Kael’s breath fogged the glass as he pressed his palms against the cold surface, watching the static pulse of the room’s lights. The air reeked of antiseptic and burnt metal, a scent that had defined his existence for as long as he could remember. He didn’t know how long that was. Time here was a flicker, a sequence of beeps and shifts in the sterile white walls. His reflection stared back—pale, hollow-eyed, a man who had never stepped outside. But tonight, something shifted.
A tree. He saw it suddenly, towering and leafless, its branches clawing at a violet sky. The image burned into his mind with brutal clarity, so vivid he could feel the rough bark beneath his fingertips. It wasn’t his memory. He hadn’t lived this. And yet, as he blinked, the tree dissolved into static, leaving only the hum of machinery and the faint drip of a leaking pipe. Kael’s pulse quickened. He turned, scanning the room for signs of change. The floor tiles were still pristine, the monitors still blank. But the air felt heavier, charged with something he couldn’t name.
The door hissed open behind him. A woman stepped inside, her lab coat stiff with starch, her face a mask of practiced neutrality. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she studied him, her eyes narrowing at the faint tremor in his hands. Kael had learned to read this look—curiosity laced with caution. He wondered if she saw the cracks in him, the way his thoughts frayed at the edges.
“You’re running a fever,” she said finally, her voice flat. “Your vitals spiked three minutes ago.”
Kael opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Instead, a new image surfaced: a child’s bedroom, walls painted in swirling patterns of blue and gold. The scent of lavender soap filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of something else—fear? He shook his head, willing the vision away. The woman’s brow furrowed.
“Are you hearing voices?” she asked, stepping closer. Her presence was a weight, a reminder of the rules he’d long since stopped questioning. But the image lingered, stubborn and vivid. He could almost taste the lavender.
“No,” Kael lied. “Just… tired.”
The woman didn’t believe him. She turned on her heel and left without another word, the door sealing behind her with a soft click. Kael exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. The tree was gone, but the bedroom remained, etched into his mind like a scar. He wondered if it was real or just another fragment of the life they’d stolen from him.
—
The next memory came as a whisper, a flicker of sound rather than sight. A laugh, high and melodic, echoing through a corridor lined with mirrors. Kael stood in the middle of it, surrounded by reflections that didn’t move. The laughter grew louder, filling the space until it drowned out everything else. Then, just as suddenly, it stopped. The mirrors shattered, glass raining down in slow motion. Kael reached out, but his fingers passed through the shards, leaving no mark.
He woke with a start, his body drenched in sweat. The room was silent, the lights dimmed to a soft glow. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his chest, trying to steady his breath. The laughter still echoed in his ears, a sound that didn’t belong to him. He glanced at the wall, half-expecting to see cracks, but the surface was smooth, unbroken. Yet the memory remained, sharp and unyielding.
A new sound joined the silence—a low hum, like a heartbeat. Kael turned toward the source, his pulse syncing with the vibration. It was coming from the floor, a rhythmic pulse that seemed to emanate from the very core of the room. He crouched, placing his palm against the tiles. The hum deepened, resonating in his bones. For a moment, he thought he could hear voices beneath it, murmurs in a language he didn’t understand.
Then the lights flickered. A single bulb above the door sputtered and died, casting the room into darkness. Kael froze. The hum stopped. The silence was absolute, pressing against his ears like a physical force. He reached for the emergency light, but his fingers found nothing but cold air. The power had gone out.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made him turn. Something was there—shifting, indistinct, like smoke caught between realities. Kael’s breath hitched. The figure didn’t speak, didn’t move closer. It just… existed, a shadow of a presence that defied explanation. He wanted to run, but his legs refused to obey. The darkness thickened, swallowing the room whole.
When the lights returned, the figure was gone. But the hum had returned, lower now, a steady pulse beneath the surface of everything. Kael sat on the floor, his back against the wall, and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t know what he was anymore—just a collection of memories that weren’t his, fragments of a life that might never have existed. And yet, they felt real. Too real.
—
The next day, Kael found the first clue. It was hidden in the data logs, buried beneath layers of encrypted files. He hadn’t meant to find it—just another routine check, another attempt to make sense of the sterile world around him. But the file opened on its own, a flicker of light on the screen that made his blood run cold.
“Subject 17-A: Recalibration Protocol. Status: Incomplete. Memory fragments detected. Subject exhibits instability. Recommendation: Immediate containment.”
Kael’s hands shook as he read the words. He wasn’t a subject. He was a construct, a placeholder in someone else’s experiment. The realization hit like a physical blow, stealing the air from his lungs. He stared at the screen, willing himself to feel something—fear, anger, desperation—but all he felt was a hollow emptiness. What did it mean to be real if your memories weren’t your own?
The door hissed open again. The woman stood in the threshold, her expression unreadable. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling on the screen. Kael turned away, but it was too late.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice colder than before.
“I wasn’t looking for it,” Kael replied. “It found me.”
The woman’s lips pressed into a thin line. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she read the screen. Kael could see the conflict in her—curiosity, fear, something else he couldn’t name. She turned to him, her voice lower now.
“Do you remember anything else?”
Kael hesitated. The bedroom, the laughter, the shattered mirrors—each memory felt like a thread in a tapestry he wasn’t meant to see. He didn’t know if he could trust her, but the question hung between them, heavy and unspoken.
“I remember things,” he said finally. “Things that aren’t mine.”
The woman’s expression didn’t change, but Kael saw the flicker of something in her eyes—recognition, maybe. Or guilt. She stepped back, her hand hovering over the door handle.
“Stay away from the logs,” she said. “You’re not ready for what you’ll find.”
She left without another word, the door sealing behind her with a soft click. Kael sat in the silence, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wasn’t ready. But he didn’t have a choice.
—
The next memory came as a storm. Kael stood on a cliff, the wind tearing at his clothes, the air thick with the scent of salt and thunder. Below, the ocean churned, waves crashing against the rocks in a relentless rhythm. He could hear it—distant, but unmistakable—a voice calling his name. Not his real name, but something else, something that felt like a part of him he’d lost.
He turned, expecting to see someone behind him, but the cliff was empty. The wind howled, carrying the sound away. Kael closed his eyes, letting the storm fill him, the raw energy of it seeping into his bones. When he opened them again, the cliff was gone. He stood in a dimly lit room, the walls lined with screens showing endless streams of data. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and something metallic—blood?
A voice cut through the silence, low and steady. “You’re slipping further than we anticipated.” Kael turned, but the room was empty. The screens flickered, images flashing by too quickly to make sense of. He could feel something pulling at him, a force that wasn’t his own, urging him to look closer.
Then he saw it—a face. Not his own, but someone else’s. A woman with sharp features and dark eyes, her expression unreadable. She stared back at him, as if she could see him, truly see him. For a moment, the storm returned, the wind howling around them both. Then the screen went black.
Kael woke with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat. The room was silent, the lights dimmed to a soft glow. He sat up, his hands shaking, and stared at the wall. The woman’s face lingered in his mind, sharp and unyielding. Who was she? And why did she feel so familiar?
The door hissed open again. The woman stood in the threshold, her expression unreadable. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling on him. Kael met her eyes, searching for answers in the depths of her stare.
“You’ve seen her,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kael nodded. “Who is she?”
The woman didn’t answer. Instead, she turned and walked toward the door, pausing only to say, “You’re not ready for the truth.”
She left without another word, the door sealing behind her with a soft click. Kael sat in the silence, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He wasn’t ready. But he didn’t have a choice.
—
The final memory came as a whisper, a thread of sound that unraveled everything. Kael stood in a vast, empty space, the ground beneath his feet solid but shifting, like sand trapped between two realities. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and something else—something he couldn’t name. A voice echoed around him, not speaking but *being*, a presence that filled the space until it became everything.
“You are not real,” the voice said, not in words but in thought, in sensation. “You are a construct, a fragment of what was meant to be.” Kael felt the words ripple through him, tearing at the edges of his understanding. He wanted to protest, to deny it, but the truth was already written into his bones.
The space around him began to collapse, the ground shifting beneath his feet. The voice grew louder, filling the void until it became a scream. Kael fell to his knees, the weight of it pressing down on him, crushing him under the enormity of it. He wasn’t real. He was a shadow, a placeholder in someone else’s experiment.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the voice stopped. The space around him stabilized, the ground no longer shifting. Kael looked up, his breath ragged, and saw her—standing at the edge of the void, her expression unreadable. She held out a hand, not to help him up, but to offer something else.
“You can choose,” she said, her voice steady, calm. “To stay here, in the construct. Or to come with me.” Kael stared at her, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. He didn’t know what lay beyond the void, but he knew one thing—staying here meant living a life that wasn’t his.
He reached for her hand. The moment his fingers touched hers, the world around them shattered, dissolving into light and sound. Kael closed his eyes, letting the chaos consume him. When he opened them again, he was somewhere else—somewhere real.
