Deception | NaNoWriMo2023

Chapter Seven: All That Glitters Isn't Gold

The first step of my haphazard plan is freak out.

My breaths shudder in my chest, catching on my swirling thoughts and timing a syncopated beat to my pounding heart. I curl tight over my knees on the couch, gripping my hair so tight both my numbing fingers and hair follicles start to hurt. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and force the rest of the world to not exist by sheer will, wearing myself to exhaustion battling existential terror around the ring of my mind.

The second step is pace around the room with my last dregs of energy, taking stock of what I have. The books on the shelves are all titles I don't recognise, and the trinkets interspersed between them are meaningless shinnies, though they do look nice. The bathroom, situated a short distance from the double bed, is spacious and has a healthy supply of hotel-grade fluffy towels. The soap smells like lavender and morning dew.

On the other side of the bed is the walk-in closet, filled to the brim with expensive-looking sweaters, (I am guessing) stylish hoodies, sleek and crisp suits and shirts, and several copies of Blank Slate's outfit in the far back. I glance down at my oversized sweater, loose dark blue pants, and bare feet. I think I will be in these for a while.

On the bedside table is a holowatch. When I pick it up, it awakens with a chirp and good afternoon, Blank Slate. I nearly throw it across the room and stomp on it, but catch myself just in time. The holowatch is neatly organized like the one I had before going to END, to the point the only differences are its access to the internet (it's severely limited), the nonexistence of maps and location (all settings for it are gone), the contact information (there's only Deception), and everything thinking I am Blank Slate.

I put it back on the bedside table. It stinks of Deception and tampering, and I can't trust it to come off or not track me or something if I put it on.

The third step is to try the door. It's unlocked. (I am not a prisoner?)

The fourth step is to explore,(hopefully) not get caught, and find out possible escape routes. And the fifth step...doesn't exist; my brain is too bent out of shape, and I'll figure out something when I get here. Leaning against the wall by the door, I rub my hands all over my face and through my hair for the fiftieth hundredth somethingith—I don't care—time today, my grip on control as tenuous as my situation.

All I need to do is follow the plan and then think about the data I've gathered and then...make a new plan with that information. And maybe from there I'll figure out a way to get out of here and boom I'll be back to End with Edison and Skittles and David in no time.

This will totally work. There's definitely no flaws in this plan at all. Nope. None. Not even a trace.

Shut up brain, you're losing it.

Forcing myself upright, I push open the door and slip into the hall. Like my room, it's a mix of sleek light gray, black, and red accents, lit by long strips of warm light where the walls and ceiling meet. With a lot of space between them, doors line the hall on either side, each one marked by a rectangle of color where a number would've been if this was a hotel. Occasionally, there's a painting or two between the doors, but besides some moving holograms snaking across the walls, the hall is mostly empty.

It doesn't take long for the hall to steeply curve to the right, making a U shape. At the point of the turn, a stout man with wild hair crouches by the wall. Something flickers between his hands and, with a burst, a piece of garbage jumps into flames. He grins, eyes transfixed on the fire.

I come up short, a bolt of ice snapping at my fingers. Megabytes. What is he doing? Why is he setting things on fire? Whatever the reason is, I do not want to be seen. But just as I lift my foot to take a step back, his head shoots up like a wolf scenting prey nearby, and locks gazes with me.