I spent 12 days in the world's quietest room.

Now I wish I was deaf.

As I slowly regained consciousness, I felt a wave of dullness wash over my fractured

mind.

I couldn't move, but less remember what had happened before I passed out.

My eyes burned as I opened them.

I'd spent too much time in darkness to quickly adapt to the incessant flow of light.

I tried to call out, but what emerged from my lips was merely a whisper.

Once I could finally see, I took note of the room I'd have woken in, the walls, floor,

and ceiling were all covered in weird sound insulation foam.

I tried to get to my feet, but my legs refused to cooperate.

They weren't atrophied, but had weakened significantly.

But fact, alongside my groggy mind made me realize I must have been drugged.

Is there anyone there?

I asked, a bit louder that time.

No response.

I tried to think back, clawing at my own memories, hoping for even the faintest scrap of information.

I'd been heavily sedated.

That much was clear.

But why they'd placed me in a soundproof room?

I didn't know.

After what felt like an eternity, I'd finally managed to pull myself up onto my feet.

...