Sanitarium - The Story

So after looking back at Sanitarium, I thought I might want to try to legitimately write it in novel form. It was a story with a lot of potential, and despite one gaping plothole, may have one of my best hooks yet. So yeah, I might be starting that, and this is where I'll post it if I do.

Peace.

Just a rehash of the original opening, nothing TOO new here.

Light flooded the dark cavern of the cargo hold as the giant door slid open. The
four people inside squinted against the sudden, harsh glare as two figures stepped into the opening, nothing but silhouettes against the light.

"This the new batch?"

"Yep. One Elliot Stevens, one Julia Aleway, one Joshua Brown, and one Sarah Miller." The figure pointed to each one in turn.

"Bring them out." Four men, each clad in matching black jumpsuits and carrying rifles, hopped into the cargo hold and pulled the four roughly to their feet before marching them out the door, single-file.

Elliot’s head swam as he staggered out of the doorway and onto solid ground. He was only vaguely aware of his surroundings: the ground beneath his bare feet was dirt; he could feel a cool breeze whipping against his face; blurry figures swam before his eyes, all conversing with one another, though he could make out neither faces nor words. He attempted to raise his hand to rub his eyes, but found himself unable to move his arms at all. He looked down to see what the problem was, lost his balance, and fell, which did nothing to help his wooziness. A large hand grabbed him by his collar, forcing him back to his feet.

“This one needs more sedatives,” Elliot heard a voice say, and shortly thereafter felt a sharp pain in his side. A sudden wave of nausea overtook him, followed by complete disorientation, and then… nothing.

-----

Elliot woke to the deafening sound of a tolling bell. It sounded extremely far away, and yet close by at the same time. He was on his back on a cold, tiled floor. Though his mind was clouded, he managed to lift his head and look around at his surroundings: a single, naked light bulb illuminated the room, which consisted of naught but a single straw mat for furniture. The wall he faced was made of solid cinder blocks, but to his left and right were bars. It hit him: he was in a cell.

Elliot’s earlier confusion as to his inability to move his arms was cleared up rather quickly; a short glance down at his torso revealed him to be clad in a straightjacket. That was odd. He tried to remember how he had come to this, why he was restrained and confined to a cell, but no memories surfaced. He thought back farther: still nothing. His mind was completely blank. As the horror of amnesia began to set in, Elliot heard a small cough from the cell to his left. Though his straightjacket hindered his progress, he eventually dragged himself to the bars, through which he could see another man, also wrapped in a straightjacket, sitting cross-legged.

“Hey,” Elliot’s voice was surprisingly weak to his ears. “Hey, you.” The man turned his head. “Where are we?” The man looked at him for a long minute before speaking.

“…Home.”

It may have been a while ago, but this is still grasping. Are you planning on continuing it or are you leaving it to collect dust?

It's going into my collection of "Stories With Serious Potential That I Might Finish At Some Point" (SWSPTIMFASP for short).