Barry had a different reaction to his predicament which began with a panic attack and then a surge of rage. He was alone, trapped in a glowing white cube with no food and water. He spent an hour kicking and slamming his fists against the walls, but without leaving any indication that he had done so. They were solid and seemingly unbreakable. He had tried grabbing the gun from the pedestal in the center of the room, but a strong surge of electricity knocked him off of his feet the moment he touched it. He wept and fumed as he stomped around the room, trying to figure out what he could do to change his circumstances.
"I don't deserve this!" He ranted for a while, though he wasn't sure if anyone was even listening. Someone had to be listening, right? They wouldn't just lock him up and leave him be, would they? Who were they? Why take him? Barry was only a waiter at a small restaurant in Buffalo, New York. Why was he so special?
He finally sat down and looked at the clothing he was wearing. Someone had changed him while he was unconscious. He wore grey sweatpants, a grey sweatshirt with his name embroidered on the left side of the chest, and he was barefoot. Apparently allowing him to have socks and underwear would be too much of a luxury.
What if he had to go to the bathroom? There weren't any toilets or sinks, or even a bucket. How would he get food? The walls were solid and left no indication that they could contain a door. There weren't even any vents in the room, and so the thought of running out of air made him finally calm down and begin to breathe more steadily. He stared for a while at the bloody knuckles he had gotten from punching a wall and finally wiped them against the leg of his sweatpants.
Something had to happen soon, and he would have to wait until that moment came.
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Genre – Thriller / SciFi
Rating – PG13