It's awful. Knowing that they're gonna come for you the very next white. What's agonizing and even worse is knowing that there's nothing you can do about it. Considering the fact that I'm contained in a room with nothingness.


Swish. The electronic door slides open to reveal two Dforts. Dforts are basically the guys that come to transport me to the labs. The men are usually in their late 20's or early thirties. And they all tend to blend together. So it's no surprise when they step inside and each one grabs an arm. When I'm standing next to them it really makes my small body seem even smaller if that's even possible. I mean, being 5'3 you tend to be on the short side. But with reluctant sighs I have resigned my self to my present state.

You grow to resent the labs the very second you walk in. They bath you in that "it's ok" atmosphere. The minute you see the "doctors" in their expensive lab coats and their mastered look of concern they have on their face, you feel like bolting out the nearest exit. Don't let their innocent looks fool you though. You only see that? Your already dead. You don't stand a chance if you actually think that they really want to help you.

It's why I'm the one to hold out the longest. They can't seem to comprehend that I don't trust them. They actually believe that I believe them. Which, in its own way is hysterically funny. It makes what I'm going to do soon just that much sweeter. Brilliant even.

"Ahh. Thank you gentlemen. Put her in the arax room." The "doctor" ordered. I sigh. I really hate this room. They call it the arax room, but I call it the "lets see if we can get her to do what we want" room. It's not a fun room. Though now that I think about it...none of the rooms are fun. They're just one more room designed for torture.

The men walk me to the door and the one on my right enters a code that I memorize out of the corner of my eye. It always helps to know passwords. The door beeps as it accepts the code and swishes open. They drag me along and shove me into a chair. They strap my hands and feet to it. Crap. This is not going to be a good white.

As they leave I prepare my body physically but lowering my heart rate and my mental state by zoning out. It's always best to zone out when the "doctors" walk in. Zoned out, I barely notice it. The pain all but fades away as I shut down. The blood drips and my screams echo throughout my prison. Sweat drips from my face as I whimper and shudder with agony.

I can't give up.

I won't give up.

I refuse to give them control of my well being.

Thank you for reading TROR. I look forward to our journey together.

Please review my work. I love to hear from people. I suck at spelling and grammar so I deeply appreciate those that help me fix my mistakes. I'm not a perfect writer but with you I can be a little better.