Emerging from the dank hole, a crowd of strange faces watched as I climb over the rim. Finally, on my feet, I lengthened my spine and scanned the musty, cramped space and every face that occupied it. Scrawny faces stared back from the dimly lit room, with their sunken eyes and frail bodies. Tens upon tens of complete strangers.

Although there were many light sources in the ceiling of the room, only a single light glowed from the back corner, casting shadows and silhouettes that made my imagination soar. What was I seeing? What was going on?

Someone pushed through the crowd, and I made out the familiar handsome face of Vince as he approached. "Connor, you okay?" His voice carried a hint of relief as a sigh escaped him.

I took a step toward him, reaching out for him, and he mimicked me. Our fingertips nearly touched. Then an order sounded from behind him.

"Stop him!"

A man from the crowd seized Vince's forearm, preventing him from further nearing me.

"Hands off, asshole." Vince shoved him and the man stumbled backward into the gasping crowd. We rushed toward each other, our hands clutched, but it was too late. The man who had escorted me grabbed my elbow and yanked me back. The crowd quickly parted, allowing Vince's escort through to seize him. Frantic whispers and voices immediately filled the room.

"Keep them separated until Emily's had a chance to talk to them," my escort told the other. "It's all right, folks. Make room. Nothing to worry about. We got this."

A female voice washed out the others. "Where's John and the rest of them?"

"Yeah," another voice cried out. "Where's everybody?"

No answer was given.

My escort pushed me through the parted crowd. "Keep moving. Follow them."

I looked ahead, through the darkness, and at the back of Vince's head as he and his escort made it through the sea of people. "Where's Tamara?"

"Just keep moving." Another shove made me stumble.

Not getting an answer assuring Tamara's safety made anger rise in my chest. I spun on my heels to face the man. I scowled even though the deep scars on his face took me by surprise. "Tell me where my partner is." Nothing but pure anger raced through me, and for a moment, I wondered if the meds that traveled Vince's veins prevented him from living with the kind of rage I felt. They pushed us around, abused us, but I wasn't going to take another step until he assured me she was fine. Heat flushed my skin, and I envisioned my knuckles slamming into my captor's nose if he didn't answer in the next two-point-five seconds. "Where is she?" My fist clenched at my side.

"She's in the infirmary up there. That's where you're headed too. Now go on."

I exhaled my fury, only ridding myself of a fraction of it, and continued after Vince.

Purposely engaging in eye contact with everyone I passed, taking note of their appearance and unique characteristics, I attempted to store the information for later use, but already found it to be a difficult task. There were just too many people, too many faces.

After successfully emerging from the crowd, Vince was led into a room on the left. As I passed the room, he looked back over his shoulder at me, concern and a bit of anger in his face. Passing the door next to it, I peeked into the average-sized room. Inside, Tamara sat on a single bed. She stood as I walked by. "Hey, Connor!"

Her captor immediately closed the door, preventing us from greeting.

"Don't worry, Tamara-" I called through the barrier.

A nudge in my side silenced me. "No talking." My escort pushed me into the room next door. "Somebody will be in to treat you." He closed the door. The sound of the lock engaging bounced off the walls of the room.

For a split second, the fear of what the "treat" entailed made my heartbeat flutter and sink like a moth too close to the flame. There was no point in trying to escape the room. There was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. Besides, no matter what we did, there would always be someone there to stop us.

A single florescent light lit the room, but the darkened corners it created looked as if they hid many secrets. A single bed in the corner of the room beckoned me to sit-or maybe the aches that traveled my body and the physical exhaustion persuaded me-either way, I fought the urge. The few cabinets attached to the wall at eye level grasped my attention and I went to them, opening one after the other. Inside were a few basic medical supplies: a small stack of gauze, a nearly empty bottle of alcohol, and a couple pair of vinyl gloves.

The countertop below the cabinets held a jar of swabs next to a single basin sink. Thirst hit me. When I placed my cupped hands beneath the faucet, a slow drizzle of clear water drained out into my palms. Surprised by the lack of flow, I frowned, but brought the water to my lips to drink. I expected the medicinal scent of fluoride, chlorine, and eX-lement to come from the water, a smell I had grown familiar with. Instead, a clammy odor lingered. Unsure of the possible risks of consuming the water, I allowed it to slip through my fingers and removed my hands away from the faucet, stopping the stream.

I looked up to catch a glimpse of my reflection in the murky mirror. The left side of my head and neck was coated in dark rusty red, and the hairs around my ear were matted together with coagulated blood. I stared wide-eyed in disbelief at my appearance.

Wow. What a horror show.

The wound didn't seem to be life-threatening. In fact, the only time the dull throbbing pain hit me was when I thought about it. My dad once told me, "Your brain tells your body if it feels pain, so when you think something should hurt, your body believes you."

I immediately searched my mind for good times to relive to alleviate the throbbing. However, not many memories manifested. I was not yet sure if the gunshot had further effected my memory, as the image of the red light and the sirens that started me on this crazy path replayed clearly in my mind.

Instinct told me to to clean myself up and thoroughly investigate my wound, but voices from the room beside me caught my attention.

"I told you I'm not telling you anything until you explain what the hell's going on?" Tamara's voice pierced through the thin wall.

"What do you want to know?" The garbled words of the disfigured woman unmistakably identified her. "Think of me as the largest, unsealed, streak-free glass sphere you've ever encountered. I have a lot inside and nothing to hide."

A pause ensued.

"Um. Ok." Tamara cleared her throat. "Are we contaminated? We were told the upper hemi is contaminated with toxins."

"Short answer? No. You're not contaminated. Long answer? The facility is successfully closed off from everything on the outside including the surface and it's been that way for fifteen years, since the very beginning."

"For years, we were told-"

"They lied, princess." The sternness in her voice seeped through the barrier.

"Where did you come from, then, if not from the outside?" Tamara didn't pause between questions or seem to be too effected or thrown off by the responses.

"We've been right here the entire time."

The entire time? Since the apparent breach when we had to seal off the upper hemi? The same breach that killed my mother? It all sounds too wild to believe.

I moved closer to the wall and pressed my ear against it.

The woman went on. "I answered three of your questions. It's only fair you answer some of mine. What's your first name ... Ms. Arnold?"

She must've got her name off the front of Tamara's suit.

"Tamara."

"Good. You can call me Emily. Where's your family?"

"My grandparents are below. What the hell does any of this have to do with anything?"

"Just getting to know you. That's all. The two men you were with, what are their names?"

"You mean Vince and Connor?"

There was silence. I pressed my ear firmly against the wall and held my breath, awaiting her response.

"Can you repeat that, please?" The woman's voice had altered a bit, but I couldn't put my finger on the cause.

Tamara cleared her throat and spoke more clearly. "That's Vincent Moore and Connor Nichols. Why do our names matter? Are we your hostages or something?"

"That's enough Q and A for now."

"Wait! I'm not done." Tamara's frustration was clear. The door in the next room closed and rattled the wall at my ear. Had Emily left the room?

Footsteps outside my room door drew my attention, and I sat on the bed in anticipation of it opening. She was near my room. Her voice outside my door confirmed it.

"Alex," she said, probably talking to my escort who guarded my room. "After we're through here, see if Natasha and Baby Malcom need anything. And what were they doing down there? I told you all it wasn't safe yet."

"Yes, ma'am," he spoke promptly. "They shouldn't have gone down yet. Don't know how they got past."

"Right." She exhaled. "They're okay, so there's nothing to worry about. But we all need to be more careful and alert. Yes? And listen, what happened down there... I didn't mean to lose my temper like that."

"I understand. It's craziness around here. Everybody's on edge. I get it."

"Good. You're doing a great job, by the way. I knew I could count on you."

The lock on my door clicked and the door creaked open. In walked my escort, followed by Emily herself.

I stared into her beady, misshapen eyes as she walked closer, her posture impeccable, her confidence apparent.

"Connor?" Her voice came out breathy.

"That's right." I stood, surpassing her height by a few inches. "You can refer to me as Cadet Nichols. Are we going to play a game of Questions and Answers too?" I didn't care if she could sense irritation in my tone.

"Oh. A no-nonsense kind of tough guy, are you?" She cocked her head to the side, her dark eyes still glued on mine. "That was sarcasm. I guess you couldn't tell coming from a person with a voice and a face like this."

Humor? I wasn't sure, but I didn't find it funny. "What do you want?"

"Listen. It isn't your fault or your friends' faults that many innocent people died today."

"Damn right, it isn't." I glared. "I was doing-"

"You were doing your duty." She waved a dismissive hand, probably to silence me. "You were ordered to protect the facility, and that is exactly what you set out to do."

She must've gotten information out of Vince or Tamara unbeknownst to me. However, how was any of this even possible? Why would anyone lie to us about toxins in the upper hemi? "What is going on?"

"Listen, Connor." She sighed.

"Cadet Nichols," I said through clenched teeth.

"Yes, yes." She nodded. Why wasn't she answering me? And how hard was it to address me properly? Instead, she was trying to act like she was my friend, which annoyed me. "Can I have your attention, please?" When I didn't answer she went on. "Your friend's father did this. He's done it to us, and now he's done it to you."

"Dr. Randolph?"

"That's right. Randolph trapped us up here. Sealed us off from the lower half, from our friends and families. He made everyone believe that all the residents up here were dead and that a contamination breach was the cause. He is the composer and conductor of this orchestra."

"Why would he do something so terrible?" I didn't attempt to hide my skepticism.

"It's a long story. One you'll hear after you and your friends get cleaned up. I'll have someone in here to treat your injuries." She pivoted.

Her leaving made my mind race with the realization of what she'd just said. I needed clarification. "You mean, Randolph knowingly locked you all up here since the breach?"

She nodded. "More than thirteen years ago." She sniffed and wiped a tear away with a knuckle. "And like I said, there never was a breach. I know it's going to take some time and more detail for you to understand. We have a few hours at our disposal. That's plenty of time."

She walked out.

~ ~ ~

As things are slowly unfolding, what are your thoughts? What are your theories? Thanks again for your feedback!