Planatae

Samples

Ricardia woke up. She was cold, her body strewn out across an unyielding concrete floor.

For a moment, confusion reigned supreme, and she lifted her head to remember what had happened.

But then the memories began to trickle back into place, and a wave of helplessness rose so quickly that it threatened to pull her under. Disoriented and alone, her last waking memory was being tased into oblivion as the cultists hauled her away.

She groaned, sitting up to surmise her surroundings. The floor was a gray, stony surface beneath her hands; the walls were of similar construction. The one closest to her, however, boasted a sealed-off doorway. With no apparent hinges, handles, or interface, there was no possible way she could open it from within the room. A little more investigation revealed that the room's only other features were an array of lights fitted to the ceiling, and a small, glinting box affixed to one of the room's upper corners.

A camera, she guessed, with a creeping chill.

"Hello?" She yelled, trying to shake the sensation off. There was nothing to direct her voice at, so she shouted at the walls, the camera, at nothing at all. "Let me out! This is a mistake!"

There was no response; Ricardia was left in silence, forced to listen to her own breathing pant, the thrum of her wild heartbeat. She attempted to pull up her feed, gratified when it floated into her vision, that they hadn't confiscated her contact lenses. But her heart sank when she realized that any long-range communication was unavailable. She was either being blocked, or kept somewhere so isolated to render a feed connection impossible.

Trying to shake off the rising panic, she began to pace the small room. She was filled with nervous, frantic energy, but the room contained nothing for her to direct it towards. Back and forth she went, listening to the sounds of her echoing steps, the rhythmic intake of breath as she slowly felt her herself unwinding,

She was trapped, alone, confused - but she tried to foster a kernel of calm within her, grasping for any sort of relief.

She felt herself sink to the floor, and so she inched backwards until her body was pressed flat against the wall.

"It's okay," she spoke the words aloud, fighting against the shakiness in her voice. "It's okay. It's okay."

It was the same thing she'd told herself after fleeing the hacker, during her first day in Onyx. And she had turned out, okay, hadn't she? It took a little luck, but she'd figured things out.

But this... prison she'd been confined to was much, much worse than anything she'd experienced before, and it was taking everything she had to stop herself from beating her fist against the walls.

Instead, Ricardia kept repeating her mantra, forcing her eyes closed until there was nothing left to focus on except the words themselves, the solace that they were meant to bring her.

It was something she'd always done back home. A small, private ritual, before she performed a Form at the temple. The acolytes had taught her that words spoken aloud had substance, that they had the ability to change the world in ways a hidden thought never could. These memories were both comforting and aching in equal measure.

With nothing to mark the passage of time, Ricardia felt herself eventually slipping into a pseudo-sleep, of sorts. She'd drift off for a time, until rousing, bleary, disoriented and uncomfortable. Then, after a while, she'd nod off again, boredom and exhaustion working in tandem to keep her incoherent.

At one point she awoke with a jolt, immediately aware that something had upset the homogeneity of her cell. It was the grating, mechanical sound of a door moving, and Ricardia whirled towards the sound, already assessing the possibility to take advantage.