It looks like a dentist's chair. (Maybe it was, at some point in its life.) Along the metal arms are empty vials, about a dozen in all. I strip out of my traveling jacket and without hesitation strap in. Slowly, the chair begins to hum, activated, and I feel an electrical current on the headrest.
Then the straps slither around my wrists.
Annalise, I say.
6th place (out of 35) in the 19th Annual Interactive Fiction Competition.
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