Twenty-SevenAnonymous white corridors meandered ahead of me, exits doorways on both left and right giving no clue as to which way I should go. There was no one about, not even the sound of anyone, just the soft hum from the strip lights above. They bathed everything in a harsh, sterilised glare. Letting instinct guide me, I tried to continue on my way, to find Yolanda and some sort of truth.
I'd woken up, a pounding in my head, tongue thick and dry in a mouth tasting of something foul. Drugged, confused, dehydrated, I had no idea where I was or for how long I'd lay in that cold, featureless corridor. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes, and touched my neck to first find the entrance point of the injection, then my chip.
There was no evidence of either.
I wandered those empty hallways, my body
