You were slowly waking up, a dull ache in your neck and back making you shift uncomfortably. The ground beneath you was hard, and the dim hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. As you blinked your eyes open, disoriented, you felt a gentle but urgent tap on your shoulder.

“Huh?” you murmured, voice groggy, your mind still hazy.

When your vision cleared, you froze. Sitting beside you was Lando Norris, the Formula 1 driver, dressed in a sleek turquoise jumpsuit that bore the number 004 on his chest. His usually easygoing face was creased with worry and confusion.

“Do you know where we are?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, but you could hear the edge of panic creeping in.

You sat up straighter, your head swiveling as you took in your surroundings. The room was massive and sterile, painted in a harsh, lifeless white. Rows of bunk beds were stacked high, with people sprawled on them or standing around, looking just as lost as you felt. Everyone wore the same turquoise suit, each one numbered differently. A glance down confirmed that you were wearing the same uniform. The number on your chest read 217.

“What the-?” you started, but words failed you.

Your heart began to race as you realized there were at least 400 people crammed into the room, their murmurs and nervous chatter creating a low buzz of tension. Some people were crying, others pacing, and a few sat silently, staring blankly at the floor.

“I- I don’t know,” you stammered, turning back to Lando. “I just woke up, same as you.”

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “This feels…off. I don’t even remember how I got here. Do you?”

You frowned, trying to recall, but your memory was a blur. The last thing you could remember was being at home, going about your day, and then nothing.