“Who… are you?” As the blood dripped from his hand, some crusting on his sleeve, those words sat in his mind.“Why,” he thought, “why had it come to this?” He knew this scene all too well: the rotting body, the puddle of blood swiftly turning into an ocean, the mild yet horrid scent radiating from the circle-shaped wound atop his victim's head. But this was different. Never had he felt such… remorse? No, anger. Anger towards himself. Towards his stupidity. His body had shrunk, its shaking figure curled towards its knees.
“I'm sorry, my darling,” he repeated, his words slurring the longer he rambled. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Good God, I'm fucking sorry... I'm fucking s... I'm f... I... I...”
***
The darkness eroded, replaced with the flashing of dim, red lights, each turning off and on, one after the other perpendicularly. A metal platform could be seen within the flickering wave of colour, held tight with massive screws fashioned along the edges. However, one other thing could be seen idle on top: a man of considerable stature. An older fella, based solely on his grey, thinning hair. And yet, his muscles had a youthful, almost Arnold-Esque, even under that baggy, black-wool coat that lay over him. The man pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes.
“Uh,” he moaned. “What the hell—wait, where—am I?” Fully coming into consciousness, he took a confused gander around. Everywhere he looked, the vast void of darkness followed. Even though he had been given a few shreds of light, it was too quick and faint for it to be of any use. How, for the love of Christ, had he gotten here? Rattling his brain, he remembered—something about a window. Yes! a window with no glass pane and a blue-bricked frame. And that's it. He couldn't recall anything else. Not his birth year, nor who his parents were; not even his nationality (though he did speak Russian and, at least, he presumed, a good amount of English and German). After a few more moments of frustration, he finally found something else: his name! Yes, he remembered now, his name was Alexander... or maybe Ivan, Petrov. Definitely Petrov. Eh, that doesn't matter right now, he decided, less so than figuring out where he was.
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Such a creepy place... he thought.
With a swift motion, he patted himself down; there didn't seem to be any bugs or trackers placed on him. There could still be drones or cameras somewhere, but, in his current predicament, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it. He made his way around the platform with a bent knee, placing his hand down every foot or two. He calculated that, from his previous position, he had moved 20.6 feet, making its diameter 40.2. The edge of the circle looked smooth but, on further inspection, had a subtle sharpness that nipped through his gloves. Continuing, he circled around a few more times, finding himself bent further and further down, listening, looking, smelling. Trying to find anything that would help him. Alas, that didn't happen.
“What to do now?” he thought. “Perhaps”—his thoughts were interrupted by the intense sound of gears turning.
GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Petrov arched his body backwards, nearly falling off, flipping backwards with a thump! He could feel the short, rickety shakes slithering their way through his hands, up his forearms and across his chest. A sudden beeping noise rang in his ears, followed by a robotic voice. Listening closely, he heard a plethora of unusual photonics before finally, an odd “pop!” was heard in his ears, the jumbled noise becoming clear:
“WARNING: LIFT HEADING DOWNWARDS. ALL PARTICIPANTS MUST BE READY WHEN REACHING LEVEL ZERO!”
Level Zero? he thought. Participants? Before thinking of anything else, his body launched upwards, forcing him onto his side. The platform had stopped; the beeping had stopped, taking the red light as well. Even the voice had abruptly stopped, cutting its speech with a rugged, “Connection Terminated.” Petrov, lifting himself off the ground, stood in silence; A low rumbling sound made its way through the room. The voice had come back, albeit for only a second, shouting, “Warning: the door will open in three, two, one,”—with a squeaking noise, two metal doors slid to the side. What lay behind those rusty things stood… uh… well, not exactly what he had been expecting.