Extinction: The Plague

I woke up feeling a sharp, cold sensation, like ice melting slowly in my mind. My eyes opened, and everything around me came into view through a blurry haze. I was lying on something firm—neither too comfortable nor too hard. For a while, I just lay there, groggy and confused, trying to grasp the lingering remnants of a dreamless sleep.

Where am I?

The question lingered in my mind, heavy and unanswered. Slowly, I sat up, my stiff muscles reminding me of someone waking after a long sleep. My fingers touched the smooth, cold, metallic surface beneath me. The air was crisp, almost too clean. I blinked, trying to clear my vision and make sense of my surroundings.

I was in a small, plain room bathed in dim, bluish light. The walls were bare, and a faint hum vibrated through the structure. I instinctively touched my face and neck, feeling the warmth of my skin against the cold air.

Who am I?

The question startled me, filling me with unease. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember, but it was like trying to hold water in my hands. My mind was blank, with no memories where they should have been. Panic stirred in my chest, but I took deep breaths, trying to stay calm.

I needed to figure out where I was and get some answers.

Carefully, I swung my legs over the edge of what I now recognized as a sort of bed—or rather, a pod. The sleek, coffin-like structure sat in the center of the room, with no markings or buttons. I took a cautious step forward, my bare feet meeting the cool floor with a shiver. A door stood at the far end of the room, but it had no handle, no keypad—just a smooth, flush surface.

The only other feature in the room was a small panel next to the pod. I approached it carefully, the dim light making it hard to see. I hesitated, then touched the panel. It lit up, revealing a simple interface with a few softly glowing buttons.

I pressed one at random, and suddenly, the room flooded with light. I squinted, raising a hand to shield my eyes as they adjusted. The light was almost too bright, but it let me finally see the details around me.

The walls were stark white, the ceiling high above, adding to the room’s cold, impersonal atmosphere. There were no windows, no visible doors—just that one seamless panel that might be a door. The floor was the same smooth, cold material as the pod, and the whole space felt sterile. Clinical.

The room was so empty, so minimalistic, it was hard to imagine anything hidden there. I turned back to the panel next to the pod, wondering if it held any clues, but the interface was still glowing softly, waiting for another command.

I pressed another button, and the door—if that’s what it was—let out a faint hiss. I watched as a thin seam appeared in the wall, and the panel slid open with a quiet whoosh. Beyond it was a dimly lit staircase descending into the distance, the walls just as sterile as the room I was leaving.

My legs trembled slightly as I walked to the staircase. The steps were rough under my bare feet, the chill of the air seeping into my bones. I hesitated at the base of the stairs, then took a deep breath and started climbing. The hatch above creaked as I pushed it open, and the light grew brighter as I emerged into a new space.

The contrast was startling. I found myself in a large, beautifully furnished room, the complete opposite of the cold, dark basement below. The walls were warm, creamy colors, and large windows let in golden sunlight that danced across polished wood floors. The air was warm, filled with the scent of flowers—a stark contrast to the damp, earthy smell of the basement.

I looked around, wide-eyed with wonder and confusion. The room was a cozy sitting area with comfortable couches, a coffee table, and a large bookshelf full of books. A grand staircase led to an upper floor, and several doors branched off from the main room, leading to other parts of the house.

I stepped forward, my bare feet sinking into the soft rug covering part of the floor. The house was beautiful, even serene, but something felt wrong. There was an eerie stillness, as if time had frozen. I glanced out one of the large windows and saw a jungle—thick, lush greenery stretching out as far as I could see, sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden beams.

But there were no signs of life. No animals, no people—just endless, silent jungle.

A chill ran down my spine. The house felt isolated, cut off from the rest of the world. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that I didn’t belong here. But I had no memories, no clues to guide me. All I could do was search, try to piece together the fragments of this strange, unsettling reality.

I began to explore the house, moving cautiously from room to room. Each space was immaculate, as if someone had been living there moments before, but there was no sign of anyone. The kitchen was spotless, the dining room table set with fine china and silverware. Upstairs, I found bedrooms, each one carefully arranged, the beds made with crisp linens, the closets full of clothes.

But there was no one here. No notes, no messages—nothing to explain where I was or why I was here.

As I wandered through the house, I found a study. The walls were lined with bookshelves, and a large wooden desk sat in the center, papers scattered across its surface. My heart raced as I approached the desk, hoping to find some clue, something to help me understand.

The papers were mostly letters, written in neat, flowing script. They spoke of mundane things—gardening, the weather, plans for a trip—but none of them mentioned names or dates. It was as if whoever wrote them deliberately avoided leaving any traceable information. Among the papers, I found a few photographs—black-and-white images of the house, the jungle, and some places I didn’t recognize. But there were no people in the photos, just empty landscapes and buildings.

Frustrated, I put the papers back on the desk and turned to leave. But something on the wall caught my eye—another photograph, this one framed and hanging above the desk. It showed a woman standing in front of the house, her back to the camera, looking out at the jungle. Her posture was relaxed, but there was something haunting about the image. I felt a strange connection to it, as if I knew this woman—or maybe, I was her.

I shook my head, trying to push the thought away. I needed to stay focused, to keep searching. I left the study and continued to explore the house, my mind racing with questions. The place was a maze of rooms and hallways, each one more beautifully decorated than the last. But no matter where I looked, I found no answers, only more questions.

Eventually, I found myself standing outside a bathroom, the door slightly open. I pushed it wider and stepped inside. The bathroom was luxurious, with marble countertops, a large mirror, and a deep, clawfoot tub. The walls were tiled in a soft gray, and the floor was cool underfoot.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and froze.

A woman stared back at me, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize her. She was stunningly beautiful, with soft, light skin, full lips, and dark green eyes that sparkled with intensity. Her brown hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that seemed familiar.

But there was no recognition in those eyes, no memory—just emptiness.

I reached up, touching my face, tracing the curve of my lips, the line of my jaw. The reflection mimicked my movements perfectly, but it felt like I was looking at a stranger. I was naked, I realized, my body exposed to the warm air. But even that felt distant, like it wasn’t my body at all.

Who am I?

The question echoed in my mind, louder now, more insistent. I turned away from the mirror, feeling a sudden surge of frustration and fear. I needed answers. I needed to find out who I was, where I was, and what had happened to me.

The shower caught my eye, and I realized how dirty I felt, how the cold, sterile basement had left a layer of grime on my skin. I turned on the water and stepped into the stream. The warmth washed over me, easing the tension in my muscles and the cold that had seeped into my bones. I closed my eyes, trying to relax, to think.

But my mind was a whirlpool of confusion and fear, spinning faster as I tried to grasp at the fragments of memory just out of reach. The water soothed me, but it couldn’t wash away the questions or the sense that something was terribly wrong.

After what felt like a long time, I turned off the shower and stepped out, wrapping myself in a soft towel. I dried off quickly, moving briskly as if trying to outrun my thoughts. I found a closet in the bathroom stocked with simple, comfortable clothes. I put on a loose top and shorts, feeling a strange sense of relief at the familiar fabric against my skin.

I looked at myself in the mirror again, dressed now, and felt a small measure of control return. But it was fleeting. The questions still lingered, unanswered and insistent, pressing at the edges of my mind.

I left the bathroom and continued searching the house, hoping to find something—anything—that would help me understand this place and who I was. But the house remained silent, its secrets buried beneath layers of beauty and tranquility.

And so I wandered, through rooms and hallways, up and down staircases, through doorways that led nowhere. I was trapped in this beautiful, empty house, surrounded by the vast, silent jungle, with no memory, no identity, and no idea what to do next.

But I knew one thing for sure: I couldn’t stay here. I had to find a way out, to escape this strange, haunting place and discover the truth about who I was and why I was here.

There was no one here. No clues, no answers—just overwhelming silence.

I found myself drawn to a door at the far end of the house, leading outside. I hesitated for a moment, then pushed it open and stepped out onto a small, shaded porch. The air was warm and humid, filled with the scent of fresh leaves and damp earth. I walked down the steps, my bare feet sinking into the soft grass as I ventured into the jungle.

The jungle was alive with the sounds of birds and insects, a stark contrast to the silence of the house. The trees towered above, their thick trunks covered in moss and vines. I followed a narrow path winding through the trees, the undergrowth thick and lush. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting patterns of light and shadow on the ground.

As I walked, unease grew inside me. The jungle was beautiful, but something about it felt wrong. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, that something was hidden in the shadows. But I pressed on, determined to explore and learn more about where I was.

I emerged into a small clearing. The trees parted to reveal a gravel parking area, and in the center was an off-road vehicle, dusty but in good condition. It looked out of place in the jungle, yet it was a welcome sight—a means of escape from this strange, isolated place.

I approached the vehicle cautiously, expecting it to be locked, but the door opened easily. The interior was clean, well-maintained, and the keys were in the ignition. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the keys, then turned them. The engine roared to life, breaking the jungle’s silence.

As the engine purred, I glanced up and saw myself in the rearview mirror.

A woman stared back at me, and for a moment, I didn’t recognize her. She was beautiful, with soft, light skin, full lips, and dark green eyes that held intensity. Her brown hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that seemed familiar. But there was no recognition in those eyes, no memory—just emptiness.

Who am I?

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as I sat there, the engine humming softly, the jungle stretching out around me in every direction. The vehicle was ready, waiting for me to decide.

With no other options, no other clues to guide me, I knew what I had to do.

I shifted into gear, my heart pounding as I prepared to drive into the unknown, hoping that somewhere along the way, I would find the answers I so desperately needed.