The two of you have agreed that it is necessary to play the game of the extra-terrestrial being. It is safer to be meek and obedient to its orders than to risk receiving torture or even death. The wide checklist remains on the wall, glaringly simple in its instruction.

 

It is an easy task that would have occurred naturally between the two of you, the only companions in this prison. But there is a defiant streak inside that is trying not to in order to be rebellious. Just a little bit. Not wanting to follow instructions so easily. There will be benefit to drag the response and completion time of the tasks. Who knows what complex or twisted activity it would want the two of you to complete in the future. If the expectations are set low at the start, there will be leeway in the future. 

 

Not that you plan to stay here for a long period of time.

 

“You should go get some sleep. I’ll stand guard here.” Donghae half-jokes, pointing his chin at the only bed in the room.

 

The two of you are sitting at the square table across each other. It’s been 12 hours since the ordeal and the two of you are exhausted yet completely unnerved and too alert to sleep. 

 

You dread the next broadcast of that malicious voice. You hate the sound of the ever-changing pitch and that evil pretense of good humour.

 

You place your hands together, rubbing them. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten. You’re hungry and your limbs feel cold. 

 

“Are you, perhaps, hungry?”

 

Donghae’s hand mimic yours as he leans forward with the question. The way he tilts his head slightly, eyes deep in concern really pulls your heartstrings in a way.

 

“We’ve been here for 12 hours. I am quite hungry.” You admit, slightly bashful. 

 

He chuckles and rubs his stomach. “I am too.”

 

He stands up and walks into the kitchen. You have both explored the place for clues to escape. There is food in the kitchen. It’s a strange feeling. You’re trapped and tortured for disobedience yet there is food provided to ensure you will not death prematurely before the end of the trial.

 

There are usual foods in the cupboards. Hopefully, nothing else out of the blue happens anymore.

 

You wolf down the instant noodles. You need the energy. You’re not going to starve to death before you could even figure this out. At least, you will know what killed you before you die.

 

“While we’re eating, lets get that first task down.” Donghae points to the white projection on the wall. 

 

The two of you talk over food, not in a casual lighthearted manner, but an on-task way just to complete the first task. You know about his age, his family, his interests and his job. But the box hasn’t been checked off yet. To what degree do you have to ‘know’ each other in order to complete the task, the two of you have no idea. 

 

“What kind of girls do you like?” You asks. 

 

He leans back in his chair, pondering for a moment. “I like… girls with bright eyes. Somebody cheerful and understanding?”

 

“Ahh… Do you actually have a girlfriend?”

 

“No, she dumped me. I’m pretty bad at relationships.” Donghae smiles sheepishly, and a little sadly.

 

“You seem to be popular though.” You try to turn the conversation brighter.

 

“Not at all. This face doesn’t help when I am this awkward.” Donghae laughs. “I have a very bad history of dating girls— you aren’t going to spread this when we get out of here, are you?”

 

“Why would I go out saying these things about you?” You laugh with him, glad for the change of mood in this solemn whiteness, yet at the same time miserably skeptical of leaving.

 

The two of you decided to take turns sleeping. It felt unsafe to leave your consciousness again, especially when it is watching. 

 

Donghae lets you take the only bed in the room first. The both of you look haggard and sallow from the tribulation in the past 14 hours. He grabs a chair and sits beside the bed, but not near enough to make you feel uncomfortable sleeping. 

 

You close your eyes and try to take a rest. You try to close your eyelids but they keep trembling like they want to open up. You stay quiet and motionless, hoping for the fatigue to take over so Donghae can have his turn to sleep.

 

When you’re finally asleep, Donghae looks up from the only article of material he could find in the house, a newspaper dating 1987. He checks on you, safe and sound. His periphery catches the glowing white projection blinking at him.

 

The checkbox fills up and fades away.

 

A new one sits waiting.

 

‘Kiss’

 

Donghae gapes at the new task, scoffing under his breath. He turns to check your sleeping face and then back to the projection.

 

The loathsome white screen blinking every once in a while from a source invisible to the both of you. 

 

“Is this a sick joke?” He mumbles under his breathe at the seemingly mocking order. Forcing the two of you to make simple yet demeaning tasks, just to poke fun. Is this an experiment, or is this just a malicious prank to make toys for a ‘divine’ creature?

 

As soon as his words leave his lips, Donghae feels a ticklish sensation on the back of his wrist, like a woman’s nail scraping against his skin teasingly. It trails its movement on his hand, the eerie feeling making him freeze in his chair as his hair stood on ends. 

 

He grips tightly on the armrest as the force become large enough to hurt him, and then draw blood. A fine cut draws smoothly across the back of his hand, fresh red blood seeping out of his fair skin and dripping onto his white trouser, staining it in the vicious colour in a gradient of sickening pink. He breathes harshly from his racing heartbeat, his other hand grasping his cut one, shivering. 

 

It’s here again, the punishment.

 

It’s teaching him to know his place and hold his tongue. 

 

The bleeding won’t stop and the pain rises. Donghae in a breathe as a sharp ache pierces his hand abruptly. Another cut is forming, tracing itself parallel to its counterpart slowly, and torturously with a message— it’s telling him to behave himself.

 

The second cut goes in deeper than the first, he could feel it reaching his veins and the bone of his hand. He grips his wrist tightly, stopping the blood flow but the pain is overwhelming his vision. He gasps and lets out a pained groan, waking you.

 

You leap up, alert and frightened to find Donghae kneeling on the floor, his face contorted in pain as blood drips from his wrist, staining the pristine white floor with his red blood.

 

“Help…” He rasps, almost unable to speak. His eyes beckons you to come and you snap out of it, your legs regaining movement as you dash over to him, almost tripping over. You hold on tightly to his wrist to minimise the blood flow to the open cut. 

 

“Let me kiss you.” It’s almost a whisper.

 

You meet his eyes immediately, taken aback. Confused but not for long, you notice the new checklist on the wall opposite the bed, awaiting completion. 

 

Your eyes dart in hesitation. Kissing a man you just knew less than 24 hours ago puts you in an uncomfortably awkward situation. But as a third cut begin to emerge on Donghae’s hand, you muffle his pained groan with a straightforward kiss on the lips.

 

You leave his lips and the two of you stare at his bloodied left hand expectantly. The third cut stops, a short dash on his wrist.

 

He looks at you and before the two of you could share a sigh of relief, he groans from the continued pain. The third cut is growing again.

 

“Oh my god, stop!” Donghae yells through gritted teeth. 

 

You don’t want to wait until his hand becomes a bloodied mash of flesh. You grab his face with both hands stained in his blood and kiss him, long and deep, once and for all. You can tell he is surprised by how hard you’re trying but he returns the kiss without much delay. He his way into your mouth, movements sloppy and wet while suppressing his urge to groan from the throbbing pain on his hand.

It felt like an eternity before the two of you separated, staring at his cut-scattered hand where the numbers have finally come to an end. Five long cuts stand on the back of his left hand, the blood striking against his pale skin. The two of you sit on the floor panting from the kiss and the heart-racing danger you’ve just escaped from. Your mouth is wet in your—his saliva, your cheeks flushed from the lack of air and embarrassment. 

 

He stares at you, blush of the same colour and apologises softly.

 

You shake your head. It was necessary. And it didn’t mean anything at all.

 

The checklist fades away and the wall is empty for the first time.

 

The floor is a bloody mess, your white clothes a myriad of red, the smell of iron lingering strong in the room. 

 

The two of you found some bandages amongst other supplies in the bathroom. You help Donghae bandage up his mess of a left hand, wincing with him as you apply the antiseptic onto his open gashes. Biological tears filled his red rimmed eyes as he clenches his teeth through the agonising pain. 

 

You stood outside the bathroom, wondering what to do with these ruined clothes. Miraculously, you watch as the dark red of dried blood faded away on your clothes. However, the blood on your skin remains. 

 

You hear a hiss of pain behind the bathroom door.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Nothing… I can manage.” Donghae doesn’t sound very sure.

 

“I’ll help?”

 

After a long pause, you hear the door unlocking and Donghae’s standing in front of you looking sheepish. “Not very convenient with a busted left hand.”

 

He coughs a little, awkward and then notices the white clothes on you, looking clean as before. He stares and finds his own the same.

 

Clean and white, without a drop of blood.

 

“It looks like things clean themselves around here.” You say, noticing his realisation. “But, there’s still blood on my skin.”

 

Donghae checks himself. The blood is still drying up on his arms.

 

“All things clean up themselves except for ourselves, I guess.” He says. 

 

These things are made up by it. All these clothes you are in, this room, the things inside, are all made up by it. Only the two of you are real. That brings you to a chilling thought and ponder. 

 

Why does it hurt if we are just a conscious? Or is it just a psychological effect? And why aren’t the two of you, existing as conscious, cleaned when the clothes are? What if, the two of you aren’t actually just a conscious of the mind but, actually a real physical form.

 

The fact that Donghae bleeds— you fixate your gaze on his blood stained bandages— could mean that the two of you exist in flesh and blood. And the projection of your sleeping forms are just lies.

 

Donghae interrupts your thought. “What are you thinking about?” He obviously looks worried by your paled expression.

 

“Nothing.” You mumble quickly. You wouldn’t want to discuss such a thought right now. It might be angered again.

 

“I don’t know what would come next.” Donghae whispers to you. “It just feels like it’s making fun of us.”

 

You nod faintly.

 

What could happen next?