Stage One Part I

I open my eyes in the darkness. Nothing. Endless expanses of absolutely nothing. Am I dead? No. I can't be dead. Can I? I try to remember what happened before I got here, but it's as if my memory has been cut off from me. Am I not allowed to think? What is this place? The more I try to focus my brain the more difficult it becomes. This isn't good. This isn't good at all. The only thing that matters to us is our memory, because we will have nothing else to carry with us our entire lives. If my memory is gone, can I really say that I am me? What if that was just part of the charade? What if they manufactured my personality? And whoever I am from this moment onward...isn't me at all?

I reach out my hands to feel around in the dark. I feel something, a wall? Am I in a box? No, it wasn't a box, it was a cylinder. No corners. A light blinded my eyes replaced by the flashing of a word repeated all around me: peasant. Isn't that a bit harsh? I frown and run my hand over one of the versions of the word. It blinks as I touch it and then all of the words congregate right there, creating a rectangle that lights up. A broadcasting screen with a male that has dark hair, rectangular glasses, and a stern face looks at me.

"I am your game master," he speaks. His voice as cold as his appearance. He adjusts his glasses and folds his hands. I can't quite tell where he is but it kind of looks like he is sitting in an office room. The lighting is dim. "You are a peasant, congratulations," he rolls his eyes and sighs as if he has been doing this too long. The wheels in my head are turning but the same thing keeping me from remembering is also keeping me from panicking. It's as if I'm in a half-awake state right after being forced out of a deep sleep. A fog over my mind. I squint trying to focus my train of thought to process his words.

"One of you is the King and one of you is the Traitor. Find the Traitor and you'll be saved...mistake the King for the Traitor and you'll be doomed," he explains. King? Traitor? I'm a peasant? None of this is making any sense. I open my mouth to ask a question but he holds up his hand and cuts me off.

"I know what you're going to say. You're going to ask me why you are here and what I am talking about. You don't need to know those answers. If you make it to the tenth floor, you can ask me anything you like. Until then," his face previously devoid of emotions changes ever so slightly. His lips curve upward in some sort of humor-filled fashion. Is he enjoying this? Well, he did call himself a game master...perhaps this is part of the game?

The screen shuts off and the cylinder opens up. I'm blinded by the light of the room. I hold my hands up to it, closing my eyes abruptly, and then I hear the sound of voices. Who are these people? Where am I? "Hendrix!" my mother's voice enters my ears and arms wrap around me. She sobs, forcing my head into her chest, and whispering thank-filled phrases. I try to separate myself from her but she holds me close. "I don't know what happened but thank the Lord you're okay!"

"Just let go of the boy already," another familiar voice. My step-father that also just happens to be my uncle. We don't get along and he isn't exactly...kind. I take a step back once she releases me. I look around, making eye contact with the other people in the room. Some of them ignore me. Some of them are freaking out. Others are arguing among themselves.

"I'm glad you're alright," my one and only ally in this situation grabs my hand and grins. Hector, sweet baby angel Hector, I can't stop myself from smiling at his reassuring grin. "We're going to figure this out, okay?" he tells me and, for the first time, I think I might actually be okay. The situation hasn't fully sunken in yet, but with him here, how could it go wrong? I know three people in this group. That should increase my chances of survival, at least a bit, no?

"All we have to do is find the Traitor, so which one of you is it?" a male, a bit on the shorter side, crosses his arms and glares at all of us. Hector grips my hand tightly. I look at him but he doesn't look at me. The lights flicker and one of the walls turns into a giant screen. The game master, once again, looks at us.

"I am your game master," the man says to all of us. "I have already told each of you the situation but I will say it once more: find the Traitor and you shall be saved, mistake the King for the Traitor and you shall be doomed. Solve the puzzle on each floor to make it to the next one. I will be waiting for you, should any of you survive, on the tenth floor." The man who was glaring at us took off his shoe and threw it at the screen. The screen shut off and the lights flickered. On one side of the room the words 'to be' appeared in a classic neat font that you'd be asked to write your papers in. On the wall opposite to it were the words 'or not to be' in a blood splatter fashion. Lights on the floor lit up one by one, diving the room into halves.

"Oh no, honey, no thank you," a person behind me speaks. Whoever it is, they have a peculiar sense of fashion...a three-piece suit consisting of an entire color palate of just different shades of pink. The outer coat and the pants are hot pink, with the vest being varying in shades. "I'm way too fabulous for this kind of bull."

Mr. Shoe Thrower rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, flamingo."

"The name is Faust, sweetie, and I don't see an ounce of color on you so why don't we skip the insults. Pink looks good on me, m'kay? Also, pronouns are they/them if we are doing introductions. Gender is irrelevant."

"That's a good idea," the male next to Mr. Shoe Thrower points to Faust. "We should all introduce ourselves. My name is Pandora," he smiles. We go around the room, introducing ourselves one by one, but I'm barely paying attention to the names. All I can think about are the walls, this terrible situation, and the fact that my step-father might not be an ally at all. He isn't looking at me but I can see it in those hollow eyes of his. He intends to murder each one of us without caring who might be the King or not. I grip Hector's hand tighter. He grips mine in return. We look towards each other but he averts his gaze. He always looks in that direction when he is hiding something.

I let go of his hand and drape my arm over his shoulder. I lean in, so it looks like I'm just going to kiss his cheek, but I whisper into his ear instead. "It's you, isn't it?" He flinches, telling me I'm right without saying a word.

"You're the Traitor."