(no subject)
The sound of the radio was the first thing he heard. Reaching a hand out, the young man groped for the button to stop the music. The room was too dark and his vision was too blurry to see exactly what he was doing, but it was an action he'd performed many times before. The music was a cheery, happy pop song that he would have enjoyed as a guilty pleasure at any other time, but right now it just made him grumble until the button was pressed and the voices abruptly cut off.
Once the music was gone, he turned his face away to bury it in his pillow, listening to the hum of the computer only a few feet away from him. It was a comforting noise. Many times, he reminded himself that he didn't need people if he had something like that to use as a distraction. After a few moments, he rolled onto his back and hugged his arms to his chest to stare at the ceiling. Everything seemed normal, but there was a feeling in the pit of his stomach that something wasn't quite right.
Reaching again to his bedside table, he fumbled for his glasses and worked to unfold them, propping himself up with one arm as he worked to put them on. He had to blink a few times before everything came into focus, sliding his fingers up under the frames to rub at his eyes again. Making a frustrated noise, he was suddenly awake of how dry his throat was.
Light from the computer monitor lit up part of the room, though it was turned away from him and casting the light over the wall. It was enough for him to make out the outlines of the objects in his room, and to see that the class of water he usually kept on his bedside table was no longer there. For anyone else, they might have seen this and assumed that it had merely slipped their mind the night before. This wasn't the case with him. Everything had to be clean and in order. Everything always had to be perfect and this one thing consumed his thoughts for the moment.
How had he forgotten? No, no... He couldn't have forgotten. Thinking back to the night before, he realized that he couldn't remember a thing about the night before or much of anything at all at that moment.
Sitting up, he put his legs over the side of the bed and put one hand up to grasp at his hair. His breath was already quickening as his chest tightened up. It just wasn't possible that someone could come in and move his things, but that was the only explanation he could come up with. He couldn't forget. There was no way he could forget anything, but he had. Moving his hand to the table again, he brushed his fingers over the pot as though there was something there he couldn't see. Everything else seemed fine and exactly where it should be. It seemed stupid, crazy to think that someone would come into his home just to move things around or take something of such little importance.
Sliding out of bed, he shivered at how cold his room felt once he was no longer under the covers. His room didn't feel like this the other times, but he wondered if it was just a side effect of noticing something out of the ordinary. Maybe it was just putting him on edge. He tried to swallow to help his throat feel better, but all it did was scratch and reminded him how much he needed something to drink.
Once he reached the main door into the room, he slid his hand up to the flick the switch and let out a sigh of relief as the room lit up with a bright light, revealing the almost sterile environment. The room was bare aside from essentials and it was something he prided himself on. There wasn't any room for unnecessary things. Now that he could clearly see where he was going, the light comforted him for another reason. He didn't want to say he was afraid of the dark, because it wasn't something as childish as that. He was afraid of the things that came out of the dark. Things, or people, that could hide in it (though he would rather die than admit that to anyone).
Crossing the room again, he headed towards the small fridge he had moved against the wall and rubbed at his arms to try and warm himself up. For a moment, he wondered if he should throw on something to keep the cold out, but he put the thought aside when he reached the fridge. He put one hand on the top as he kneeled down in front of it and opened the door. Turning his head away for a moment, he coughed into his arm and turned his attention back to the interior, his eyes focusing on.... nothing. Usually, there was a large stash of water bottles inside, but there was nothing but a sterile white interior.
Something was definitely wrong. Someone was playing with him. Slamming the fridge door shut, he pushed himself back on the floor and managed to turn himself upright. His throat tightened again and he began wheezing as he scrambled into the bathroom, grasping for the cup he usually kept next to the sink (which was no longer there) as his other hand worked to turn on the faucet. There was no familiar sound of running water to follow and a small noise of shock left him as both of his hands worked at turning the handles with no change in results. Giving a frustrated cry, he pushed himself away and darted back into the main room. What was going on? Someone... someone was doing this to him. Someone had to be behind this.
Was someone watching him? Was there someone in his room? A quick look around showed no one he could see, and there wasn't anything that seemed like it could be a camera. Bringing the back of his hand up to his mouth, he coughed quietly, swallowing again to try and wet his throat. It helped only a little. The tight feeling in his chest returned and he did his best to try and talk himself out of his anxiety. His thoughts were too scattered and his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't control himself. The loss of control only seemed to make it worse.
Should he leave? Was it safe? He bit at his lip as he continued looking around the room, almost expecting for someone to appear out of nowhere. His thoughts kept going from staying in the room or racing out of it.
Letting his instincts take over, he felt his body move to his left, shoving hangers and clothing aside on the rack as he grabbed for a hooded sweatshirt. He wrestled with it for a moment as he fought to put it on. He didn't want to go out. He didn't. It was safe in here, where there was light and where everything was familiar, but it felt wrong.
Almost falling over himself, he ran for the door, reaching out only momentarily to grab another item from his bedside table and shove it in his pocket. A few steps from the door, the space around him went black. The suddeness caught him off guard and he began crying out in a panic, groping at the door and shoving it open, grabbing at the locks without his fingers closing on anything in particular. As the door swung open and he fell into the dimly lit hallway,, he realized in that moment that his door had been unlocked the entire time.
Turning himself over, he grabbed at the collar of his shirt as he started hyperventilating, fingers twitching and fumbling with his inhaler as he brought it up to his mouth and closed his lips around it. Once his airway was clear, he let out a sigh of relief only moments before he got the sensation, again, that something wasn't quite right.
Looking around to see if he could figure out what was going on, he perked at the sound of popping at his right side. Looking over, he saw a tall man about ten feet away from him. He had tan skin, black markings snaking up the side of his throat from underneath a dark grey button up. There was a shock of blond in his hair, his right hand pressed against the right side of his neck and his head tilted to the side with his eyes focused on the newcomer.
The young man's eyes widened as he felt a sense of recognition and an overwhelming sense of fear as he scrambled to try and stand again, heading in the opposite direction. He only made it a few feet before stopping short, having nearly run into someone else. He sat back, staring up at the source of the legs in front of him. His gaze was met with a cool stare and an apathetic expression resting on the face on a man only slightly older than him with short, dark hair. His hands were shoved into his pockets, a black suited fitted to his frame and the dark red shirt blending almost perfectly in with the darkness surrounding him.
Frozen in place, the young man fought with himself over where to go. How could he get out? Who were they? What did they want? What were they going to do to him?
Falling back onto his hands, he started shaking as the man in front of him calmly stared down, making no move to do anything. It wasn't the man who spoke first, but a loud and echoing female voice that moved through the halls.
"51304, Kakitani Masao..."
His eyes widened with the sudden realization of what was going on. The memories came back. Everything made sense now.
"No..."
When the lights went out again, he started screaming.
"We will now begin the death game."
Shoudai's fingers rested on the keys, his breath even and his left arm resting comfortably on the arm of the chair. He watched the screen closely even though it was dark and the sound of the screaming didn't even cause him to flinch. After everything that had happened, he had hoped that something like this would make him feel better. But he didn't feel any different. There was still an empty feeling in his chest coupled with an uncomfortable pressure.
Feeling the fingers running up the back of his neck and then grasping his hair, he closed his eyes and shivered from the contact. He couldn't have done it alone, even though he had tried. He'd had to sink to this level to get what he wanted, though he wasn't punishing one of the people who had started it all.
Despite everything he had done, he'd passed the test he'd been given. It was only a matter of time until he could work through to his true goal, something his companion was well aware of but seemed to ignore for the sake of keeping him around a little longer.
Where the fingers had brushed, nails were now raking back down on his skin, over the tattoo that he couldn't see but still swore he could feel. The figure who had been standing behind him moved around to sit on the arm of the chair, continuing to calmly play with Shoudai's hair as he hummed happily at the sounds of the screaming.
"You're so cruel, Shoudai~"