Beyond the Closed Doors

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

Tali had participated in multiple research projects to supplement her meager earnings as a waitress. This one, though - agonizing; hours confined in a white room with nothing but a door she wasn't allowed to open.

She surmised that they were studying temptation. Some participants did not get these instructions; other participants were warned not to open the door. Which group of people would be more likely to open the door? She wagered that it was those who were warned not to do so.

It's also probable that those who didn't had been conscientious rule-followers, which had never been a part of her. She almost could hear her mother chiding her, "You're one of those people who always pushes limits."

She whispered, "Limits are meant to be pushed," and opened the door.

Save for the darkness and the smell that had almost caused her to vomit, the same room flickered on with fluorescent lights. The door banged behind Tali as she shoved forward.

In the corner, a little movement was reflected. A woman lay in a fetal position, curled up. She had sighed, letting her head fall back after an attempt to raise her head.

Her brown hair was curled slightly at the ends, much like her own, and she seemed so familiar. It wasn't until Tali knelt close that she saw the distinctive J-shaped scar on the face of the woman. It was a mark just like one she herself carried, tracing it with her finger sent her pulse racing because it was from when she cut her face on a metal fence back in third grade.

The other Tali muttered, eyes closed once more, voice hoarse from disuse, "You shouldn't have come." "They won't feed us or let us go."

Predictably enough, the door was locked when Tali turned and ran back to it.

The other Tali muttered, his face pressed down to the cold floor, "Well," with a small smile. "At least now we're fighting this together."