Future Darkly: The White Room

The bus rumbles through the grimy streets, Vincent hunched behind the wheel, a shadow of a man with thick horn-rimmed glasses fogging slightly and a scruffy beard hiding his weak chin. He ferries the pack of fresh-faced 18-year-old coeds from George Ivan Junior College, their crisp uniforms hugging budding curves, skirts riding high on toned thighs as they giggle about stolen kisses, cramming for tests, and whispered locker-room scandals. Alison Rey, Michael Vegas, Nina North, Whitney Wright, Carolina Sweets, and Gracie May Green fill the seats, oblivious to the predator in the rearview. Vincent's eyes dart like a hunted animal, fixed on the cracked asphalt slicing past looming warehouses. One by one, they spill out, until only Aidra remains, her lips wrapped around a cherry lollipop, sucking slow and teasing. 'Hilarious, isn't it?' she purrs, all wide-eyed innocence. 'You've hauled my ass home all year, and not a single word between us.' He grunts, awkward as sin. She flicks the sticky candy into the trash, waves goodbye with a sway of her hips. Vincent peels away, heart pounding. Sharp turn, brakes screech—bus halts in the alley's throat. He yanks a locked case from under the seat, fingers trembling as he snaps it open: sterile gloves snapping on, tweezers glinting, specimen bag crinkling. With surgical precision, he retrieves the saliva-smeared lollipop, seals it like contraband sin. Engine growls back to life. CUT TO TITLE: Future Darkly - The White Room. CHAPTER ONE. Vincent shuffles into his stark apartment, peeling off the fluorescent vest like shedding skin. The room's a void—bare walls, cold edges—leading to a glowing computer slab. He powers it up, positions the candy on the screen, its wet sheen pulsing under the digital glare, promising darker hungers.