Dr. Lena Voss awoke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the hum of fluorescent lights. Her fingers twitched against the cold metal table, the taste of copper lingering on her tongue. The memory of the trial—vague, fractured—swirled in her mind like smoke. She sat up, wincing as a sharp pain lanced her wrist. A symbol, jagged and pulsing, had etched itself into her skin. It glowed faintly, as though alive.
“What the hell…?” she whispered, staring at the mark. The lab was empty, but the air felt charged, as if something unseen watched her. A flicker of movement in the corner of her eye—nothing there. Her pulse quickened. She stumbled to the window, peering through the reinforced glass. The city below was unfamiliar, its skyline扭曲, buildings leaning at odd angles. Her breath fogged the pane.
A voice echoed in her mind, not her own. It was a language she didn’t know, but she understood it: *You are not alone.*
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice cracking. No answer. Just the distant wail of a siren, growing louder.
—
Dr. Marcus Hale found her in the lab, pacing in front of the scanner. His brow furrowed as he took in her trembling form and the strange mark on her wrist.
“Lena, what happened?” he asked, his tone clipped. “The trial was routine. You were fine when you left.”
“I don’t remember leaving,” she snapped. “I remember… nothing. But this”—she held up her wrist, the symbol pulsing brighter—”it’s not there when I wake up. It’s like it’s *learning* me.”
Marcus frowned. “You’re exhausted. Take a break. We’ll run tests tomorrow.”
“Tests?” she echoed, incredulous. “You don’t even remember what happened?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I remember the procedure. You went under, and when you woke, you were… different. But we can fix it.”
“Different?” Lena repeated, her voice rising. “I’ve got a goddamn symbol on my skin! And voices in my head!”
Marcus’s expression hardened. “You’re hallucinating. Stress. The experiment’s effects can be… unpredictable.”
“Unpredictable?” she shot back. “What if it’s not the experiment? What if it’s *me*?”
He didn’t answer, but his silence was confirmation enough.
—
That night, Lena dreamed of a fire. The scent of smoke filled her lungs, and the sound of screams echoed in her ears. She stood in a crowded street, watching as a man collapsed, his face contorted in pain. A woman screamed, clutching a child. Then the world dissolved into darkness.
She woke gasping, her hands clutching her chest. The symbol on her wrist was gone, but the memory remained—vivid, real. She pulled out her phone, searching for news of a fire. Articles flooded the screen: *Unexplained blaze in downtown Chicago, 3 dead. No suspects.*
“It’s not a coincidence,” she muttered. She began scouring police reports, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Each case—arson, murder, disappearance—had a pattern: a symbol etched into the victims’ skin, or a whisper in an unknown language. The cases were years apart, scattered across the country.
“What are you doing?” Marcus’s voice startled her. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
“I’m connecting the dots,” she said, ignoring the way his presence made her skin crawl. “These crimes—there’s a link. And it’s tied to me.”
He stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the screen. “You’re chasing ghosts, Lena.”
“Or I’m finally seeing them,” she countered. “What if the experiment didn’t just alter my mind? What if it opened a door?”
Marcus’s jaw tightened. “You need rest. Come with me.”
“No,” she said, standing. “I’m not going anywhere until I find the truth.”
—
The next dream was worse. She was in a dark room, surrounded by faces—strangers, but familiar. Their mouths moved, but no sound came out. Then a figure emerged from the shadows: herself. But it wasn’t *her*. The eyes were wrong, too sharp, too knowing.
“You’ve seen too much,” the doppelgänger said, its voice a cold whisper. “They’ll take you, just like they took me.”
Lena tried to run, but her legs wouldn’t move. The figure stepped closer, its hand reaching for her. “You don’t understand. I’m not the monster. I’m the warning.”
The dream shattered. She woke to the sound of her own sobbing, the room spinning. The symbol was back, brighter now, etched into her palm.
“I need to find the others,” she muttered, pacing. “Who else did the experiment?”
Marcus had been careful—only a handful of volunteers. But Lena remembered a name: Dr. Elena Marquez, a cognitive scientist who’d vanished years ago. A search revealed her last known location: an abandoned lab in New Mexico.
“I’m going,” she told Marcus, who was already shaking his head.
“You can’t just run off,” he said. “This isn’t a game.”
“It’s already a game,” she shot back. “And I’m losing.”
—
The lab was a crumbling ruin, its walls cracked and stained. Lena stepped inside, her breath fogging the air. The symbol on her palm burned, guiding her deeper into the building.
In the central chamber, she found it: a wall covered in symbols, identical to the ones on her skin. But there was more—a journal, its pages filled with frantic scrawls.
“I’ve seen it now,” the entry read. “The mind isn’t just a machine. It’s a doorway. The experiment didn’t just enhance cognition—it opened the path. But the path leads to something… else. They don’t know what they’ve done. I’m sorry, Lena.”
A noise behind her. She turned, heart pounding. A figure stood in the doorway, its face obscured by shadow.
“You shouldn’t have come,” it said.
Lena backed away, her mind racing. “Who are you?”
The figure stepped forward, and the light revealed its face: her own. But the eyes—cold, empty—stared back.
“I’m what you’ll become,” it said. “Or what you’ve already been.”
The last thing Lena saw was the symbol on her palm flaring to life, engulfing her in a blinding light.
—
When she awoke, she was in a hospital bed, the beeping of machines the only sound. Marcus sat beside her, his face etched with worry.
“You were gone for days,” he said. “We thought…”
“I remember,” she interrupted. “The lab. The journal. The other me.”
He hesitated, then nodded. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”
But as he spoke, Lena’s hand trembled, the symbol reappearing on her wrist. And somewhere in the dark, the whispers began again.
