The lab hummed like a trapped insect, its fluorescent lights flickering just enough to make the air feel thick. Mara’s fingers trembled as she adjusted the neural sync headset, the plastic cold against her temples. The stain on her lab coat—dark, viscous, and unmistakably red—hadn’t come off in weeks. She’d tried everything: bleach, hydrogen peroxide, even a dab of ammonia. It clung to the fabric like a second skin, a secret she couldn’t scrub away.
“You’re running late,” Dr. Voss said, his voice cutting through the hum. He stood in the doorway, his own coat pristine, the faint smell of lavender cologne mingling with the antiseptic tang of the room. His eyes flicked to her coat, but he said nothing. Just nodded toward the console. “The subject’s ready.”
Mara hesitated. The screen before her pulsed with data streams—neural activity, heart rate, brainwave patterns—all stable, all normal. Except for the faintest tremor in the alpha waves, a ripple she couldn’t explain. She’d seen it before, in the dreams that came every night, silent and unbroken. Faces she didn’t recognize, places that didn’t exist. A child’s laughter echoing through a hallway that stretched too far. A fire, burning something she couldn’t name.
“You okay?” Voss asked, stepping closer. His breath smelled of coffee and lies.
“I’m fine,” she said, but the word felt hollow. She secured the headset and pressed the activation button.
The world dissolved.
She was standing in a field, the sky bruised purple, the air heavy with the scent of rain. A woman stood nearby, her face obscured by a veil of smoke. “You shouldn’t be here,” the woman said, her voice a whisper. “They’re watching.”
Mara turned, but the field stretched in every direction, empty and endless. The smoke thickened, coiling around her ankles. “Who are you?” she asked, but the woman was gone, leaving only the sound of distant thunder.
The headset buzzed, jolting her back into the lab. Voss was leaning over her, his hand on her shoulder. “You’re shaking,” he said. “What did you see?”
“Nothing,” she lied. The stain on her coat had spread, darkening the hem. She didn’t mention the woman, the field, the way the air had felt like it was holding its breath. Instead, she focused on the data—stable, normal, unremarkable. “Everything’s fine,” she said, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
That night, Mara dreamt of a city. Neon lights reflected in rain-slicked streets, the scent of fried dough and diesel fuel thick in the air. A man in a trench coat approached her, his face hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. “You need to leave,” he said. “Before they find you.”
“Who?” she asked, but he was already gone, melting into the crowd. The city blurred, the lights flickering like dying stars. She woke with a start, her sheets soaked with sweat, the stain on her coat now a deep crimson.
The next morning, Voss called her into his office. The door was closed, but she could hear his voice—low, clipped, angry. “This isn’t a game,” he said. “You’re pushing too hard.”
Mara waited outside, her fingers curled into her palms. She’d seen the files, the ones that disappeared when she tried to access them. Names she didn’t recognize, dates that didn’t make sense. A pattern she couldn’t quite grasp. When Voss finally emerged, his face was tight, his eyes dark. “You’re done,” he said. “No more tests.”
“But the data—”
“Is irrelevant.” He turned away, leaving her standing in the hallway, the hum of the lab louder than ever.
That night, Mara sneaked into the archives. The room was cold, the shelves lined with files labeled in neat, precise script. She found one marked “Subject 17,” her own name printed at the top. The pages detailed her neural patterns, her responses to the experiment, and then—something else. A list of names, dates, and locations that didn’t match anything she’d ever seen. A war, a fire, a bridge collapsing into water. She flipped through the pages, her breath shallow. This wasn’t just about her. It was about all of them.
A sound echoed through the archives—a soft click, like a door closing. Mara froze, her heart pounding. The lights flickered, casting long shadows across the walls. She grabbed the file and ran, the paper crinkling in her grip. The hallway felt longer than it should have, the air thick with something she couldn’t name. When she finally reached the lab, she slammed the door behind her, her hands shaking.
Voss was waiting. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice calm, too calm. “You don’t understand what you’re dealing with.”
“I understand enough,” she said, holding up the file. “Who are they? What did you do to them?”
Voss’s expression didn’t change. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” He stepped closer, his presence filling the room. “You need to forget this. Forget what you saw.”
“No,” she said, but the word felt weak, uncertain. The walls of the lab seemed to pulse, the air thick with static. She could hear it now—a low hum, like a heartbeat, coming from somewhere deep inside the facility.
Voss reached for her, but she backed away. “What is this place?” she asked. “What are you really doing here?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed a button on the wall. The lights went out, plunging the room into darkness. Mara’s breath caught in her throat as the hum grew louder, filling the space between them. She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel it—the walls breathing, the air shifting, something watching.
Then, a voice. Not Voss’s. Not hers. A woman’s voice, soft and distant. “You’re not the first,” it said. “And you won’t be the last.”
Mara didn’t move. The darkness was absolute, but she could hear the voice again, clearer this time. “They take what they need,” it whispered. “But you can still leave. If you want to.”
The lights flickered back on, but Voss was gone. The room was empty, the hum gone. Mara stood there, her hands still gripping the file, the stain on her coat now a deep, unyielding black.