His skin crawls at the sound of metal slowly dragging against metal.
Somebody is opening the door.
Ryan stands quickly and backs into the corner, nearly tripping over himself as his feet tangle in the chain. The door swings open, letting out a low rumble as it sweeps across the floor.
His eyes widen, his breath trapped in his chest as he forgets to breathe.
Two people, both masked, are holding a woman under the arms. Her head is rolling forward, her feet dragging behind her as they pull her into the room. She’s unconscious.
‘Hey!’ Ryan shouts, in a brief rush of bravery. ‘You can’t do this!’
But they say nothing. They don’t even look at him. Instead, they place her down on the floor, her back to the wall, next to the metal loop in the corner to his right. She slides sideways and they don’t try to stop her from falling. Her head thuds on the concrete.
‘What’s going on?’ he says, quieter this time. Maybe they can be appeased. Maybe. ‘I don’t even know her. This must be a mistake.’
The bigger of the two reaches into the bag they are carrying. They pull out a chain and hand it to the other person, who crouches down, looping the chain around her ankle and tying her to the wall. They pull on it several times. Nod at each other.
‘Can you please tell me what’s happening? You can’t just leave us in here!’
They walk quickly towards the door.
‘No, please. Please! Just tell me who she is! Who is she?’
They step out of the room and into the dimly lit corridor beyond.
Ryan rushes forward, even though he knows it is hopeless, that the chain will only allow him to reach halfway across the room. He lets out a scream from deep within him, a sound he has never made before – a trapped animal desperate to be freed.
‘Let me out of here!’
The door slams shut.
He staggers backwards, collapsing on to the floor at the sound of them sliding the lock into place. His chest is heaving, his breathing ragged, cold sweat coursing down the back of his neck and on to his spine.
Is this it? Is waiting for what he knows is coming all that he can do? The whole country has seen it; they’ve all watched as three other sets of people have been through this: the timer, the confessions. The fear. And then … the choice. It will be him or her.
She is lying in the same position she was left in, her legs askew, one arm flopped partially over her face, the other at a twisted angle behind her. She has dark hair, olive skin. Pretty. Young … mid-thirties at the most.
But …
Who is she?