Hunter rolled over onto his left side as his mind drifted back into the realm of consciousness. From the soreness in his body, he'd been tossing and turning all night. He winced as his neck cramped up slightly, lifting himself off the pillow several inches to tilt his head from side to side to stretch out his neck muscles. Keeping his eyes closed, he let himself fall roughly back to the pillow, tugging it closer to him with both arms and letting out a yawn. He did not feel like getting up this morning.
As he settled into his position, he inhaled through his nose—expecting to smell the familiar mixture of drool, shampoo, and scalp. However, his nostrils were met with an entirely different scent: it was clean. Sterile; as if the pillowcase wasn't just freshly washed, but brand new—never been slept on before. He furrowed his eyebrows, taking in several more sniffs. Sure enough, it was not his pillowcase. He opened his eyes, shooting upright as if he'd just been scared out of a nightmare. Although the room's only light source was a small reading lamp on a desk opposite the bed, he could tell immediately where he was, especially with the smell to aid him—a hospital room. His eyes darted about, adjusting to the light and examining the room. It was mostly empty. Just his bed, the desk, and a small rolling chair. On the adjacent wall was a door with one of those thin windows toward one side, with thin, criss-crossed wires between the panes of glass.
It was only after several moments of taking in his surroundings that he realized that he wasn't in his pajamas, but fully dressed; he had his shoes, his jungle fatigues, and his black T-shirt bearing the cover of a Blind Guardian album. As if suddenly remembering his common possessions, he shoved his right paw in his pocket in search of his phone—which wasn't there. He reflexively patted his remaining pockets, but found neither his phone, his wallet, nor his keys. But as his paw passed over the edge of his left pocket, the air seemed to rush from his lungs as he felt the cool metal of his knife's pocket clip. With a movement stored long ago in his muscle memory, he pulled the folding knife from his pocket, flipping the blade open and holding it up to the light to ensure that it was truly there. He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a sigh as he held the knife's grip tightly. Turning his attention to the door, he thumbed the blade's liner lock to the side and folded it closed again, pocketing it where it belonged. With a few tentative steps, he crept over to the door, peering out through the small window to see a long hallway. He looked as far to each side as he could from his side of the door, which didn't reveal much about what was beyond it. With a deep breath, his paw brushed the door's handle and slowly pushed it down.
The door swung gently open, the handle giving off a soft click as the fox released it. He stepped cautiously out into the hallway, ensuring that his footsteps made as little noise as possible. The hallway was dark, windowless. One half was dominated by curtains blocking off more hospital beds, and the other had numerous doors that, upon brief inspection, led to either offices, or other hallways. As Hunter stalked his way down the hall, however, he came to one door in particular that had a faint glow coming from the other side. He looked through the window to see a computer sitting atop a lonely desk. Two short lines of text were displayed in the upper left corner, which he couldn't make out from where he was. He glanced over both shoulders, then back into the room to make sure nobody else was around. Not knowing what else to do, he entered the small room and sat down at the desk. On the monitor were the following words:
<Hello?>
<Can somebody see this?>
There was a cursor blinking just below them. He let his paws rise to the keyboard, and—without many other options—began typing.
<I can see it.>
<What's going on? Who is this?>
Topic: The Isolation Game (2/4, Ask to join) (Read 1863 times)