#reject clone

The grinding and squealing of gears is all you hear as your bleary mind swims into consciousness.  There are cries, mostly confused ones you think, coming from somewhere nearby, but there must be a wall or something between you and them, as the sound is muted.  The sense of movement becomes obvious to you next; from what little you can see in the darkness surrounding you, it looks like you’re in a machine of some sort, standing on a conveyor belt as it shifts you along.  

A loud clang of machinery hits your ears again, and someone not far in front of you shouts something, but you don’t understand it: you still can’t quite comprehend what’s going on right now.  Last you remember you were watching a movie, some silly film, but now you certainly weren’t in the theatre.  So if you were here, then where were Matt, Tord and-

Suddenly light appears ahead, and you are distracted from your already muddled thoughts.  There seem to be an awful lot of people ahead, being shoved around and taken away.  They look vaguely familiar: actually, really familiar.  The person in front of you runs out, heading towards one of the people being dragged off.  You look after them, unsure of what action to take, but regardless of your feelings on the matter the machine pulls you onward.  Until it doesn’t.

The belt stops abruptly, and you almost fall over at the loss of inertia.  The machine continues to make shutting down sounds as you sway momentarily, then attempt to make your body move to the exit.  Everything feels weirdly disconnected, even though you’re mentally screaming at your legs to just move forward.  The sounds from outside have nearly died down, and from what you can see there are only a few beings remaining in the white space beyond.  You step forward once more, finally reaching the edge of the light- only to hear a sudden clang and feel sharp pain arcing through your right shoulder.  You stumble, arms reaching up instinctively even through the agony, to push back on whatever had fallen and was still attempting to cut you off from the bright world ahead.  It lets up suddenly, with the sounds of more yelling not far away, as you sink to the cold metal floor and lose the slight consciousness you had gained.

…

You wake up, but don’t open your eyes at first.  It’s a gradual awakening, various senses coming to and acknowledging that yes, we exist, and yes, we are indeed functional.  Along with those came an aching pain in your shoulder, and after a moment’s consideration you remember the chaotic events leading to this point.  Slowly, you open your eyes, taking in the completely white roof and walls surrounding your position on the floor.  You lie there for a while, fairly immeasurable in this sterile environment, before finally deciding to brave the potential hurt that could come with changing position.  Slowly, using your left arm for support, you ease up into a sitting position, pulling your injured side along gently.  There really isn’t much of anything in this room, besides yourself.  Even the floor is pure white, with only the faint outline of a door visible on the side nearest you and a tablet mounted on the wall and engraved with the words, ‘Reject Room #102’.

You examine yourself next; your clothes are the first thing that stand out.  The outfit seems out of place somehow, all the items correct but slightly off.  Your hoodie isn’t its usual shade, instead a dull blue, with patches that seemed slightly more green.  Your pants are off as well, a strange muted tan color, while your sneakers are a grey-black checkered pattern.  Reaching a hand up to brush through your hair, you can tell it’s not quite the right length, and a bang swept into your face reveals it’s also the incorrect color.  

You take another moment, allowing that to sink in.  You still can’t think of a reason why any of this feels wrong, because certainly elements of this are correct; you just can’t remember which ones.  That’s another thing that’s messed up, your memories.  You can only remember specific events, most of which were when you were with your friends, and very little from childhood onwards.  Unsettling, to say the least.