Shawn paced the small cabin's living room, the weight of another long, isolated day settling over him like a heavy blanket. He was 20 now, his wiry frame still boyish but his mind sharp from years of studying computer programming. This cabin, hidden deep in the countryside, had been his refuge for the past three years. It felt more like a cage, as of late. Katherine's paranoia had grown, and she gave Shawn more restrictions nearly every day. She spoke of people just out of view in the woods, and even Shawn had heard footsteps during the night, which he tried to dismiss as some wild animal sniffing the place out, but he could never quite convince himself of that.
It was a quiet evening when everything came to a head. Shawn sat at his desk, coding late into the night. The soft whir of the laptop fans was the only sound he could hear until his concentration was broken by a faint rustling outside. He froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Probably just a rabbit, he told himself. But then he heard it again, louder this time and he couldn't deny the origin of the sound any longer. Footsteps crunching on gravel.
"Katherine?" Shawn called out, his voice cutting through the silence. No response. He glanced at the clock: 1:47 a.m. She was usually in bed by now.
The footsteps stopped just behind the cabin's back door. Shawn rose slowly from his chair, his movements cautious. The floor creaked under his weight as he crept toward Katherine's room. The door was ajar, the bed unmade, but she wasn't there. Panic started to claw at the edges of his mind.
A sudden thud reverberated from the back of the house, followed by the unmistakable creak of the back door opening. Shawn's breathing grew shallow. Grabbing a flashlight from the kitchen counter, he clicked it on, the beam slicing through the dark.
"Katherine?" he called again, his voice trembling. Still nothing.
He edged toward the back door, his ears straining for any sound. The door stood slightly ajar, swinging gently in the breeze. Beyond it, the yard was a patchwork of moonlit grass and deep shadows. Shawn stepped outside, the cold night air biting his skin. He scanned the perimeter, but the only movement came from the trees swaying in the wind.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: a figure standing at the edge of the woods. Tall, broad-shouldered, and utterly still.
"Who's there?" Shawn demanded, his voice cracking. He raised the flashlight, but the figure stepped back into the shadows, disappearing from view.
Shawn's instincts screamed at him to run, but his legs felt rooted to the ground. He forced himself to move, retreating back into the house and locking the door behind him. His mind raced. Who was that? And where was Katherine?
As he turned, he heard another noise—this time from the front of the house. A low, metallic scraping sound, like a crowbar against wood. Shawn's stomach dropped. Someone was trying to get in.
He darted to the kitchen, grabbing the largest knife from the block. His hands shook as he gripped the handle, the cold steel grounding him slightly. The scraping turned into a loud crack as the front door splintered open. Shawn backed into the shadows of the hallway, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
Heavy boots stomped across the wooden floor. Shawn peeked around the corner and saw them: men in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by masks. They moved with precision, scanning the room with military efficiency.
"Clear," one of them said in a low, mechanical voice.
Shawn's grip tightened on the knife. He didn't know who these people were, but every instinct told him they weren't here for a friendly chat. He retreated further down the hallway, toward his room. If he could just grab his laptop, maybe he could send a message for help.
But before he could reach the door, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Shawn whipped around, slashing wildly with the knife. The blade grazed the man's arm, drawing a grunt of pain. Shawn turned again, trying to reach his room, but he wasn't fast enough. A second figure appeared, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor.
Shawn struggled, kicking and thrashing as they dragged him down the hallway. "Let me go!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic. The men didn't respond. They moved in lockstep, hauling him toward the front door.
"Where's Katherine?" Shawn yelled, desperation creeping into his voice. "What do you want from me?"
One of the men pulled a syringe from a pouch on his vest. Shawn's eyes widened as he saw the needle glint in the dim light. "No, wait! Please!" he begged, struggling harder. But the man holding him tightened his grip, and before Shawn could react, the needle jabbed into his arm.
A cold numbness spread through his body, his limbs growing heavy. His vision blurred as the sedative took hold. The last thing he saw before the darkness consumed him was the masked men lifting him onto a stretcher, their movements precise and unfeeling.
When Shawn came to, he was in a small, sterile room. The hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, and the smell of antiseptic stung his nose. His wrists and ankles were strapped to a metal table, the restraints digging into his skin. He pulled against them, panic flooding his senses, but they didn't budge.
"Hello?" he called out, his voice weak and trembling. "Is anyone there?"
The sound of a door opening made him freeze. A figure stepped into the room, their face obscured by a mask. They didn't speak, simply checking the monitors surrounding him with detached precision.
"Where am I?" Shawn demanded, his voice cracking. "What do you want from me?"
The figure paused, their gaze lingering on him for a moment before they turned and left the room. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Shawn alone with the cold, mechanical hum of the equipment.