Awakening

Riley's head felt like it had been split open with an axe.
She opened her eyes to blinding white light and immediately regretted it. The fluorescent glare sent daggers through her skull, and she squeezed them shut again, groaning. Her mouth tasted like copper and something chemical—bitter, medicinal.
Where was she?
The last thing she remembered was... what? Her apartment? The coffee shop? Her mind grasped at fragments that slipped away like smoke.
"Jesus Christ," a male voice muttered somewhere to her left. "What the hell?"
Riley forced her eyes open again, slower this time. White walls. White ceiling. White floor. Everything was sterile and blindingly bright, like waking up inside a light bulb. She was lying on a thin mattress on the floor, and her body ached in places she couldn't identify.
She sat up too quickly. The room spun, and nausea rolled through her stomach. She pressed a hand to her mouth, willing herself not to vomit.
"Easy," another voice said—female, calm, professional. "Don't move too fast. You'll make it worse."
Riley turned her head carefully. Four other people were scattered around the room, all in various stages of waking up. A woman in scrubs sat against the wall, already alert, watching everyone with clinical assessment in her eyes. A man in an expensive-looking suit was on his hands and knees, dry-heaving. Another woman with dark hair pulled into a messy bun sat cross-legged, rubbing her temples. And a guy who looked like he'd just rolled out of a newsroom was trying to stand, using the wall for support.
"Who are you?" Riley's voice came out hoarse, scratchy.
"I was about to ask you the same thing," the man in the suit said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked furious and terrified at the same time.
The woman in scrubs stood up smoothly, her movements practiced. "I'm Paige. Medical resident. And before anyone asks—no, I don't know where we are, how we got here, or what's happening. But based on how we all feel, I'd guess we've been drugged. Probably rohypnol or something similar."
"Drugged?" The messy bun woman's voice pitched higher. "What do you mean drugged? I don't—I can't remember—"
"None of us can," the journalist-looking guy said. He'd finally made it to his feet. "I'm Kyle. And the last thing I remember is... yesterday morning? Maybe? Everything after that is just... gone."
Riley's heart started hammering. She looked down at herself. She was wearing her own clothes—black jeans, a burgundy sweater, her favorite ankle boots. Her phone wasn't in her pocket. Her smartwatch was gone. The small gold necklace her mother gave her—still there. But her bag, her phone, everything useful was missing.
"I'm Riley," she said, more to ground herself than anything. "I'm a content creator. I live in Brooklyn." She looked around the room desperately, searching for anything familiar. "This is insane. This can't be real."
"Aaron," the suit guy said shortly. "Lawyer. Manhattan." He was already scanning the room with sharp eyes, looking for exits, cameras, anything.
"Nicole," the dark-haired woman whispered. She looked like she might cry. "I'm a school counselor. I—this can't be happening. I have kids to see tomorrow. I have—"
"Everyone stop," Paige said firmly. "Panicking won't help. Let's assess the situation."
For the first time, Riley really looked at the room. It was maybe twenty feet square. Completely white. No windows. One door—heavy, metallic, with no visible handle on this side. In the center of the room was a metal table with five objects on it: a phone (not a smartphone—one of those old flip phones), a digital clock counting down from 12:00:00, a first-aid kit, five bottles of water, and a sealed envelope.
"Twelve hours," Kyle said, staring at the clock. "We have twelve hours for... what?"
Aaron was already at the door, running his hands along the edges, looking for a seam or weakness. "It's sealed. Magnetic lock, maybe. I can't—"
A speaker crackled to life somewhere above them. They all froze.
The voice that came through was distorted, run through some kind of modulator that made it impossible to tell if it was male or female, young or old.
"Welcome," the voice said. "You've been asleep for approximately six hours. The drugs should be wearing off now. You have water. You have supplies. And you have twelve hours to remember what you did."
"Remember what?" Nicole's voice shook. "I don't know you! I don't know any of these people!"
"You do," the voice said calmly. "You just don't remember yet. But you will. The first room will help."
"First room?" Riley looked around wildly. "What are you talking about? Let us out of here!"
"When you're ready to begin, open the envelope. Solve the puzzle. The door will open. But remember—you only have twelve hours. If you fail to remember, if you fail to confess... the room seals permanently."
"Confess to what?" Aaron shouted. "This is kidnapping! This is—"
The speaker clicked off.
Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.
Kyle moved first. He walked to the table and picked up the envelope, turning it over in his hands. On the front, written in block letters: **ROOM ONE: WHO ARE YOU?**
"Should we..." Nicole started.
"Do we have a choice?" Paige said quietly.
Riley's hands were shaking. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to think. Trying to remember. But there was nothing. Just a blank space where the last day should have been.
And five strangers who, according to a madman, weren't strangers at all.
Kyle tore open the envelop.
End of Chapter 1