Young Writers Society

"Just don't say anything, It will make what I'm about to do so much harder." Ripley sighed, swinging the bat mercilessly over his shoulder. 

The victim gulped and struggled against the chair. The ropes that were holding him down contained some type of metal,  for they were cutting into the open flesh of his arms. "Ripley, rethink this. I swear everything will be okay. Just let me go."

Ripley chucked darkly and looked at the ground. "Nothing can be okay. Especially if you are still alive, Avellino." 

Avellino stopped struggling and hung his head, as his life sadly flashed through his mind. Nothing much had happened in it. He was a poor man who was over-worked and under-payed at a desk job. His family didn't speak to him, due to his slight smoking problem. He was an overall average man with a boring life. What had he done to deserve such punishment? 

A look only a psychopath could muster crossed Ripley's face. "Bye-bye, Ave."

It only took a millisecond, and the bat struck him. Everything went black. 

-

"Is he awake?" an echoing voice drifted down towards Avellino.

He cracked his eyes open. The room he was sitting in was pure white, with translucent curtains the shade of honey draping over the small windows. Five workers dressed in stiff white outfits were hustling around the room. Doing what, he couldn't tell. There was something strange about their movements, something forced.  

"Hello, Ave." the woman who had spoken before did again. She had a ringing British accent and dark brown hair that fell in small curls against her caramel skin. 

Ave tried to speak, but his tongue flailed in his mouth, dry and useless to him. 

"Yeah, I'm sorry love. You won't be able to speak for a while. Maybe it's for the best, you'll be screaming less." the woman waited for a reaction, but didn't get one. "Not much of a jokester, I see. That's okay, let's just get down to it."

She lifted up a needle that was right beside the hospital bed. "This is monoclonal arthrosisse. It was used to put you into a simulation of a game our producers are calling Virtual Hellpoint.

"The problem is, we accidentally shot it into the wrong vein. It worked for a while, but as soon as it hit your heart and didn't circulate back, you lost all ability to speak." she shook her watch and glanced at it hastily. "In sixteen hours you won't be able to see, and two hours after that you won't be able to smell."

Avellino started convulsing in his seat, protesting.

"Oh, love. Soon you won't be able to move either. Now let me continue, alright." she obviously didn't wait for a response, and continued on. "Soon, you will lose all ability to do anything. It will feel like a void. Like you have fallen into a puddle of inescapable ink. The problem is, you will be like that forever. No death, no escape, no revival."

The woman raised a finger at the doctor and everyone left the room except for her. "Now that you know, I just want to say, on behalf of Rondell Gaming and Co., we are sorry."

Wait... wait! Come back! Don't leave me. Anything but this, please. I have to go home, I have to let my wife know. Have you let her know?

The woman smiled at Ave and patted his knee.  

"Bye-bye, Ave." and at this, she shut the white metal door, never to open it again.