The lift stops. I'm not that self assured anymore. When the door opens, I startle and get back. Everything is white. A perfectly immaculate surface that goes to infinity and beyond. I guess a clever way of lighting the corridor gives this illusion that there are no limits between the floor, the walls and the ceiling. Nervous, I unbutton the top of my shirt. My hands are getting sweaty. After a deep breath, I finaly start walking.
The door closes behind me. On this side, they're as white as the rest. I can't even see the joint in the middle part. Unsure, I start to extend my arm, to touch them. Just to be sure. To be sure they are still there. It may be crazy but... with all the perfect white surrounding me, I almost feel outside of space and time.
Before my fingers reach the metallic surface, I hear a noise behind me. A regular clicking noise. I make a 180 to find its source. A silhouette is coming towards me. The sound of her heals is everywhere. She is tall in her stilettos of the same gray color as her perfectly cut pencil skirt and smoking vest. Her silouhette is also a perfect hourglass and her bust is enhanced by the small ruffle of her white shirt. She looks me down with her incredibly symmetrical face. Her make up is discreet yet suits her better that way. Then, she smiles politely. She consults her clipboard, without a word. Her blond bangs hide her green eyes for a while. Her hair is in a ballerina bun. There isn't anything messy about her. It's giving me the creeps:
"Alexandra Mourn, isn't it?" she asks with a voice as cold as ice. "My name is Anna."
It takes me a while before answering: "Yes, it's me."
Our voices echo in the infitiny of that place. As if we really were floating in the nothingness.
"You may follow me," Anna says.
She goes back in the same direction she came from. The regular sound of her heals starts again. I follow her.
What. Is. The. Actual. Fricking. Fuck? We walk, again and again, in that dead end corridor. "Ricochet," I think "Your plan was shit." The sound of the stilettos reminds me of the clicking of an old clock. Like a pendulum. Left right... left... right...
It's already too late when it gets to me. What's happening. When I fall flat on the floor, I only have time to mumble:
"You bitch..."
Before I lose consciousness.
YOU ARE READING
The Warehouse
DobrodružnéFleeing from who knows who, a young hacker girl recieves an e-mail from someone she trusts. A job offer in France. The ideal place to hide while "everything calms down". But when she presents herself for the job interviews, everything changes.
