#Where the Hell am I?

Ugh…How much did I have to drink last night? Was the first thought Morgan had as she groggily opened one eye. Looking at her phone in the dark she could just make out that it said 6:03 am and had no bars. And how did I end up some where with no cell service?

As she rubbed her eyes and blinked away the blurriness, a fluorescent light above flickered like it was from a horror movie set, then finally remained on. “What the hell?! Where the fuck am I?!” She bolted upright. The room she was in was completely unfamiliar to her. She was laying on a twin size cot in the corner of the room. The room itself was small, and bare. The only other thing in it was a small desk with a cell phone stand and chair. In the other corner a toilet and small sink with no mirror. The walls were cinder block with no windows, and the only door in the room was metal with a small slit at eye level that was closed.

Did I get myself in the drunk tank last night?

The room had a very cell like quality to it. Feeling fairly certain that it would be useless, she got up from the bed anyway, swaying slightly and walked over to the door and jiggled the knob.

Locked.

Of course it was locked. They generally don’t leave cells unlocked in a jail. Still Morgan had no recollection of how she landed herself here. Granted it’s not the first time she’d been picked up for one minor infraction or another, but this cell was not the same as others she had landed herself in before.

“Hello! Can anyone hear me?” She yelled, pounding on the door. It didn’t so much as budge an inch. And she couldn’t hear a peep on the other side. Man, figures. No room service here I guess. Well, at least they left me my phone this time. Might as well start recording a video about this experience. I can always post it later when I have signal again.

She moved to the small desk, and set her phone on the little stand and turned on the camera. She spent a few moments fixing her dark curls in some semblance of order and trying to clean up the eyeliner smears around her dark brown eyes. Once her face was as close to perfect as possible, she pressed the record button.

“What’s up guys?! Morgan here to bring you the latest drama, the latest tea, the latest what the fuck is up with me! So as you can see this is clearly not my usual digs. Woke up this morning and looks like I’ve landed myself in jail. Frankly, I don’t even know why yet. No one’s checked in, and I can’t remember shit that happened last night. Must have been quite the wild night for me to wind up here though! Definitely giving this place a zero star review for sure. Bed’s too firm, no privacy for the facilities, and zero service. I haven’t seen or heard a soul since I woke up this morning. What a drag, am I right? Hopefully bed check and breakfast is soon, cuz lord knows your girl lives for her coffee. Even shitty jail coffee is better than no coffee. I’ll keep you guys posted as more information is made available to me. Peace out!”

As she turned off the recording, the lights began to strobe and flicker again but then returned to their usual on position. Great…Here’s hoping this place doesn’t lose power. I’d hate to be stuck in the dark.

With a sigh and a lack of anything better to do, she returned to the cot and laid back down and stared at the ceiling. She noticed it was completely flat, concrete. Not even tiles for her to count.

God, I’ve never been so bored in my life. What the hell did people do before modern technology? I guess its just too early for anyone to check on me yet. Hopefully, breakfast is soon, or my phone call. I’m going to go stir crazy if I have to stay here for much longer without service.

Eventually she dozes off. In that precipice between awake and sleep, her mind wandered and she recalled the time she put on a hidden camera and volunteered at a homeless shelter. Then later edited a video for her channel ranking the homeless people from most attractive to least (spoiler alert she didn’t find any of them attractive, but got great views on some of the jokes she made.). Or the time she let her viewers pick her Tinder date (a truly hideous specimen), and then recorded the entire date, including her tearing him to pieces in a brutal critique…after he paid for dinner and drinks. She actually felt a little bad about that one, because someone messaged her weeks later letting her know that guy had unalived himself.

She started up on the cot, nauseated by the memory. I’m going to be sick. Ugh, when are they going to check on me or bring me some food, coffee, water, anything! Putting her head in her hands, she wondered why these memories and feelings were coming up now. Must just be morning after, sobering up regret. Those videos can’t possibly be that bad. If they were, then why would so many people watch them?

Looking at her phone she sees the time is now 7:06 am. She went over to the little sink and tapped some water on her cheeks, trying not to damage what's left of her makeup but attempting to cool her face, and drank a couple of handfuls. As her anger rises, she goes back to the locked cell door, “HEY!! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?? HELLO! IS ANYONE FUCKING OUT THERE!” She pounded on the door as hard as she could, but still no one answered her, or unlocked the door. Hell, no one even opened the damn viewing slit. Morgan goes back to the desk and sets up the phone to record.

“Ok guys, I’m here to update you so forgive the lack of intro. But this is bullshit. It’s been hours now and no one has come to even check on me! For all they know, I could’ve choked on my vomit in my sleep by now! This is insanity. I can’t wait to get a hold of my lawyer, they are going to have a freaking field day with this one. I mean no phone call, hell not even any food or water! Can you even believe that guys? Ugh… ok enough bitching and whining from me for now. Hopefully by my next update, I’ll be out of this dump. Laterz.”

After the recording is stopped, Morgan sits at the desk for quite some time just fuming. What could I have possibly gotten into last night to warrant me getting locked up in a place like this? And just like that it hit her, MY PHONE! I’m sure I must have recorded what I was up to last night. I bet I’ve got video on my phone that will tell me how I got here.

She opened her gallery and scrolled back through videos. She sees her two most recent videos and continues to scroll. Video after video she passes each one taken in the same room. This room. This cell. Back and back further, months of videos. “What the actual fuck is this?!”

She turns and runs to the door, tugging at the knob. Then she beats on the door hard as she can screaming and crying, “What the hell is this?! How long have you kept me in here? Let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT!”

***

Standing outside of room 1342, Azal waited for his newest trainee. Straightening the sleeves of his new suite, he admired how the cool blue gray tone of it really brought out the soft blue highlights in his dark skin. He smoothed his slick black hair back feeling the small pointed horns coming out of his forehead.

“Hey, sorry I’m late! The damn elevator had to stop on just about every floor getting down here.”

Azal turned to greet his fellow devil and smiles, “No worries, you’re not late at all. You must be Mordecai? Our newest recruit to the More Personalized Torment Department.”

“Yep, that’s me. First promotion since I’ve earned my devil-hood.” Mordecai grinned. His suit was a simple black with white button up shirt and his dark red skin made his yellow eyes pop even more.

“Well, you must have shown some real aptitude to get promoted to our department. We only take the best of the best minds for this floor. Some people just deserve such an extra special punishment in Hell.” His grin grew wider. “Just like this first specimen I wanted to introduce you to. Go ahead and take a look on in, and I’ll give you a run down. Don’t worry, she can’t see or hear us.”

Mordecai looked through the one-way glass that to Morgan looked just like a viewing slit. He saw a dark haired girl in the corner of the room bawling her eyes out. He observed, “Looks like its going well, she’s a wreck in there!”

Azal grinned, “Rather brilliant on our part if I do say so myself. This is Morgan DuBois. She is what they call on Earth an “influencer”. Totally vapid, self-indulgent, lives and breaths off of attention. Negative or positive doesn’t matter. Just whatever attention they can get. So her personal torment is to wake up day in day out, with no memory, no audience, no ability to have an audience ever again.”

Mordecai stepped back from the door. “Not bad. Not bad at all! She’s a total wreck in there. Just a thought though, a small add on. What if, we give her just a little bit of signal. Just enough to get a livestream started. But then only one follower is able to join. And that individual is one of us, give them a user name of say Devil666 and let them only comment emojis of devils, fire, skulls, pitchforks. No real engagement just emoji mockery with enough hints to maybe give her an idea of just where she really is. How did this one die by the way?”

Azal stared in open mouth shock. “That was brilliant! A-ma-zing. Oh you are going to do well here my boy. I’m taking you under my personal wing! That is a fantastic idea! And as far as how she died, drunk driving. Partied too hard and drove right off a cliff. At least this one didn’t take anyone out with her. Well, unless you count the date she drove to suicide that one time. But that kind of idea, that is exactly what we are looking for in the More Personalized Torment Department! Go ahead and take out a notebook and jot down what you said and note it for room 1342. I want to see what other ideas you’ve got brewing.” Azal grinned, he couldn’t wait to show his new recruit more of their guests.