InsaneJournal

Day 28 - The Bunker
Who: Spencer Reid, and anyone else who is trapped in the bunker.
What: The captives wake up.
Where: Possibly the carnival; undisclosed location.
When: Day twenty eight, time unknown.
Rating: PG-13, may change.
Status: Incomplete; group post; no real posting order. Feel free to start mini-threads between characters if that's easier than everyone chatting together!



His head ached.

It almost felt like he had overslept; his body was tense, his mind was throbbing, and his throat felt like there was something stuck in it. He rolled to the side, the ground hard and cold beneath his face and hands. A low groan pitched from the back of his mouth, echoing loudly around the room. The sound confused him as his brain began to awaken and sharpen, and he lifted his head wearily, looking around.

As his sleep-clouded eyes started to focus, he became aware of his surroundings, his mind taking it all in within a few seconds. He was in some kind of bunker, walls built from what appeared to be steel or some other kind of very strong metal compound, judging from the grain and shine. There was a single door to his left, multiple bolts and locks strapped across the opening, yet there was no handle or knob on the inside. There were shelves against the far wall with food and bottled water stacked neatly atop. Hung on the perpendicular wall to this was a dry wipe board with an eraser and pens on the lip beneath. The board was huge and looked clean, brand new. Next to this was a shelf with what looked like notepads and pens, and a large thick book Reid immediately recognized as a DSM-IV (mostly because it was identical to the one he had tucked away in his desk drawer back at Quantico).

Reid's thin body felt heavy, but he forced his stiff joints to cooperate with him, easing himself up into a crouched position, and then to his feet. His body was untrustworthy and weak as he stood, looking around himself in both surprise and horror. There were other bodies, all alive but unconscious, sprawled around him on the floor, all men with the exception of two women. His eyes ran across the floor to the wall, and his mouth dropped open. A series of monitors, TV screens, were cut into the wall, all blank and switched off.

He reached up shakily and ran a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head, before moving forward toward the door and running his hands over the bolts, hinges and rim. The seal of the door was tight, and it couldn't be pushed or pried by his thin fingers. He was trapped, and so were all of these people with him.

He paused for a moment and leaned his head against the door, his heart pounding in his chest at a mile a minute. He swallowed shakily and tried to control his thoughts, tried to keep his mind from panicking, because he was about ready to break down. Experiments. The word repeated itself over and over in his head, both on the paper of his journal and in Connor, Kimberly and the Cajun man's voice.

No, no. He had to focus. He had to stay calm. If there was some kind of human experiment about to occur around him, there was no doubt that there were overseers, and that, as sadists, they would thrive on reactions of fear, panic, shock, confusion and desperation. He turned back to the TV screens cut into the back wall, teeth grazing his lip with uncertainty and fear. He had a feeling that, if someone had taken the time to insert screens into the wall, they weren't going to remain blank forever.