An undecorated room, dull colors abound. A nondescript analogue wall clock and an industrial metal chute are the only features to be seen on the blank concrete walls. The bare fluorescent tubes that populate the ceiling provide the only source of light.
Toward the back of the room, several sleeping pods are installed. On several of them, an open hatch with a glass window beckons. The others are sealed shut.
The nurse leads you to one of the open pods and gestures toward it.
"This is where you'll be sleeping. I know it looks uncomfortable, but just try to relax and you'll be asleep in no time. And remember the treatment is airborne, so make sure you close the hatch after you get in."
You weren't sure what to expect when you signed up for an experimental sleep treatment, but whatever it is, it can't be worse than the sleepless nights you've experienced all your life.
"Do you have any other questions?"
No, you suppose not.
"Good, have a good night's sleep whenever you're ready then! And don't let the bed bugs bite."
She walks quickly toward the door and exits the room. The door clangs shut behind her, and a couple seconds later, you think you hear a click.
You quickly confirm that the door is locked, and a sense of panic sets in. You start knocking on the door, but to no avail.
Your rational side tells you to calm down, that someone will be back to unlock the door in the morning, and to go try to sleep. As you pace around the room, instinctively looking for alternative exits, you notice the faces of other patients fast asleep inside each of the closed pods.
Feeling distinctly creeped out but resigned to your situation, you eventually step inside your pod, pull the hatch shut, and close your eyes. Several minutes elapse, and then you hear a hissing sound as an organic, foul-smelling gas starts to fill the pod. Within a couple seconds, you lose consciousness.
Toward the back of the room, several sleeping pods are installed. On several of them, an open hatch with a glass window beckons. The others are sealed shut.
The nurse leads you to one of the open pods and gestures toward it.
"This is where you'll be sleeping. I know it looks uncomfortable, but just try to relax and you'll be asleep in no time. And remember the treatment is airborne, so make sure you close the hatch after you get in."
You weren't sure what to expect when you signed up for an experimental sleep treatment, but whatever it is, it can't be worse than the sleepless nights you've experienced all your life.
"Do you have any other questions?"
No, you suppose not.
"Good, have a good night's sleep whenever you're ready then! And don't let the bed bugs bite."
She walks quickly toward the door and exits the room. The door clangs shut behind her, and a couple seconds later, you think you hear a click.
You quickly confirm that the door is locked, and a sense of panic sets in. You start knocking on the door, but to no avail.
Your rational side tells you to calm down, that someone will be back to unlock the door in the morning, and to go try to sleep. As you pace around the room, instinctively looking for alternative exits, you notice the faces of other patients fast asleep inside each of the closed pods.
Feeling distinctly creeped out but resigned to your situation, you eventually step inside your pod, pull the hatch shut, and close your eyes. Several minutes elapse, and then you hear a hissing sound as an organic, foul-smelling gas starts to fill the pod. Within a couple seconds, you lose consciousness.
