Please let me out of here.

You ask.

But there's silence. The house computer says nothing.

"Open the door!" You try and tell it, more confidently.

But nothing. Just silence.

You tap the earpiece, wondering if it's still working. Oh god, what if you broke it, trying to pry it out of your ear? What if you damaged it?

"Is this broken?" you ask, (gently) tapping the earpiece. "Can you hear me?"

Silence.

And in a small darkened room, in a basement of a reclusive, eccentric, billionaire inventor, the silence is deafening. You hear your blood running through your body. You hear your heartbeat. You hear the strange white noise of your neurons firing.

"Help?" you ask, starting to worry.

"Please help?"

Now you're really starting to freak out.

Silence.

You walk over to the door and bang on it. Then you try and pry it open. It's metal (like all of the others) and perfectly smooth. It's impossible. There is no way out of this room.

Silence.

You could starve here. It could happen. The computer could just shut down, and people might not find your body for months... or years.

Just some rotting flesh and exposed bones laying at the bottom of this strange closet with a pedestal, with the earpiece still in your ear.

Silence.

Oh god...

"Please..." you mutter. "Please don't do this to me..."

Silence.