The chamber reeked of antiseptic, a sterile stench that clung to her nostrils like a memory she couldn’t place. Her fingers curled against the cold metal of the gurney, nails pressing into the synthetic fabric. The overhead lights hummed, a low vibration that thrummed in her skull. She sat up, joints stiff, and blinked at the white walls. Nothing here felt familiar—no personal items, no windows, just the sterile void of a room that had never been hers.
A voice crackled through the intercom, sharp and mechanical. “Subject 17-B. Status: stable. Memory synchronization in progress.” The words sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t know what that meant, but the weight of it pressed against her ribs like a fist. Her head throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed in time with the lights above. She pressed her palms to her temples, trying to steady herself, but the pain only grew.
Then it happened—the memories. Not hers. Not the ones she’d lived, but fragments of another life, slipping into her like water through cracked glass. A woman’s laughter echoing in a sunlit kitchen. A man’s voice, low and urgent, speaking in a language she didn’t understand. The scent of burning wood, the taste of salt on her tongue. She gasped, doubling over as the visions crashed into her. Her own memories felt distant, like echoes from another room.
“What the hell is this?” she demanded, voice hoarse. The intercom crackled again, but no one answered. She swung her legs off the gurney, her boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. The room was empty, but she wasn’t alone. Something was watching her—something in the walls, the air, the silence between heartbeats.
She stumbled toward the door, hand outstretched. It was solid, cold to the touch. No handle, no keypad—just a smooth panel that reflected her face back at her. She pressed her palm against it, heart racing. “Open,” she said, but the door remained still. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye made her spin around. Nothing there. Just the hum of the lights and the distant sound of footsteps down the hall.
The memories came again, stronger this time. A man with dark eyes, his hands on her shoulders, whispering something she couldn’t quite hear. A room filled with people, their faces blurred, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of lies. She clutched her head, tears burning her eyes. “Stop it,” she pleaded, but the visions didn’t ease. They clawed at her mind, demanding to be remembered.
Then a voice—clear, sharp, and real. “You’re not supposed to remember.” She spun around, heart pounding. The door had opened. A man stood in the threshold, his face half-shadowed by the dim light. His eyes were cold, assessing. “You’ve been inside too long,” he said. “They’re starting to bleed through.” He stepped forward, and she backed away, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
“Who are you?” she asked, voice trembling. The man didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small device—a scanner, maybe. He held it up, and the air around them shimmered. The walls seemed to blur, as if the room itself was shifting. She stumbled back, her mind reeling.
“You need to leave,” he said, but there was no urgency in his tone. It was as if he’d already decided she wasn’t worth saving. “Before they erase you.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the sterile silence. She stood there, frozen, as the memories surged again—stronger this time, more vivid. She could feel them now, not just as fragments but as a life she’d never lived.
The door slammed shut behind her. She didn’t know if it was him or something else, but the air felt heavier now, like the walls had closed in. She pressed her back against the cold surface, trying to steady her breathing. The memories were still there, but they weren’t just invading her mind anymore. They were changing her—shaping her into someone she didn’t recognize.
She needed answers. But where to start? The man had said something about being inside too long. About the memories bleeding through. She didn’t understand, but one thing was clear: she wasn’t who she thought she was. And if she didn’t figure it out soon, she might lose herself completely.
The corridor stretched before her, dark and silent. She took a step forward, then another, her boots echoing in the stillness. The memories surged again, but this time she didn’t fight them. She let them flow through her, letting them shape her, even as they terrified her. She didn’t know what awaited her at the end of the hall, but one thing was certain—she had to keep moving.
