you catch any "me"s and "my"s and "I"s, that’d be why. Comments/critique/questions/Carapars are most(ly) encouraged!