~Numbered~

(Note this hereby is an original work by me (tiger[wofmb[),please do not steal/use any characters without permission. Thank you)

## **Chapter: 1**

When he woke up his head was killing him and It seemed he had blacked out somehow. Everything felt different, like there was something wrong. *where am I?* This room was unlike anything he'd ever seen. It was too much to deal with.After some time surveying the room he noticed something strange. There were no doors or windows, just the four plain walls that formed a small box. The room wasn't very tall, in fact His head reached the ceiling. This had to of been made out of some sort of earthy material, it felt mossy. There was no furniture, just the hard,white,linoleum floor. "what is this place?" He decided to sit down, his head was still hurting. That's when he noticed the weird lump inside one of his pockets. In his left pocket there had been a tiny crumpled up piece of paper. How had He not noticed this? Had it been there all along? The paper seemed blank at first, but upon further inspection he found there was something written in a very small print. The number twenty eight.

    "why am I here?, What does any of this mean?" It was time to actually do something, instead of just sitting and waiting around for something new to happen. There has to be some sort of a way out, after all he'd gotten in here somehow. the walls were too flat, so there was no way they could hide any doors at all. Looking around he noticed an odd part of the ceiling. In a corner of the room where the roof met the edges of one of the walls, the ceiling dipped downwards in an odd manner.

    Reaching up, feeling for anything odd he found that there was something sticking out at an odd angle. A small piece of rotted wood had been poking out and it was attached to a hidden beam. he had no digging materials so the only option was to use his hands. It was extremely difficult, but soon he was able to uncover what had been hidden.

    The wood that had been sticking out was actually a sort of handle. It wasn't a beam, but a sort of small wooden door that had been built a long time ago. he had tried to pull on the door, yet it wouldn't budge. it was stuck on something, which was just his luck. His head was still hurting and the physical activity was not helping the situation. Oh how he wished for a nice soft bed to lay in. *None of this makes any sense, why would somebody do this to me? What purpose does any of this serve? Locking a kid in a room with nothing to survive on, and a stupid piece of paper with some number on it!* Ranting was not helping his situation, but how could anyone look at a situation like this with optimism?

    The door was like an entrance to an attic, he had to get inside.

    He hadn't noticed because of his head, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn't remember anything. His mind was like a blank slate, this worried him. Nothing seemed to come up about the world he used to live in, it was just the here and now. His family were nothing but smudges, he couldn't even remember his name or how old he is. They had done something to him. Whoever built this place and locked him in here had somehow erased everything. The door must lead somewhere, so he had to get it to open.

    Pulling on the handle was not working. The door would always pull downwards just a few inches, but something must be blocking it. He had an idea, maybe if he took a running leap and pushed with all of his might he knock loose whatever was blocking it.