The air in the sublevel lab reeked of ozone and burnt copper, a metallic tang that clung to the back of Lena’s throat. She adjusted her gloves, the synthetic material creaking as she leaned over the containment unit. Inside, the subject pulsed—no, *breathed*—a slow undulation of its gelatinous form, bioluminescent veins threading through its translucent skin like liquid lightning. The monitors blinked in time with its rhythm, numbers shifting too fast for human comprehension. Lena’s pulse matched the cadence, a primal syncopation she couldn’t explain.
“It’s responding to you,” Dr. Voss said, his voice a low rumble behind her. He stood with arms crossed, the white coat hanging loose on his frame, as if he’d forgotten it was there. “You’re the only one who can stabilize the feedback loop.”
Lena didn’t look up. The subject’s surface rippled, reflecting her face in distorted shards. She’d seen its kind in archives—classified files buried under ten layers of encryption, sealed away after the last incident. But this one was different. Its movements weren’t erratic, like the others. They were *intentional*. A flicker of recognition in the way it tilted its head when she spoke.
“What’s it trying to say?” she asked, her voice steady despite the static crackling in her ears.
Voss hesitated. The lights flickered, casting long shadows across the lab. “It’s not speaking. It’s *remembering*.”
The subject’s veins flared crimson, and Lena stumbled back as a wave of heat radiated from the unit. The air thickened, pressing against her skin like a living thing. She saw it then—a flicker of something in the depths of its core, a shape too fluid to be solid, too sharp to be random. A pattern. A *message*. Her breath caught. This wasn’t an experiment. It was a test.
“We’re not here to study it,” Voss said, his tone almost gentle. “We’re here to see if it’s ready.”
Lena turned, her reflection fractured in the glass. The subject’s eyes—dark, fathomless pools—locked onto hers. And for the first time, she felt it: a tug at the edges of her mind, not invasive, but *curious*. Like it was asking a question she didn’t know how to answer.
The lights died.
—
The darkness was absolute, but Lena didn’t flinch. The subject’s glow pulsed in the void, a slow, steady heartbeat. She reached out, fingers brushing the glass. A surge of warmth, then a cascade of images—crumbling cities, skies split by jagged light, figures moving like shadows in a storm. A voice, not spoken but *felt*, echoed in her bones: *What was lost?*
“We don’t know,” she whispered. “But we’re trying to remember.”
The subject shuddered, its glow intensifying. The air vibrated, and Lena felt the weight of a thousand unasked questions pressing against her skull. She didn’t pull back. Instead, she let the images wash over her, letting the voice guide her through the chaos. A city burning, a tower collapsing, a child’s laughter dissolving into static. Then—silence.
“It’s not just memory,” she said, her voice raw. “It’s *warning*.”
Voss appeared at her side, his reflection fractured in the glass. “Then we’re running out of time.” His hand hovered over the emergency override, but Lena didn’t move. The subject’s glow softened, its movements slowing, as if waiting. For what? For her? For them? She wasn’t sure. But she knew one thing: this wasn’t a test of the subject. It was a test of *them*. Of their ability to listen, to understand, to *see*.
The lights flickered back on. The subject’s glow dimmed, its form settling into stillness. Lena stepped back, her pulse hammering. Voss watched her, his expression unreadable. “You felt it, didn’t you?”
She nodded. “It’s not just remembering. It’s *waiting*. For us to catch up.”
The silence between them was heavy, but Lena didn’t break it. She turned back to the unit, studying the subject’s still form. Whatever it was, whatever it had been, it wasn’t done yet. And neither were they.
—
The next day, Lena found the files. They shouldn’t have been there—encrypted, buried under layers of false data, but she’d seen the pattern in the subject’s glow. A sequence she’d recognized from her childhood, from the old tapes her father used to watch in secret. The same symbols, the same warnings. She didn’t know why he’d hidden them, but she knew now: this wasn’t just about the subject. It was about *what came after*.
The files detailed a project long thought abandoned—a collaboration between governments, corporations, and shadow entities. The subject wasn’t an experiment. It was a *repository*, a vessel for knowledge too dangerous to be stored in human minds. The last of its kind. And someone had brought it back, not to study it, but to *use* it.
Lena read until her eyes burned, until the words blurred into a haze of warnings and possibilities. She didn’t know what to do. Expose the truth? Risk everything? Or follow Voss’s lead and let the experiment continue? The subject’s glow pulsed in her mind, a quiet reminder that time was running out.
She made her choice at dawn. The files were copied, the security protocols bypassed. But before she could leave, the lights went out again.
—
The lab was silent this time. No flickering, no hum of machinery—just an oppressive stillness. Lena froze, her breath shallow. The subject’s glow was gone, its form now a dull, lifeless mass. She stepped closer, hand outstretched, but stopped at the sound of footsteps. Not hers. Not Voss’s.
“You shouldn’t be here,” a voice said. It wasn’t Voss. It was colder, sharper, like a blade dragged across glass.
Lena turned. A man stood in the doorway, his face obscured by the shadows. “Who are you?”
“A friend,” he said. “Or an enemy. Depends on what you’ve seen.”
She didn’t move. “What did you do to it?”
The man stepped forward, his boots echoing in the silence. “We didn’t do anything. It was never ours to control. But now it’s awake, and the others are coming.”
Lena’s heart pounded. “Who are *they*?”
The man didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small device, its surface etched with the same symbols from the files. “You need to leave. Now.” He tossed it to her, and she caught it reflexively. “This will keep them out. For a while.”
“What happens when it runs out?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Then you’ll have to decide what’s worth saving.”
The lights flickered back on. The man was gone. Lena looked down at the device, its surface cool against her palm. The subject’s form still lay motionless, but she could feel it now—something *waiting*, just beyond the edge of perception. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if it was watching her… or the others.
—
The next week was a blur of movement and silence. Lena didn’t return to the lab. She didn’t answer calls or messages. Instead, she traced the symbols, followed the patterns, piecing together a story that had been hidden for decades. The subject wasn’t just a repository. It was a key—a way to access something vast, something ancient. And someone had tried to use it before.
She found the last entry in the files, a final message etched into the system’s core: *The light is not gone. It waits for those who dare to look.*
Lena didn’t know what that meant. But she knew one thing: the subject wasn’t just a mystery. It was a question. And she was ready to find the answer.
—
The final test came at midnight. Lena stood before the containment unit, the device in her hand humming faintly. The subject’s form was still, but she could feel it now—its presence, its awareness. It wasn’t just watching. It was *waiting*. For her. For them.
She placed the device on the console and activated it. The lights flared, then dimmed, casting the lab in a soft, golden glow. The subject’s veins pulsed again, brighter this time, and Lena felt the tug at her mind, stronger than before. This wasn’t a test of knowledge. It was a test of *trust*. Of whether they were ready to see what came next.
The lights died. And this time, Lena didn’t flinch.
—
