What Is The White Room In Classroom Of The Elite の小説・ストーリー

“But right now I need you to think about Ruth and Andrew.” Ruth and Andrew…that was the bucket of cold water I needed to cool my mounting arousal. I pull out of Kenji’s arms, quicken my steps to catch up to Levi and Ramone, with Kenji right behind me. A door appears at the end of the hall upon our arrival. We enter a posh office filled with all white. A white marble desk is situated in front of the entrance with two white leather seats positioned in front and a white leather rolling chair stationed behind the desk.

From the scent that saturates the room, they're all werewolves. People sit on small stools chatting and inspecting an arsenal of weaponry, sharpening knives, and daggers, while they talk in low tones. I count fourteen people as I pass slowly by them; their eyes track every move I make as Ryan leads us to a metal table at the far end of the room. The walls are bare: there's nothing here, except the desk. The Elite must avoid leaving any trace of activity behind. If this place is found, the intruders could never gather proof against them. Smart choice.

When I felt like the light was a bit dimmer and bearable for me, I opened my eyes and looked at the man. My eyes went wide and a chill ran up my spine as I saw that Rian was the man who was escorting me to a white room. I wanted to pull away, but my body was on autopilot, and all I could do was look at the side features of the pokerface man beside me. "Come, Shyne, we need to talk," Rian said as we entered the white room.

"Claude!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "Claude!" I don't know how long I've been here or how long I had been asleep, I still was unsure where exactly I was. All I knew was that Claude called this place the white room, I haven't heard that name in a very long time. My grandfather used to tell me stories about a place they called the white room, people would take werewolves and run experiments on them, but none were seen again. And if this is where I am, that the stories from my grandfather are true then I'm in trouble. "Claude Theriot!"

“We keep what we can hold.” They hit the gates. Guards waved, guns glinted. Inside, the mansion’s light fell over stone like warm water. For the first time since the lilies died at her feet, Elena’s shoulders dropped a fraction. The foyer looked like a cathedral that had learned not to pray. They crossed it toward the war room and stopped at the base of the stairs because a white box sat there like a final period at the end of a sentence that should never have been written. This one had no ribbon.

“see, it’s perfectly fine.” the room was covered in white, just like every little thing in his place, is white. there was a stiff white bed frame with white sheets. white tiles were on the floor underneath the pure white walls, which were below the matching pure white ceiling that held the blinding light. i wanted that light removed too, along with that camera that monitored my every move, which was bolted to the corner of the ceiling. then there was the door that was made out of one hundred percent silver which was eight inches thick, it matched the bars on my small window that was next to the bed.

The walk is quiet apart from the wet slap of my feet and the occasional smart-ass comment he tosses over his shoulder. We head back to the white room. That ghost room. It still feels like I’m walking into someone else’s mausoleum. No photos. No warmth. No identity. Just cold, sterile wealth arranged like a display case. I drop onto the couch, not caring that my towel’s already half slipping off, or that the water from my hair soaks straight into the cushions, darkening them. Let it. Let this ghost of a room feel something. I stare at the opposite wall, heartbeat still trying to match the storm that was just Zeke fucking Russell.

“No bargaining yet.” “Proceed,” I said. “You were not meant to survive your extraction.” My pulse didn’t jump, but something deep inside me went very still. “Extraction from where?” I asked. She tilted her head. “You truly don’t remember.” “Answer.” “Facility designation: Whiteglass.” The dream room flashed behind my eyes. White walls. Curved edges. Observation mirror. My fingers tightened slightly on the table, Dominic’s hand settled warm and steady at the back of my shoulder instantly. Anchor applied. No words needed.

I've walked past it a thousand times without ever paying attention, and I vaguely thought it must be a broom closet or a storage place. I'm surprised to see him use a series of codes on a digital dial to get the door to unlock. We enter a hallway with a succession of doors. Each time, Elio enters new codes or uses a different key. We end up going under the floor to find ourselves in front of the last door. As he opens the door, my whole being freezes in front of what I see. The room is entirely white from floor to ceiling, from the furniture to the linens. There are no windows, and the light is purely artificial.

What ER? I tried to call his name, but my thoughts were tangled, thick as if my skull had been filled with lead. "Must we do this, Mr. Terrason? Your wife is…" The man hesitated. I sensed the unease in his voice. "Just proceed as planned. No questions." I couldn't breathe. Something was crushing my chest. What was Samuel talking about? What plan? The air reeked of antiseptic. I was on a hospital bed, harsh lights stabbing through my closed eyelids.