The excruciating pain pounding within her skull was unlike any pain Ari had felt. Just turning her head caused a violent, nauseating rumble in her stomach. She fought through it and lifted her head toward the dull red light in the room’s corner. That movement triggered panic once she realized there was something around her neck.
With blood pumping to her head, her first instinct was to grasp it and tear it away from her body. When her heavy arm rose, so did the steel cuff and rustic chain attached to it. As her senses rebooted, Ari squirmed to free herself. Her wrists, ankles, and neck were all bound. Rusty metal shackles attached to heavy chains restricted movement of all four limbs. Naked and alone.
A scream scratched her throat like a shard of glass, which turned into a coughing wheeze as she struggled to catch her breath in the humid chamber. The reflexive grasp of her chest met with more wretched pain when her hand scraped over her nipple, igniting a searing sting.
Thick metal rings pierced her tender pink flesh. Chains hung from both and trailed off below the bed, as did the rest of her restraints. Each attempt to maneuver herself caused the chains to strain on her sore buds. Again, the bloodcurdling cries of her dreadful state echoed in the small chamber. She rushed as much as she could and traced along the chains to a box under the bed, a conductor of sorts, much like a generator with a hum emanating from it.
Instinctually, she reached for it and found there were no buttons or cords. The severity of the situation hit her, and a floodgate of tears opened.
“Help! Let me go! Please! Help! Dylan? Anyone!”
Again, she coughed, straining to breathe through her heightened anxiety.
The haunting chime of The Silo’s elevator rang in her mind. It was the last thing she heard before a needle stabbed her arm. Ari rubbed her biceps as she pulled herself back onto the bed, careful not to tug on the chains dangling from her breasts.
Someone injected her with something, which might have been why the room spun while sitting still. With a racing pulse, she scanned the room. The padded walls seemed like a scene from a movie set in a mental hospital. Beside the bed, there was an old clawfoot bathtub and a toilet in the corner. It wasn’t a large room, from what she could tell. The walls were dingy and bare. A single door was the only exit.
In between her sobs, her brow furrowed at the sight of two security cameras mounted on the wall. One opposite the foot of the bed and the other near the door, aimed at the toilet and tub. Her mind raced to Dylan’s office and the security cameras.
“Dylan, if this is some sort of joke to get back at me, it’s not funny. You can stop now. I’m sorry. Come on. Let me go. I’m serious!” Ari said as loud as she could, praying this was some sick declaration of love. Deep down, she knew this wasn’t a joke, but she needed to cling to hope.
With careful movements, Ari twisted to the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the cold cement flooring. A wooden trunk, more like an old pirate’s treasure chest, sat on the floor next to the bed. Like any curious reporter, Ari lifted the lid. Inside, she found velvet pouches of different sizes, each with a letter embroidered on it. As she bent down to grab one, there was a tug on her chains, as if someone had pulled them.
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