Add to the story! Sci-fi genre

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I (Giftorcurse, that is) awake in a sterile, white room. Everything is a haze; it is as if raindrops are covering my eyes. Soon, my vision congeals and I can see clearly. The white room is large. It contains a bookshelf, an old analog television set and a small bed with a metallic framework. Where am I? Last night, I was busy working on my novel, Redesigning Eva. I stayed up until eleven. Eleven o'clock is the deadline for me, even at the age of sixteen. Chalk it up to my mother. From the corners of my eyes, I can see an open door that leads to a flight of stairs. Slowly, I get off the bed, about to leave this weird place when all of a sudden, a voice says, "Hello, Connor." It came from the direction of the television set. What the hell? "Good morning," the voice says. On the screen, there is nothing but static, but if you look close enough, you can see what appears to be a woman's lips. The voice has a high-low, Meryl Streep-type quality to it. I go towards the television set.

"Um... G. Good. Good morning?!" I repeat back to the buzzing screen. The lips form a small Mona Lisa smile and form an almost pucker as the flickering, snow-filled image says "the knobs on left, at the bottom will make the picture more clear. Analog tracking if you will."

My palms are sweating and I'm trembling. I touch the bottom, right knob and steer it to and fro. The image becomes clearer revealing.....

A perfect female face.

"Who are you?" I say, "Where am I?" I ask.

The voice says "I am just a small a.i. programmed to act as your guide. You are in a holding pattern waiting for us to find somewhere to put you."

"What do you mean, somewhere to put me?"

Your world has been destroyed by a freak accidental side-effect of a new kind of energy source and attempts are being made to transfer people from the instant before the singularity happened."

"How do you do that?" I ask wonderingly

...

"Isn't it obvious? I thought you were an intelligent individual, Connor Bible. Aren't you a science fiction reader?" The woman this in an almost condescending tone.
"How'd you know that?"
"Never mind," the woman says.
Evading the question is the oldest trick in the book. I go along with her game.
"You said something about Earth being destroyed, about me being in some holding pattern while you search for someplace to put me and the others... How many people are we talking about?"
"Only two. You and a female of your age."
"I'm not falling for this bullcrap..." I clench my face. Come on, Connor, snap out of it. This is just a dream. You've been reading too much of Slaughterhouse-Five.
"A good literary choice, Mr. Bible."
"You... you can hear my thoughts?"
Silence.

And then a deep sigh...

"Read your thoughts?! !"

Another sigh..and she continued, "Mr. Bible, you spoke out loud."

It was then that I noticed that my mouth, with the thin, sticky layer of old saliva which I usually feel between my lips was broken and, I had indeed spoken out loud.

"Oh," I nodded.

"Like I said," the woman stated, "you have some ideas of what is going on due to be an avid reader of science fiction - not fantasy. Read your thoughts, stay with realty Mr. Bible."

I perked up when I realized that

... I awake in a sterile, white room. The white room is large. It contains a bookshelf, an old analog television set, the screen a blur of static, and a small bed with a metallic framework. Where am I? Last night, I was busy working on my novel, Redesigning Eva. I stayed up until eleven. From the corners of my eyes, I can see an open door that leads to a flight of stairs.

I've been here before, but I can't remember when.

"Good morning, Connor" says what looks like a pair of lips in the fuzzy blur of the TV screen.

I get off the bed and go towards the TV.

"Is there someone there?" I say

"I am a small a.i. programmed to act as your guide here, while we find somewhere to put you"

"What?"

"Your world was destroyed by a freak accidental side-effect of a new energy source and attempts are being made to transfer people from the instant before the singularity"

I am sure that I have had this conversation before now, there is something strangely familiar about it.

"Yes, you were conscious for a very short time three days ago, but the very same energy source which destroyed your world has been interfering with what is otherwise a very simple procedure, and we had to "reboot" you."

"What do you mean, reboot me?"

"You are in a holding pattern, a sort of storage facility for your neural networks, etc. This room is just a simulcrum, a virtual reality based on what we know from your neural networks of simple hostelry or accommodation in your world, and is why I can read your thoughts aswell."

I sit down on the bed again and after a moment I ask "How many people have you managed to save?"

"Twelve as of two minutes ago, but the holding pattern is threatening to disintegrate at any moment, which is why we are no longer trying to persuade you that this is real. We can't just put you down just anywhere without preparation for fear that you will reject the environment, which is very unlike any you will have known before, and we need your informed consent."

"Why, what sort of environment are we talking about?"

"What you would call cellular level, we can't do better than that."

"Cellular level? ... You mean like blood cells?"

"Yes, except we have no blood cell equivalents available. I can provide brief simulations of the different options."

"Hang on a minute, can I talk to the other people you've saved before I choose?"

.

Listen: this has all been a fabrication of my soft drink-addled brain. I'm sitting on my butt, typing away at my laptop. It was just a short story. A crappy one. Sometimes, I like to type random stuff onto the word processor screen in the hopes that I would find some inspiration. Free writing, if I may say so. The clock in my room reads eleven, and the owls are probably out gazing at... what? Air? I need a miracle.

"Connor! Connor! Connor!"

I can hear someone saying my name over and over again but I close my eyes and concentrate on the images of my desk, myself sitting at it, my laptop, the clock in my room, the owls, ( ... the owls? ! :lol ).

The big white room with the a.i. and the analogue TV is simply a horrible waking dream of some sort, the result of writing intensely for hours; it will go away if I just keep my eyes shut, ... for a little bit longer.

I can hear someone moving around my room.

Noone is allowed in my room! I open my eyes to shout at them

.

I look up to see a female figure standing over me. Her body appears to be completely made of television static. She emits a humming, buzzing sound that keeps getting louder, with laughter in the background. Suddenly, cold metal tentacles wrap around my arms.

The insect like lady is dragging me somewhere I don't know where. I feel like a 3 year old in a super market with a mom cord.

(By the way this thread is AWESOME.)

I find myself fading in and out of consciousness. The icy, smooth mechanical appendages that bind my hands behind my back are dragging me down a long white hallway. There are countless computer monitors along the walls, with green binary code rapidly shifting on black backgrounds.

When I come to, I find myself nude and hooked to countless, bizarre appliances. It is as if I wandered into H.R. Giger's wet dream.

The room is a gray, biomechanical mess of pulsating flesh and protruding steel. Condom-like tubes dangle from the ceiling. I am bound to a gurney by a hose up my anus.

the hose rapidly fills with some kind of inert gas, and i find out after the fact, it is to dilate me in preparation for the probe of my nightmares....

What follows is the most horrid part of my young life. I feel sodomized. There's no way to tell it; if I do, WrongPlanet would ban me.

so i decide to put the whole bloody affair out of my mind, and reintensify my efforts at finding a way to escape this ugly place.