The Sum of All Our Fears

Curiously, my initial intuition had led me to regard this nightmarish incident as nothing more than an elaborate ruse. Though my scarf was tightly fastened over my nose and mouth, I found myself inadvertently breathing in the insidious fumes. It didn’t significantly alter my senses with a pungent aroma or induce instantaneous physical reactions, which was somehow even more disquieting. Instead, the gas brought a suffocating density to the air, making each inhalation feel as if I were dragging in a soup of petrol fumes and airborne toxins often experienced when a motor vehicle rushes by.

Conventional wisdom about gas attacks dictates that their symptoms are immediate and inescapable, they enter your lungs like invasive species, quickly disseminating through your nervous system and coursing violently into your bloodstream. However, to my mounting alarm, this gas defied such expectations. Romeka and I were immobilised by a wave of tension, standing back-to-back against the cold, unforgiving wall. Our eyes were narrowed, our muscles taut as we awaited the inevitable strike, yet it never came. In the mere space of ten heart-pounding seconds, we heard the door to our new prison creak open. The footsteps that followed were oddly deliberate, and the unmistakable thud of an object landing punctuated the ambience. Then, just as swiftly, the door was slammed shut, leaving us drowning in a sea of gas dread. What was it? A smoke grenade? A container of an even more deadly substance? We were in the dark, both figuratively and literally.

As if guided by some preternatural instinct, Romeka released her grip on me, and we sank to the floor, collapsing into foetal positions. My hand flew to my mouth, adding another layer of protection as I slid down the wall. Despite our precautions, the gas clawed its way into our respiratory tracts, inciting violent coughing fits. Romeka, too, was not spared, her mask proving futile against the insidious airborne menace. The rationale behind our descent was simple: gas rises, and in this sealed environment, it would take an interminable amount of time to clear.

Stricken, we lay there on the grimy floor, gasping like fish out of water, each cough a lance of fire in our raw lungs. Yet even amidst this cacophony of bodily distress, we could hear the retreat of our unseen tormentors. Then, as if they had never been there, a soul-chilling quietude enveloped us, punctuating our isolation with an exclamation of foreboding silence.

Just when we thought the ordeal had passed, albeit marginally, the room burst into unsettling illumination. A sudden jolt of electricity buzzed through the air, and we found ourselves bathed in a sickly, reddish light. It was as if our mysterious captors had turned on the lights as a final, macabre touch before their departure. As our eyes acclimated to the sudden glow, the dispersing vapours finally becoming visible, I glimpsed a tray near the door, highlighted by the under-door luminescence. What lay upon it was yet a mystery, adding yet another layer to our escalating sense of terror.

“Bloody hell!” I whispered to Romeka; my voice tinged with disbelief.

“What were you saying about communicating with them?”

Gradually, as the gas dissipated, the air cleared and visibility improved. Remaining in our prone position for a bit longer, I eventually began to rise. Finally able to breathe without violent coughs interrupting us, she mirrored my actions. Upon standing, I brushed the dust off my coat.

“Is everything alright?” My colleague immediately queried. “Are you okay?”

“Just about, and you?”

“Still alive for now…”

“I sincerely hope this isn’t their chosen method of communication, because it’s utterly impractical.”

“Only time will tell. But what on earth just happened?”

“I’m not entirely sure. We were too caught up in our coughing to notice much. But they had no intent to harm us,” I mused.

“Wait, what’s that?” She pointed to the tray near the door.

Ah, the purpose behind this whole ordeal suddenly became clear. They had brought us something. My eyes had noticed the tray, but I hadn’t given it much thought. They’d gone to great lengths to avoid being seen. These peculiar actions offered a clue to our location. Recalling the uniform of the paramilitary man we’d met earlier, emblazoned with the logo of White Arrow Incorporated, a British private military company, I started to piece things together. It dawned on me that we might not be in a facility belonging to Duval. Instead, we could be somewhere run by this private military company. Their tactics (using gas as a diversion, the overt intimidation) seemed consistent with military training. Alternatively, this could be a Duval facility managed by paramilitary forces. Either way, if we were up against trained personnel, that was anything but reassuring. Yet, as I’d said earlier, we’d have to face whatever came our way.

Romeka’s gaze followed the tray I had just picked up, one corner of her mouth curling sceptically. The two bottles of water were a welcome sight, undoubtedly preferable to drawing from the limescale-ridden tap. Yet, it was the ambiguous rectangles that drew our attention. In the soft glow of the room’s red lighting, they resembled blocks of some sort of baked, yellow strange and intriguing paste.

“I assume this is food, or at least it appears to be food,” I remarked after a brief pause spent inspecting the contents from a distance.

I approached the tray cautiously, the lingering scent of burnt material still pervading the air, tainting any other smells. I lifted the tray; the bottles wobbled, nearly tumbling over. I grabbed one and tossed it towards Romeka.

She caught it mid-air. I poked the first rectangular block. It felt like a dense cake, neither too hot nor too cold, with a texture both soft and firm.

“Yes, it’s food. And water,” I confirmed.

“So they intend to gas us every time they will feed us? At some point, they must start treating us like animals,” she lamented.

“Indeed. But for now, this is our reality, so get used to it. Fancy a bite?”

The food bars seemed edible enough. No off smells, no discolouration, just a somewhat granular texture. But the debate that loomed was one of trust: could we accept sustenance from our captors without courting danger? I don’t think so, after all.

“Yeah, suit yourself!” Romeka declined with a tinge of sarcasm. “Who knows? Maybe this is laced with that ricin you mentioned.”

“I did consider using you as a test subject to assess the food’s safety, you know,” I admitted with a faint grin.

“And how would you manage if I were to drop dead?” She scoffed. “I’ll trust only what I find here, not what they offer. Humans can survive a month without food; if it comes to that, so be it.”

“Ah, don’t be so pessimistic, my love,” I conceded. “But I’m famished. And, if we’re to be realistic, why would they go to such lengths to bring us now?”

“Fair point,” Romeka admitted.

“Well, this is surely something made to intimidate us, I’m sure we’ll understand that soon enough. They would have killed us already like you said, when we were asleep, they had more than once the opportunity to do it. No, they want something from us.”

“Still, Kominska, I’m not hungry.”

But let’s move to more immediate concerns. My fingers curled around a morsel of the unidentifiable food before me, a texture softly yielding beneath the pressure, almost imploring me to give it a try. Resigned, I bit into it. The mouthfeel was precisely as I anticipated, soft, perhaps even a little spongy. But the flavour (or the lack thereof) was startling. It was almost a gustatory void, a canvas stubbornly blank, refusing to be imbued with any discernible character. A slight undertone of banana faintly whispered from the depths of this culinary enigma, but it was so subtle as to be almost illusory. The experience was akin to masticating a sheet of office paper or a block of tofu, wholly unsatisfying but better than an empty stomach, I suppose.

As I engaged in this less-than-stellar dining experience, hydrating myself intermittently with sips of water, I noticed Romeka’s focused examination of our surroundings. Her eyes were scanning the wall adjacent to our spartan bed. A mystery still lingered in the air, the origin of the unidentified gas that had introduced itself uninvited into our locked room. My mind had toyed with the idea of a grenade, but that would require the physical act of opening the door, an event I could not recall happening. That’s when my eyes caught sight of something, a small black bowl discreetly positioned near the corner where the wall met the sink. This unassuming object suddenly appeared pregnant with potential implications. And as if that revelation wasn’t enough to stir the pot of our conundrum, I took a closer look: it was a CCTV camera tucked away in an unobtrusive nook. Suddenly, the room seemed less like a mystery to be solved and more like a stage set for a performance under the watchful eye of an unseen audience. We were not just captives; we were subjects of scrutiny, held under an omnipresent gaze that likely missed nothing.

“Romeka, look. There’s a CCTV camera right there, observing us,” I remarked, my mouth full as I continued eating.

“Really? Where?” she spun around, scanning the room before locking eyes with me.

“Right here.” I gestured towards the camera.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re spot on,” she confirmed.

Food forgotten for a moment, I rose and walked closer to the camera. The gassing upon delivery of supplies now made sense: they wanted to minimise risks while we were awake. This reinforced my suspicion that we’re in a military facility or something owned by Duval or another entity, overseen by paramilitary personnel. The lack of a phone signal suggested we’re likely underground. The constant, liveable temperature, despite the room’s thick, concrete walls, only affirmed this theory. Yet, even with these observations, we still haven’t identified any vulnerabilities in our captors’ setup, meaning the likelihood of finding a chink in their armour, a means of escape, still seems distant. Upon reaching the corner where the CCTV camera was mounted, the details became clearer. Initially indistinct from a distance, its presence was unmistakable up close. I could see the camera lens embedded in the small, dark dome. It occurred to me that the camera might be turned to our advantage in some way. Romeka joined me, arriving just behind to take a closer look.

“So, they’re watching us?” She inquired immediately; her gaze fixed on the camera.

“Indeed. A new conundrum for us,” I mused, considering our options.

“Any ideas, darling?”

“Maybe. Let’s bring up something; it’s the only way we can truly understand how they operate. Knowing your target is fundamental before launching any offensive. Surely you understand this, being a law enforcement officer yourself.”

Just as I was on the cusp of verbalising these disquieting realisations to Romeka, an unexpected event shattered the rhythm of our dire circumstances. My phone, tucked away in my pocket like an inert relic of our past lives, suddenly sprang to life. It vibrated not once, but twice, as if urgently insisting on my attention. Startled, I took it out of my pocket. A signal? Here? How was that even conceivable in this underground chamber that had thus far been a barren wasteland for any form of connectivity? Romeka, too, sensed the incongruity of the moment, her eyes widening in palpable surprise.

My fingers trembled slightly as I activated the screen to unveil the enigmatic message that had penetrated our isolation. And it was indeed enigmatic; for no sender was identified, an absence that made the words on the screen appear even more ominous. Normally, my phone would dutifully display the name or number of the person reaching out to me, their identity boldly stamped at the top. But this message was an exception: a voice from the void, a phantom whisper shrouded in digital anonymity.

The words were unequivocal, cutting through the fog of our speculation with the precision of a scalpel: Do not attempt to escape. If you try, we will have no choice but to murder you. The message didn’t just give voice to a threat; it served as a chilling reminder of the unseen, all-seeing powers that held us in their grasp, as well as a jolting wake-up call that we were dancing on the knife-edge of existential danger. I immediately shared the perplexing message with my colleague, who stared at it in disbelief.