[ WP ] You wake up in a maximum security prison where only the most vilest and violent are kept . You do n't know why you 're there but everyone is irrationally scared of you .

A klaxon shrills throughout the cold metal of my enclosure. I awake, startled, and try to make my conscious brain aware of my surroundings. Where am I? I look around and take in my location. I was sitting on a metal cot, my feet on the floor and my back against the wall, fast asleep. 
 
 There are shoes on my feet. Thick, massive boots. I am wearing a white shirt and orange pants. The floor is a metallic grate that screeches and squawks under my thick boots. The wall in front of me and to my left is a flat white. I reach out to touch it. It is cold. Behind me, the wall bears a similar story. White matte covering cold steel. My only mental salvation lies to my right. The wall mimics the others, but with one crucial difference: a tall door rises up from the center of the floor. There is no window, nor do I see a way to open it. 
 
 A second klaxon blares through my habitat, jerking me from my thoughts. What is happening? I stand up and attempt to step toward the door. The boots are heavy. So heavy. My foot lands and I try to pick up my other one. It stays on the ground, immobile. I lose my balance and begin to fall. In an effort to correct myself I try to slide my other foot underneath me. It too is now locked to the floor and I lose my footing. I land hard on my left shoulder, filling it with a sharp pain. It too feels familiar, as if it's happened before a thousand times. 
 Suddenly I hear a voice erupt seemingly from nowhere, filling my tiny cabin with a sense of control. 
 
 “ Prisoner 127! Move back to your cot – now. ” 
 
 Who is this? Who is prisoner 127? Is it me? This feels familiar, but wrong… in an inexplicable way. 
 
 The order is repeated, this time the tone more strict and severe. 
 
 “ I… can ’ t! ” I reply, helplessly. My feet can ’ t move. 
 
 “ I will not tell you again, ” the voice demands. 
 
 I try to regain my stature. To my surprise, the boots now will move as I slide my feet under me. I pick myself up and sit back on my cot, as the voice requests. 
 
 With a sharp, metallic sound my boots once again adhere themselves to the floor. I am stuck. The door opens to my right. I manage to inhale a quick breath of air before three men in dark, unmarked, protective gear and helmets enter the room and grab ahold of me. I wanted to shout, “ What the hell are you doing!? ” But the wind was knocked from my lungs by one of the assailant ’ s helmets crushing into my chest, pushing my chin toward the ceiling. With my head locked into place by a helmet and my feet magnetically sealed to the ground, the remaining men then grab an arm each. The man in front of my grabs my head and pushes it between my legs, locking it into place under the weight of his body. From there my arms are twisted behind my back and locked together. I hear the sound of zip-ties clicking together, and feel the tightness of them on my wrists. The sound is familiar. 
 
 The two men on my flanks lift me up while the third exits the room. With a quick hand gesture, I feel the floor release my shoes from its metallic grip. He comes back into the room and places a bag over my head. I am escorted from the room. 
 
 The boots are heavy. I count my steps, though I don ’ t know why. Clomp. “ 1, ” Clomp. “ 2, ” Clomp. “ 3 ” 
 
 I count to 47 before I hear a door open in front of me. I feel a breeze from the door opening. It rushes up underneath my bag and into my nostrils. I know this smell. It is different from the smell of my lodgings, only 47 steps back. 
 
 As I step forward, the sound of my boots changes. I am no longer grinding against the metal grating. The floor I am walking still seems metallic, but different from before. I am placed into a sitting position. My bindings are undone, only to be moved forward and locked into place again. The bag is finally removed. A much warranted breath of fresh air flows into my mouth. 
 
 I look forward. There is an elongated table with a man sitting at the end. He is grey-haired and wearing glasses. He is leaning forward, looking at me with a smile that makes my heart twitch. I know him. But I do not know who he is. I look behind me and am greeted with the barrel of a gun by one my escorts. The man seems faceless behind the void of his tinted visor. 
 
 “ Eyes forward, 127. Now. ” 
 
 I acquiesce. I don ’ t know who he is or where I am. Hell, I don ’ t even know who I am. I need to gather as much information as I can, without making trouble. The man at the far end of the table finally speaks. 
 
 “ What are you doing here? ” He asks. 
 
 I let my sarcasm get the best of me. “ Well, shit boss. I ’ ll be honest, I was hoping you could tell me. ” I chuckle. He does not. His stern visage is unimpressed. The smile falls from my face. 
 
 “ Who are you? ” He continues. 
 
 I don ’ t answer. I don ’ t know how to answer. How can I explain this? I can ’ t even wrap my head around what is happening. 
 
 “ What did you do? ” 
 
 His question drills into my soul. I don ’ t have an answer. I get frustrated. Not with him, but with the situation in general. 
 
 “ Where are you? ” 
 
 It ’ s hard to think. I can ’ t think! I don ’ t know the answer to any of his questions. 
 “ Listen… ” I mumble, unable to form a coherent thought or bring it into a sentence even if I could. “ Listen… ” I repeat. It ’ s all I can say. 
 
 “ Stop. We ’ re done here. ” The strange man grabs his clipboard and records a small note, checking off a box. “ Go ahead. ” 
 
 Before I can muster a response, I am accosted again by the armored men. In similar fashion, my arms are controlled while a helmet pushes my face to the sky. I see the all too familiar face of the man at the end of the table, lingering above me with that sinister smile. This time though, he is bearing a syringe in one hand. I struggle. I doesn ’ t matter. I am completely at the behest of my escorts. He pushes the needle behind my ear. It hurts. Within seconds, my world is growing darker. I black out. 
 
 What seems like weeks pass while my unconscious mind floats in a dreamless purgatory. 
 
 Then suddenly, I hear the familiar shrill of a klaxon alarm… 

