Chance awoke the next morning unable to rouse himself from bed. His arms and legs seemed to way a thousand pounds each. He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat, which felt as dry as a desert. He could not keep his eyes open long enough to see anything except the haze of a long night. After what seemed like an hour, he began to stir slightly, trying to get the power to roll over. Water. Need water, he thought.

“Beth,” he managed to moan lightly. “Water. Get me some water.”

There was only silence, not even a “get it yourself” or a pillow thrown at him for getting too drunk the night before. “Beth!” he yelled causing him to cough, sending a sharp pain through his chest and sides. Still no answer. Where the fuck is she? It’s not as if she works. The one time I need her, she can’t be bothered to be near.

He opened his eyes, his vision still blurry. He looked at the ceiling trying to focus more while building the energy to sit up. Fear shot through his entire body like a wave, starting in his chest and crashing over his entire body. That’s not my ceiling. He sat up straight, panic and adrenaline causing his aches and pains to disappear. Sweat began to trickle down his neck. The memory of hands grabbing him, arms constricting him, and that rag suffocating him flashed through his mind. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. He scanned the room, trying to calm himself, hoping it was a bad dream and praying that a taxi driver, an Uber driver, the bartender, or anyone had put him into a fleabag motel or their house. What he saw instead was a small room that contained two beds, a sink, and a toilet. The walls were grey and bits of old wallpaper hung sparingly throughout the room. The room was slightly larger than a prison cell. A lone light bulb flickered overhead, barely illuminating the room that contained a single door and no windows.

  Chance’s heart pounded harder in his chest. His head began to throb again, whether this time it was from the night before or the sudden realization of his situation he was unsure. He tried to stand, but his legs gave way, causing him to crash into the floor, hitting his face hard. He pushed himself to his knees, noticing specks of blood on the floor trickling down from his face. He felt his nose, wincing as he pulled his hand away quickly from the tender area. Blood pooled in his palm. Looking up, he took a closer look at the lone door in the room. It was white and had a small slot in it. It sat along the wall between the foot of the two beds. He began to crawl towards to the door, his legs too weak to carry him. He reached for the doorknob and felt nothing. There wasn’t a handle.

  Chance opened the slot to look out. He stared into a dark hallway that seemingly contained no doors, shapes, or an end to it. It was as if he stared into a great black abyss, with no signs of any light or hope. Shutting the slot, he leaned against the door, his breath growing heavier. Where the fuck am I? he thought. What is the place? Who put me here? Why am I here? I…I…. His mind began to race, thoughts so incoherent they began to overwhelm his brain. The room blurred as his heart pounded louder and louder. Why is this happening to me?

“I’m glad you asked,” a voice said.

Chance froze, his breath caught in his throat. That voice. That slithery, unnerving voice. It did not come from outside or inside the room. It spoke in his head. No…no... I must be delusional. That’s impossible, Chance thought.

“You are not delusional nor is it impossible,” the Voice said calmly.

“How…how…” Chance stuttered.

“How am I reading your thoughts and speaking directly into your mind?” the Voice asked.

“Not possible…not possible. Not fucking possible! How…how…” Chance yelled falling to his side, his hands covering his ears.

“It is really annoying when you repeat yourself, Chance,” the Voice stated. “Allow me to enlighten you so we can move forward with our agenda. I realize this is quite unnerving to you, as it should be. You have been chosen for a task. I will elaborate on that shortly. For now, I shall answer the question that has invaded your mind,” the Voice said cackling to himself. “You get it, right? Invaded. Anyway, the concept of it is quite simple. Some very intelligent scientists have invented a little chip that allows one to speak directly into someone’s mind. Through a bit of scientific magic that you are too dumb to understand, it also allows one to hear another person’s thoughts as well as communicate directly to their brain. I had some friends implant the chip into you while you were unconscious. You should feel a scar directly behind your left ear from the process.”

Chance felt behind his ear. He winced as his fingers instinctively pulled away.

“Very good,” the Voice continued. “I do realize and empathize with the emotional trauma you must be feeling right now. However, fair warning, this is going to be the least of your worries. We did not spend millions of dollars and countless hours of research and experimenting just for you to hear my sweet, soothing voice. No, Chance, you are the lucky man chosen to be our guinea pig for the real fun. Before I tell you what is required, please go to your bed and place your hand on the tile next to the front left bed leg. You should be able to lift it up, carefully. Inside, you will find the item required to complete your task.”

Chance hesitated. He began to stumble towards the bed. He knelt down and began to feel around the leg. One of the tiles jiggled slightly as his hand touched it. He pried up the tile with his fingers and slid it to the side. As he reached inside, he felt something cool and metallic. His hand searched around until grasping a handle. He picked up the knife. It was about six inches long, serrated on one side. The handle was black with a number two etched into the side of it. Panic washed over him as his brain began to realize the gravity of the situation. What could they possibly want him to do to himself? No fucking way I’m killing myself, asshole! Chance thought.

“Name-calling is very juvenile, don’t you think?” the Voice asked sardonically. “And no, your task is not to kill yourself. Although, I would be doing the world a service, especially your father.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Chance shouted.

  “Face the facts, Chance. You are nowhere near your father’s equal. Charles is one of the most brilliant innovators of our time. He built a fortune on his ideas that have revolutionized weapons systems around the world. You, however, have the IQ of a brick, you are a drunken fool who hurts all around him, especially your beautiful caring wife, not to mention you quell in fear every time your daddy scolds you like the six-year-old child you really are. Yes, with you out of the way, your father’s business would pass to someone far more intelligent who could truly take your father’s vision to the next level. With you at the helm, we both know it will fail.”

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“How do you know so much about me?”

“It is my job to know.”

“So, because you think you know me, you believe I should just walk away from the company that is rightfully mine? Fuck off, prick. I am entitled to that company, and I will be damned if anyone but me takes it over once the old bastard is gone,” Chance said as he began to pace back and forth.

“The quintessential rationalization of the spoiled rich kid who always got by because of his father’s money. So cliché,” the Voice chastised. “Alas, you are not here to be convinced to give up anything, so let us move on. Tomorrow, you will be getting a roommate. Your task is quite simple. Kill him. Don’t fret, I don’t expect you to have the fortitude to do it on the first day. I will give you more time than that. Do not, however, test my patience. Now, before I depart, do you have any additional questions?”

Chance’s mind raced. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He tried to calm himself long enough to ask a thoughtful and coherent question. The only thought he could muster, however, was Why?

“Because I ordered you to do so. It is as simple as that. If you ever want to see the light of day again, you will do as I command. His life buys your freedom, Chance. I suggest you take it. The sooner you do it, the better you will come out of this whole ordeal. Trust me. By the way, should you get any crazy notion of trying to escape, squash it. You won’t. The door only opens from the outside, and I know you are not strong enough to open it alone. Should you somehow convince your roommate to help you escape, both of you will be shot before you can make it ten feet from the door. Also, before I forget, you have one additional rule in regards to our little game. Never, under any circumstances, tell the man about me, the knife, or your objective.”

“Why do you care if he knows?” Chance asked.

“Once again, because those are my orders. Do as commanded or suffer the consequences,” the Voice said and was followed by a small click..

“Why!” Chance yelled. “Why the fuck are you doing this to me?” The only sounds he heard came from his own mouth and chest. He walked over and fell onto the bed, his body too tired to stand any longer. He covered his eyes with his hands and began to weep. How am I supposed to take another life? he thought. I may cheat, I may lie, I may steal, but I don’t kill. There has got to be another way out of here. He hinted that I have a few days. Maybe he will offer me another way out. Escape is clearly off the table. Even if I could somehow escape, I would still have this fucking chip in my head. Why does everything always have to happen to me?” Chance groaned staring up at the ceiling. Why me?

----

It took an hour for his heart to beat normally again. His hangover, thankfully, was gone after the adrenaline-filled morning. Chance started pacing back and forth in the room again, trying to make sense of the situation. Why me? Chance thought. That question more than any other puzzled him. Sure, his family had a lot of money and a very powerful business, but what could they possibly gain from forcing him to murder a complete stranger? Maybe it was just random, and I happened to draw the short straw. No. This has to have something to do with me personally. If I were a random school teacher or a construction worker, it could be chalked up to bad luck. I, however, am no ordinary Joe. Could they possibly be using me as a pawn in order to manipulate my father? But, if that is their goal, why not just go straight to the source? Having me kill someone in a confined room in the middle of God knows where with no witnesses doesn’t make sense. Chance stopped abruptly. Video. They are going to record me killing this poor sap and use it to blackmail my father. Still, it just does not seem as practical as using the chip on the old man himself. Regardless of their reasoning, I am going to find a way out of this without having to hurt someone. I have to.

The slot on the door suddenly opened and someone placed a tray of food through. Chance ran over grabbing the food, setting it down before trying to peak out to get a glance of the person. Nothing. Chance grabbed his tray and walked back to his bed despondently. His meal consisted of what appeared to be canned meat, string beans, a roll, and an apple juice box. Fucking five-course meal in here, eh? Chance thought. The meat tasted like it had been left on a windowsill too long. The string beans were soggy and the roll harder than a brick. The juice, however, delighted his taste buds, reminding him of meals with his mother for some reason.

After he finished, he set the tray back on the slot, and walked back towards his bed. Before he sat down, an idea occurred to him. He grabbed the tray, shoving the contents out into the hallway, and he began pounding the tray up and down repeatedly in between the slot as fast as could. “Help! Help!” Chance screamed, “Can anybody hear me? These assholes have me trapped in here! Please, somebody, anybody!”

Suddenly, he felt strong hands snatching the tray from his grasp, momentum nearly causing him to hit the door. He immediately checked the slot. Nothing, again. He kicked the door in frustration and instantly regretted his decision as pain spread throughout his foot. “Fuck!” Chance yelled.

----

An eternity seemed to pass by before the slot opened and another plate of food was left for him. Same as earlier. “Not too creative in the food selection, I see,” Chance groaned. Despite his complaints, he ate the food and returned the tray. A moment later, it was gone. He did not run to check this time. Chance lay down on his bed and started to count the dots on the ceiling. Counting the dots helped him as a child, and tonight, it was going to take a lot for him to get some sleep.

“Am I interrupting?” the Voice asked.

Chance jumped at the sound of the Voice penetrating his thoughts again. “Yes, actually. Big plans tonight, obviously,” Chance quipped.

The Voice laughed. “I do appreciate good sarcasm. So, how was your day? I hope you are finding your accommodations quite comfortable.”

Fuck you, Chance thought.

“I heard that, and I don’t appreciate it, Chance. Remember who you are thinking to.”

“Just get to the point,” Chance groaned. “It is already going to take me hours just to fall asleep still hungry on your shitty excuse of a bed.

“Be grateful, you little worm,” the Voice barked. “Some people fall asleep in their own piss and shit, yet you whine about sleeping on a bed with a pillow and blanket.

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Chance said hesitantly.

“Moving on,” the Voice said coldly. “I came to make sure my instructions earlier were abundantly clear. Should you have any questions, now would be the time to ask them.”

“Why me?” Chance asked. “Are you attempting to blackmail my father with a video of me murdering some poor soul? If money is your end goal, I am sure we can reach an agreement without the need for this task. Just tell me what you want.”

The Voice laughed so loud the microphone screeched. Chance grabbed his head, the noise ringing harshly in his ears. “Typical, typical, Chance. You think Daddy’s money will bail you out of trouble every time. You are very mistaken, my boy. My interests are with you and you alone. No amount of money, power, flattery, or persuasion will allow you to escape your task. You will complete your objective. You will murder him. Now, unless you have a slightly more intelligent question for me, our conversation is concluded.”.

“Wait!” Chance begged.

A long pause followed before the Voice finally responded, “I’m listening.”

“Is there any possible scenario where I can leave here without murdering this poor man?” Chance asked.

“No,” the Voice said followed by another click.

----

Chance tossed, turned, kicked, cursed, and counted throughout the night. None of it worked. Every scenario played throughout his head countless times, all of which invariably ended up disastrously. Every time he began to enter the hazy beginnings of sleep, a knife flashed before his eyes causing his heart to jump in his throat as he yelled out in panic. This night would not bring forth dreams, only nightmares.