Patricia's vision swam as the cold floor pressed against her cheek. Her breath emerged in shallow, misted puffs. The harsh fluorescent light overhead flickered in irregular pulses, casting long, jittery shadows across the steel walls. She blinked until the room steadied, each beat of her heart echoing in her ears.
At her side, Alice sat propped against the wall, forehead leaning heavily on bent knees. Her dark curls clung damply to her face, and her shoulders shook with quiet sobs. A low moan echoed from the far corner - Laura was stirring, her lashes fluttering as if waking from a nightmare.
Patricia pushed herself to a sitting position, every muscle protesting. The air smelled of metal and damp cloth. She flexed her fingers, relieved to find no restraints.
"Alice?" Patricia's voice was raspy, foreign in the stillness.
Alice's head snapped up, eyes wide and bloodshot. "Pat? You're alive… I thought - "
Patricia reached out, placing a trembling hand on her friend's arm. "Me too. We're together. That's what matters."
Laura rolled onto her side, pushing herself up with a groan. She rubbed her temples as though to shake the pain loose. "Where are we?"
"Kidnapped," Alice answered, voice wavering. "By people in masks. We woke up in some interrogation cell."
Patricia stood, swaying slightly, and moved to Laura's side. "Stay close. We don't know how much time we have."
Alice perched on her heels by a section of the wall where a thin seam showed between panels. With careful fingers, she pried it open, revealing a dented canteen of water and a crumpled scrap of paper.
Patricia grasped the paper. In smudged ink, it read: 'CELL S-47, INTERROGATION SECTOR.' The letters wavered.
Laura took the canteen, drained a few precious drops, then passed it to Alice. "They planned this," she whispered. "Everything staged."
A low hum vibrated the floor - transformers or long-forgotten machinery. The air felt thick, each breath a chore.
"We need more clues," Patricia said, scanning the walls for weaknesses. "Look for vents, loose panels - anything we can use."
Alice crawled along the perimeter, her fingers tracing rivets and seams. She paused at the floor, tapping lightly. The sound was hollow.
"Vent or crawl space under here," Alice murmured. "Could be our exit."
Laura soberly examined the door's surface. "And the guard shifts - he never checks the vents."
Just then, muffled voices drifted through the steel door's thin metal.
- "She's not who we expected."
- "Does she have the file?"
- "Yes. Her bag contains everything. Bring her in."
Patricia's pulse thundered. "My bag. My flash drive. I need that back."
Laura laid a hand on Patricia's shoulder. "First escape. Then retrieve it."
Patricia nodded, breath steadying. "Plan: distract guard, slip into vent, get keys to my bag."
Alice swallowed. "What about me?"
Patricia gave her a fierce smile. "We all get out. Together."
A sudden click echoed as the door lock turned. Light spilled inside.
The door opened to reveal a tall figure in a dark uniform, clipboard in hand. His mask bore a stylized emblem. He motioned curtly.
"Time," he said. "Proceed."
With synchronized resolve, the three PAL friends rose. They linked arms - an unspoken vow of solidarity.
As they stepped into the corridor's glare, Patricia whispered, "PAL forever."