Gray filled her vision. She sat up abruptly, causing the flimsy metal cot to wobble. She steadied herself on the cement wall. An aluminum table sat in the middle of the room, with three chairs placed neatly around it. Next to the white door behind her was a giant mirror.
“Hello?” She scrubbed her head, and winced when her fingers found a tender lump.
The door opened and a man entered, his spiky blond hair nearly brushing the door frame. He carried a file, and his jacket flared on one side. Arena’s stomach clenched. He’s armed? When he scrutinized her, Arena wondered if he wore jade-green contacts.
“Hello, Arena.” He pronounced it correctly as “Ah-RAY-nah”, which was at least some points in his favor. “Please sit down here, if you don’t mind.”
“Where am I? And where’s my roommate? How did I get here?” She panicked and ran to the door, pounding on it and then the mirror. “Please, I just want my roommate back!”
“I’m afraid we can’t do anything about your roommate at this time. However, we do need to talk about you.” He gestured to one of the chairs by the table again, then sat down. “Please?”
“Please just let me go home?”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not right now at least. Besides, I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say, even though it might not seem like it right now. Oh! That’s right, I brought something for you. I’m sure you must be hungry.” He pulled a peach out of his jacket pocket and set it on the table. “I promise it’s fine. Was going to eat it myself, but I figured you needed it more than I do.”
She sat carefully across from him, curling her fingers around the edges of the chair. He was right. She was starving. It had to be hours from when the chase happened. She decided that if he wanted to hurt her, he probably would have done it already, so she picked the peach up and bit into it.
“My name is Nate, by the way.” She was sure he was the type of guy who had women swooning all over him on a regular basis, but he held her hostage in this cement room—without caffeine.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The file plunked onto the table. “Arena Schmidt, age 21. Junior at UCLA, major in Atmospheric Sciences.” His mouth quirked as he studied her. “A weather geek? Sounds interesting.” Arena shrugged and continued to eat the peach. “Straight-A student. From Molokai, Hawaii. Parents run a Japanese restaurant.”
Arena’s chest tightened at the thought of her parents. The last bite of peach suddenly feeling sour and heavy in her mouth. She set the pit on the table.
“Did you know you are on a CIA recruit watch list?” Nate eyed her contemplatively.
“What?” The thought occurred to her that maybe it was a lie.
“Yes, you seem to have already attracted the attention of the CIA. They were planning to recruit you some time during your senior year.” He ran his finger down one of the pages of the file. “Now it looks to be earlier than that.”
“Earlier? You mean, you…?” Arena sat back in her chair, staring him down.
He took his ID from an inside pocket and dropped it on the table in front of her. It stated “Nate Johnson” and looked just like the IDs on television. His hair was plastered to his forehead in the picture, and he looked distinctly like he was constipated.
“It rained that day. Not my best side. I wish I could explain, but there’s a lot of paperwork before that happens. Always more paperwork.” Nate seemed to be really working the dimples at this point. He was pretty like the guys you see in fashion magazines, posing with their shirts crumpled, one hand on their abs. “Once we go to that point, you really can’t go back. At least, not easily. You might not have a lot of choice in the long run anyway.”
“I, uh… I have to go to the bathroom.” Maybe it would give her a chance to get out of here, or at least a moment to process.
“Oh. Right.” He turned and gazed at the mirror. “You’ll have to be escorted, of course.”
The door opened and a dark, curly-haired woman entered. Arena recognized her as the waitress who tried to stop the hoverboard. Up close, the woman had buck-teeth, and was dressed somewhat oddly in a purple-flowered dress, black newsboy hat, and green stockings under laced black boots. “Please come with me. It won’t help to try to run because everything down here is sealed and scans are required.” The woman led Arena down the cement hall to a small bathroom. She was right, everything looked sealed tight, and there were touch panels at every door except the bathroom.