It's quiet tonight.
Everyone went to bed early because of what happened today. Today might have been one of the worst days of my life. I'm sitting here in my small room, with frayed nerves and pained thoughts. My mind is drowning in a scalding lake of denial; like a forsaken soldier waking up to the sight of his severed legs. The scared child in me just wants to hide under the bed and cry myself to sleep. It's painfully clear that I've hit rock bottom. I put myself in this mess, part of this experiment, and onto a dark, twisted path leading to hell.
Randy took his own life today.
That wasn't an easy sentence to write, and I've been staring at it for an hour before typing this.
I should probably just continue and get it out of my head. I've been thinking about it all day, and it's driving me crazy. I've never witnessed someone's suicide before, and I'll tell you, it's pure evil. I barely knew Randy, but it hurt... it really hurt. And it still hurts.
It happened in the testing room this morning, after the daily dose. Dr. Waters moved over to Randy's chair to unstrap him before anyone else. I was watching the two of them because Randy had been completely silent yesterday and today, and I wanted to see how he reacted to the latest dose. The doctor got Randy's hand straps undone, and suddenly, as fast as lightning, Randy snatched a pen from Dr. Waters' lab coat and plunged it into his own throat multiple times. My heart hurts typing this. Fuck.
My mind can't comprehend... that he stabbed his own throat, and that damned monster, Rudy, was snickering in delight as he did it. The rest of us were horror stricken and completely in shock. Lynette and Emily screamed to high heaven and Jeff started bawling his eyes out. The rest of us just stared in silence.
What’s worse, is when Randy's blood started pooling on the floor, Dr. Waters slipped and fell in it. A sight which made Rudy howl in laughter. I can still hear his shrill voice slicing into my mind like shards of glass. If I hadn't been so disoriented, I would've torn through my restraints and used the same pen Randy used on himself to gouge that demon’s throat.
The vivid image of Randy's suicide and Rudy's contorted face is making me nauseous right now. I can't stop thinking about the blood, man fuck. And we all, just fucking sat there, utterly bewildered, strapped into our chairs, forced to witness the horror while Rudy reveled in his sick enjoyment.
I've never felt so powerless and afraid.
As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, Amanda, once vibrant and alive, now appears to be entrapped within herself. She became completely comatose during the ordeal. Was it triggered by the shocking imagery of Randy's morbid act, or perhaps it was the result of 35C? Regardless of what the cause is she's now completely lost within an abyss of her own mind. The doctors have tried every trick in the book to rouse her, to break through the walls she's built around herself, but all their efforts have been in vain. Now, she's just gone. Gone… along with everyone's sanity.
We're all shattered in our own ways. At least, I can speak for myself when I say that I am completely unraveling. The turmoil within me refuses to find solace in words; my thoughts race like a frenzied tornado, ripping through my mind. Amid this chaos, there's one vivid image that's etched itself into my consciousness: Randy, his own hand thrusting a pen into his throat, the life draining from his eyes like a flickering candle extinguishing in a gust of wind.
I've been looking for any semblance of sanity I can find. I sought out Frank. Since our encounter in the shower room, his words have bothered me. He spoke of the drugs as keys that unlock hidden truths, revealing a reality beyond our perception. This morning, I approached him again, finding him staring intently at the fluorescent lights above the bookshelves. I asked if he was intentionally blinding himself, but he turned to me, his gaze piercing, and uttered, “We’re all blind,” followed by, “it’s all a big lie anyway.” Even his accent seemed to have vanished, replaced by an unsettling neutrality.
"Frank, what the fuck are you talking about?" I demanded, my voice tinged with a mixture of fear and frustration.
"Don’t you see it? Don’t you understand what’s happening?" His words, spoken in an apathetic tone, left me unnerved.
"What, Frank? What?" I pleaded, desperate for clarity. He merely turned away, lost in his contemplation of the lights, as if the world around him had faded into obscurity.
What the fuck is he hinting at? What am I missing?
I'm utterly perplexed by the current state of affairs, and the most distressing aspect is our complete lack of agency to leave this place. I found that out firsthand today when I attempted to leave. After the chaos of Randy's gruesome end, I went up to Dr. Nelson, hoping to leave with my $2100. However, he calmly informed me that the experiment's contractual bindings prevented any of us from departing until its conclusion. What troubles me is the look in his eyes – they're clouded with stress, as if he's carrying a burden he can't unload. For a fleeting moment, I sensed a flicker of desperation, as if he wanted to confess something. It's as if he's a puppet dancing to an unseen master's tune, just like the rest of us.
And here I am, helplessly stuck in this nightmare.
Our number has dwindled to nine, and the effects are becoming all too evident. Ben, who seemed normal at the outset, has begun to fray at the edges. I was alone with him in the common room, where he began obsessively commenting about the dimness of the lights. He repeated himself multiple times, as if locked in a loop. Frustrated and grieving for Randy, I snapped at him. He stared at me for a moment before breaking into a creepy smile. What's bewildering is that the lights aren't dimmer; if anything, they appear brighter. Perhaps Randy's suicide has taken its toll on Ben, leaving him shaken and disoriented. Honestly, I can't make sense of anything anymore.
Lynette, Walter, Jeff and Kyle haven’t spoken a word. They must be in as great a state of shock as I am. I don’t know how we’ll feel tomorrow, but today is… unbearable. A rush of anger surges through me towards the doctors. You damn doctors better know what you're doing!
Amid the chaos, another figure has me on edge—Rudy. There's something truly scary about him. Beyond his sinister involvement in Randy's death, he's taken to observing us from his seat. I swear, dark shadows seem to coalesce around him, like storm clouds amassing over a raging sea. His unfeeling eyes bore into us, hinting at some malicious plot brewing in his mind. Today, I caught him staring at Emily, a strange fixation that has intensified since our arrival. Though we've all been drawn to Emily, Rudy's gaze feels different—dangerous. I'm convinced he's up to no good.
In light of Randy's tragic demise, my perception of Emily has shifted. Beneath her exterior, I sense a depth of emotion stirred by his death. She's not the shallow persona she initially projected. Today, she confronted Dr. Nelson, demanding release from the program. Her desperation led to tears, and I can't help but pity her. My heart aches for her, and I worry about her safety in this crazy fucking madhouse.
I know my words are being monitored, but I don't care. I'm on the brink of forcibly escaping. Regrettably, the facility is fortified like a fortress, with no visible escape route. The doors leading to the testing room and the hallway are impassable, secured by complex codes and biometric systems. We're trapped, prisoners of our own shitty life choices. The absurdity of our situation is staggering—what happens if a fire breaks out? We haven't been trained for that contingency. Dr. Nelson, I implore you to communicate with me, to provide some answers.
I can't believe I missed the warning signs. I should've taken Carlos Rizetto's offer. I feel this constant stream of regret gnawing at me, dammit! Gambling's price has never been steeper. I should've been job hunting, not throwing dice. The truth is glaring, I'm trapped in this hellhole by my own stupidity. I'm responsible for this mess, alone. How much longer will they keep us here, watching minds unravel and lives extinguish?
I need solitude to reflect on these overwhelming thoughts. And I need to remain vigilant, watching Rudy's every move.