The Story of 11-374

[Avaria]

[COLOR=rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961)]Peter Samson was on a ferry towards the infamous Rock Island. Usually people where only ferried there against their will in shackles. The only significant thing about Rock Island was the massive prison complex. A prison that housed Avaria's most dangerous types. Usually they were hard people from the harder places in the south. Peter wasn't particularly excited about visiting, but he had to. You see, Peter was what you might call a Freelance Journalist. Might. Usually he was out of work and desperately putting together boring pieces that were ultimately rejected by the papers. But he had got a very interesting letter the other day from somewhere in Lindon claiming the the one who wrote it was in Rock Island prison. The letter was full of some really crazy sounding ideas. So naturally Peter had to come check it out. I mean the spooks pumping hallucinatory drugs into prisoners? That was surely something the papers would buy.

As his ferry ride came to an end, he stepped onto the deck and began to be searched. As he was searched he though how strange it was that no one was coming to visit the prison. There had to be someone in there with family right? The guard nodded at Peter silently telling him he passed the inspection and could move ahead. After a seemingly endless set of locking doors Peter was led to a room with one man chained to a table. The guard that led him stepped into the room and locked the door behind them.

"I have to stay here for your safety sir.", the guard spouted standing by the door and looking at the wall behind Peter.

"That's quite alright.", Peter said back. As Peter sat down he noticed how unsavory this character truly was. The man across the table was almost completely covered in tattoos of what looked like lamenting spirits.

"Are you the journalist?" the chained man almost growled.

"Yes, I'm Peter how nice to meet you."

The chained man smirked. "I'm going to get straight to the point Peter. I haven't got a whole lot of visitation." The chained man said.

"Okay then let's do this. Tell me everything about this incident you described." Peter said.

"It's the damn Royal Intelligence Agency. The spooks they... They tortured everyone. The only reason I could even get a letter to you was by having my guard friend here do it," the chained man said, "they gave us all a lot of drugs or something. I was locked in solitary with zero outside contact for 100 days and pumped me full of LSD. Do you know what that's like with no light?" Peter began to be kind of confused.

"LSD? What the hell is that?" Peter asked. "It's passed around by the elite. Some sort of hallucination causing drug. The spooks are trying to weaponize it." Before he could finish the cell doors opened.

"Visitations over 11-374. Come with me citizen." Well that was it. Peter had something he though could actually get him paid. Maybe even give him a little bit of a name for himself. On the ferry ride home he began scribbling an article with the title "The Story of 11-374". [/COLOR]

 

[Avaria]

[COLOR=rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961)]Peter Samson sat quietly in his small studio apartment. The story he had just written out seemed good but he couldn't help but feel the nervous pings of anxiety. His last couple papers had been rejected? Was this story even real? Could he actually pay all his bills this month?

He stood up to get a glass of water, and as he drank he felt refreshed by the flavor of water. Then Peter realized he needed to piss. He exited his apartment and walked down the hall to use the John. After coming back he realized he had left his door wide open. Not thinking anything of it, he went into his apartment and grabbed his glass of water once again. This time when he drank it was not the refreshing flavor of water he had grown accustomed to over his 28 years of life. Instead he felt a strange almost sugary taste. With a very unpleasant chemical aftertaste.

He spit out some of it, but most of it he had already gulped. He threw the glass and immediately began to panic. He practically broke his door down running back to the bathroom down the hall. When he got into the bathroom he locked the door and blocked it with a small metal trash can. His first thought after that was to make himself vomit. And that's where his thoughts stopped.

He felt to scared to move and could do nothing but stare at his own reflection in the mirror. Something wasn't quite right with it. Eventually he could tell, his face was melting off! He could do nothing but watch as his face melted off, leaving a faceless blank mask of skin behind. He watched his face move from the floor to the shower and move itself down the drain. Somehow he managed to start screaming even with no mouth. It was almost immediately after he started screaming that the door was kicked in.

Somehow Peter could see the figure of a man, or some kind of devil. This figure raised its fist and brought it down on Peter knocking poor Peter out. After an unknown amount of hours Peter woke up. An all white room. No windows. One mirror. Peter ran to the mirror. He could see his face again! It wasn't gone! From the other side of that mirror a group of men watched Peter as he smiled and giggled and marveled at his own face. "Alright well let's give Volunteer #91 his first real dose." The room Peter was in slowly filled up with a soft white smoke. Peter had no idea until it was too late.

The group of men watched as what was left of Peter Samson slipped away. [/COLOR]