When he opened his eyes, the loudspeaker's bassy voice boomed in his ears.

"Welcome, dear participant."

Dazed, he lifted his head, blinking and accustoming to the light's sudden brightness. Slowly, his fingers trailed to the side of his temple, stopping at the pulsating knot.

Regret settled in. Maybe he shouldn't have spent last night drinking.

Out of instinct, he began to move the rest of his stiffened limbs, one by one. Left arm. Right arm. Left hand. Right hand. Left leg. Right leg.

Waves of exhaustion took hold of his body when he tried to stand up, only for him to slump into the chair again. His legs were too shaky and barely able to carry his weight.

It felt like he had been hit with a rock. The smallest movement he attempted felt too hard to execute as the numbness coursing through him made him lose all sense of coordination.

Rendered more or less immobilized, his eyes scanned the room carefully, dancing back and forth.

No matter where he looked, white-washed walls surrounded him. Opposite of him, a black monitor stretched itself out, matching the small desk standing in front of him. A single blank page was placed on it, a pen next to its right.

His eyes widened in alarm as he realized there was no trace of a door. Panic surged through him. His breath caught in his throat and his thoughts kept racing.

He was trapped.

"Welcome to 'Tabula Rasa'."

Shivers ran down his spine. With all the strength he could amass, thanks to a sudden burst of adrenaline, he tensed up and bolted to the closest wall. The chair fell over with a loud thump. Partway, his legs gave in again.

Fright had captured his soul.

Crouching on his knees, his fists pounded against the white-washed prison he had been thrown in.

"Let me out! For crying out loud, you hear me? Whoever you are, let me out this instant or -"

His screams got drowned by the strange loudspeaker.

"You have been chosen by us, 'The Council', to decide destiny. We only have one simple task for you. After that, you will be allowed to leave."

He recalled last night's events. His sister had birthed his niece and he had went out to celebrate him becoming an uncle with a few friends at a bar. Lots of beer and whiskey had been consumed and despite having been completely sloshed, he still remembered tripping over the doorstep and collapsing happily in his bed sheets.

So how the hell did he get into this mess?!

"I don't care about this chosen crap! Let me out!"

Again and again, he kept banging his fists on the wall, until his knuckles turned white.

"Please take a look at the desk in front of you."

It dawned on him. Either this was a recording or his mysterious captor simply ignored his break down. There was no way to get out of here if he didn't oblige.

He followed the instruction and cocked his head to the side.

"Your task is simple. Answer our questions. Write something you associate with the following word down on the paper."

The black monitor lit up soundlessly. In black capital letters, the word 'Human' appeared.

"What the hell ..." he croaked.

Slowly, he crawled back to the chair, dragging his limbs along. With great difficulty, he positioned it upright, dizzily heaving himself to his feet to take a seat. Pen in hand, he stared at the blank paper in front of him.

If he wrote down whatever came to his mind, this nightmare would end, right?

"Write something you associate with the following word down on the paper," the loudspeaker repeated.

What if this was some kind of trap from some psycho, though? No mentally sane person would have trapped him in here.

"Write something you associate with the following word down on the paper."

Would he truly be able to leave just by writing down a simple word? It sounded too easy.

"Write something you associate with the following word down on the paper."

His eyes shot upwards. 'Human'. Many things came to mind.

He fidgeted the pen in his hand.

A human could be female or male, have different features appearance-wise, various personality traits and diverging likes and dislikes. Being human, on the other hand, entailed a perspective on ethics, such as morals, and argued between right and wrong.

"Write something you associate with the following word down on the paper."

Considering what kind of sick individual – or possibly even individuals since they named themselves 'The Council' - let him go through this process, he only deemed two words worthy of the situation he was forced in by another human.

In one swift motion, he wrote down 'morally questionable'.

"Thank you for your answer. Next question."

"Next question?! What is this, a test?!" He wanted to stand up again to demonstrate his will to rebel, but his muscles didn't allow him to.

The voice just kept going.

"Please name your best and worst trait."

"...What?" He furrowed his brows. What kind of question was that?

"Please name your best and worst trait."

He squinted his eyes, pondering. Never would he have thought that this was something that would overwhelm him. Sure, this question was commonly asked in job interviews, but let's be honest, has there ever been someone who answered one hundred percent truthfully?

Instead of evaluating himself, he thought what an outsider or a close friend would describe him as.

"Please name your best and worst trait."

Quickly, he wrote down the first things that came to mind. 'Outgoing' for best, 'hot temper' for worst. The latter had earned him a few punches in his teens he eagerly reciprocated and the former had enabled him to build a close circle of friends to share drinks with.

Another set of questions followed, centered around different topics, such as health, illness, religious beliefs, political views, moral compass and attitude. Every time he wrote down a word an answer that suited his taste best.

Just when he asked himself if the interrogation would ever stop, a high-pitched tune resounded. Ding ding ding.

"Congratulations on completing 'Tabula Rasa'."

He sighed out of relief, head hung low. Finally, he might be able to leave.

"We're now displaying the final results."

He looked up.

Half of the monitor's display split into five screens of equal size. He froze. On each of them, familiar faces popped up, showing they had been put separately into rooms strongly resembling the one he was currently sitting in. They were all people he knew personally – his parents, his brother-in-law as well as his sister.

"What the ..."

All of them looked as shocked as himself, eyes widened, mouth agape, pen in hand. His sister had tears in her eyes. He recognized her fearful expression and immediately swore that whoever had trapped his family in here, he'd make them pay.

On the other half of the monitor, a list of words titled "Results" emerged. They quickly multiplied, but among them, he spotted the ones he had chosen, until they eventually also drowned in the accumulated masses of answers.

Next to them, a name appeared. At the sight of it, his stomach churned.

"No. Fucking. Way."

It was his recently born niece's name. On the monitor, he could see his family member's expressions, ranging from shock to confusion to fear.

On cue, a new message appeared on the monitor, as if written in red ink.

Every newborn is a blank slate.

Suddenly, he connected the dots. The room. The desk with the paper. Writing down answers correlating to certain topics. Everything cleared.

"And we just filled it," he concluded with horror, gulping.

"Results will now take effect on the newborn's future. Seeds of influence have been chosen and will be planted into her profile."

Repeatedly, he shook his head. "No, no, no, no, NO!"

He banged his fist on the table, hard. They didn't sign up for this. They hadn't even known what kind of tremendous influence this would have on the new addition to the family, so why ...?

"All of your memories about 'Tabula Rasa' will be erased. Thank you for your participation. The Council wishes sweet dreams."

The monitor turned black again, the loudspeaker lapsed into silence. His mouth did not.

"You hear me?! Who do you think you are? I swear to God, what kind of messed up individual -"

To his right, a faint hiss crept up on him. He tilted his head to the side, until another similar sound erupted from his left, then from behind. Confused, he looked around to see absolutely nothing, until it hit him.

Gas.

He pressed his sleeve against his nostrils and mouth, trying not to inhale as much of it as possible, but it was futile.

"I'm so sorry, I – we didn't ..." he muttered, coughing.

Within a few moments, his eyes grew heavy, his tongue loose, his limbs turned stiff and once again, he fell to sleep.

The pen slid out of his hand and dropped to the ground.