Bored.

Boredboredboredboredboredbored.

I'm. Fucking. BORED!

I sat cross-legged on the floor and slowly rocked, thumping my forehead against the slightly resilient surface a few inches in front of me.

"I'M BORED!" I screamed into the sound-deadening wall panels.

There were four of them, stark white, with a ceiling that lit up during "day" and dimmed to a cool glow at "night". One soundproofed and sealed door with a pivoting cylinder to pass meals through. A bathroom that could most charitably be described as a cubbyhole someone copied from an airplane, except it had a shower built into the wall and no door. A padded slab for a bed, a shelf-like table-slash-desk with a monitor secured to the wall and a keyboard built into the table. There was a chair bolted to the floor in front of it. The whole place was kept a constant neutral temperature delivered via silent, hidden ductwork.

And, near the ceiling at each corner, there was a thinly disguised camera lens. A couple weeks ago I began flipping them off every time I passed by. Lately, that just took too much energy.

It was my own fault. I had volunteered for the study as part of someone's Psych Master's thesis. I was getting paid and receiving credits toward my Major. All I had to do was spend the summer term here. In this box. Alone. Piece of cake, right? Religious hermits do that all the time, so how hard could it be to just sit and have everything needed to live provided? Somewhere, someone was presumably collecting reams of data and hours of video footage of me picking my nose, and when it was all done, a thesis paper would be written and published and Human Knowledge would be Advanced. Someone would discover if I could literally be bored to death. Bored to tears was already established fact.

I could type messages that would appear on the monitor screen and hit "send", but they just disappeared into the void. No one wrote back, or acknowledged them. For all I knew, no one read them. Nothing else ever lit the screen. Twice a "day" the cylinder would turn and deliver a paper plate with something bland and impersonal to eat, no doubt scientifically balanced for optimum nutrition. Do you know what goes into a granola bar? I do. That wrapper was the only thing I'd had to read since they shut the door. It was the highlight event of my day.

Clothing consisted of grey surgical scrubs that arrived with the morning meal. Some days I didn't bother wearing them.The worn scrubs and empty paper plates were returned through the hatchway. It simply didn't operate unless something was in the cylinder, and my debris and cast-offs were the only items available.

So, there I was on Night Whatever-the-fuck of the experiment (I knew it was "night" because I was staring at the dimmed ceiling) when I noticed something amber blinking across the room. There was a line of text on my monitor. One I hadn't typed. I practically levitated across the room.

Hi. Want to chat?

I stared at the words glowing in the artificial twilight. They were terrifyingly simple. The thought screamed in my head that if I got caught, it would ruin the study, make the last eon of isolation a waste. But, maybe… maybe this was part of the study. Maybe this was just the latest twisting mindfuck. I sat and looked at the words, reading them like a mantra. "Hi. Want to chat? Hi. Want to chat? Hi. Want to chat?"

"Hi. Want to chat?" I murmured to myself.

With shaking hands I typed the single word: Yes. The word vanished. The wait was agonizing. I found my fingers drumming on the desk, urging the screen to light up with a new line. It came.

Then you must keep this secret and do everything I tell you to do. Agreed?

YES! Oh, Christ yes! I pounded onto the keys and hit return.

This is for the Theme of the Week!

I'm looking for a relatively short RP, wherein my character has no idea who you are, or if you are part of the experiment or some fellow Student Volunteer taking advantage of your position of control. The ground rules are that you can only communicate through the monitor texts and can only pass items to me through the drop box. The evidence must be erased by "day". The experiment has less than one week left to run, though I don't know that.

What would you have me do?

Limits for this one are scat, death and self-harm. Oh, and actual physical contact. I am in isolation, after all!

I'll try to reply to all polite responses, even if it's just a polite "no thanks." My older prompts can be found at r/DeeDeeDPP.