Page 104 - DeepRestFlipFinal

NICHOLAS BOOTHMAN
Hours passed. Or perhaps only minutes. Time was
a fluid, meaningless concept in this white purgatory.
Then, the silent door slid open again.
This time, a different set of figures entered. Not
the lab coats, but two burly, silent men in dark
uniforms. They approached her, their faces impassive.
"Time for your performance, Doctor," one of them
grunted.
Evelyn felt a fresh wave of terror. She struggled
against the restraints, but they were too strong. They
unstrapped her, roughly pulling her to her feet. Her
legs, weak from disuse and the sedative, almost
buckled.
They led her out of the white room, down a long,
dimly lit corridor. The air grew colder, a metallic tang
on her tongue. The sounds of the facility, once muted,
now became clearer: the throb of machinery, the
clatter of equipment.
They pushed her through another door, and Evelyn
gasped.
She was in a cavernous space. Cold. Industrial.
Steel gantries crisscrossed overhead. Banks of
monitors glowed with data. And in the center, a raised
platform, bathed in a single, harsh spotlight. On the
platform, a familiar sight: her own high-precision
EEG machine, connected to a large, transparent
display screen.
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