Dr. Elara Voss stared at the neuroimaging screen, her pulse a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The data pulsed in jagged lines—abnormal activity in the hippocampus, a region she’d spent her career dissecting. Her fingers trembled as she scrolled through the latest scans, the sterile hum of the lab’s ventilation system a dull backdrop to her rising panic. She had not forgotten the meeting with Dr. Kessler last week. She had not. And yet, the memory now felt hollow, like a photograph missing its subject.
The lab’s glass walls reflected the cold glow of monitors, casting long shadows across the tiled floor. Elara pressed a hand to her temple, nails digging into her skin. She could still hear Kessler’s voice, calm and measured, as he explained the latest phase of Project Aegis. *We’re refining perception, Elara. The brain is a malleable construct.* But the words no longer matched the memory. Her recollection was fragmented—Kessler’s face blurred, his tone sharper, more insistent. She had left the meeting in a hurry, hadn’t she? Or had she?
A knock at the door snapped her attention away from the screen. Dr. Maren Cole stood in the threshold, her lab coat crisp, eyes wary. “You look like hell,” she said, stepping inside. The scent of coffee and antiseptic clung to her.
“I’m fine,” Elara lied, turning back to the monitor. The data didn’t make sense. Her own brain was a puzzle with missing pieces.
Maren crossed her arms. “You’ve been running the same simulations for days. What are you looking for?”
Elara hesitated. She couldn’t explain it, not without sounding insane. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But something’s wrong. I keep… forgetting things.”
Maren’s brow furrowed. “Like what?”
“The meeting with Kessler. The details. It’s like my mind is rewriting itself.” She forced a laugh, but it came out brittle. “I’m probably just exhausted.”
Maren didn’t respond immediately. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “You’re not the only one.”
Elara turned, startled. “What?”
“The others. The volunteers. They’re saying the same thing. Memories slipping away. Confusion. Disorientation.” Maren’s gaze flicked to the door, then back to Elara. “You need to stop, Elara. Whatever they’re doing, it’s not safe.”
A sharp knock interrupted them. Dr. Kessler entered without waiting for an invitation, his presence a storm in the calm of the lab. “Dr. Voss,” he said, his tone clipped. “We need to discuss the latest phase of the trial.”
Elara’s stomach twisted. “I’m not sure I want to.”
Kessler’s smile was thin. “You don’t have a choice.” He gestured to the door. “Come with me.”
The lab felt colder as they left, the silence between them thick with unspoken warnings. Elara’s mind raced. If Maren was right, if others were experiencing the same thing, then this wasn’t just about her. It was bigger. More dangerous.
But what if it was all in her head? What if the project had already done its work, and she was just beginning to unravel?
She didn’t have time to dwell on the question. Kessler’s hand closed around her arm, a firm grip that left no room for argument. “We’re running out of time,” he said. “And so are you.”
The door to the experimental chamber loomed ahead, its metallic surface reflecting the harsh overhead lights. Elara’s breath came in shallow bursts as she stepped inside, the air thick with the scent of ozone and something more elusive—fear. This was where it began, where her memories were rewritten, where she had once believed she was in control.
Now, she wasn’t sure who she was anymore.
The chair waited in the center of the room, its straps gleaming under the lights. Kessler’s voice was a low hum as he explained the procedure, but his words blurred into static. Elara’s hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms. She had to remember. She had to hold on.
But the chair was waiting, and the project was watching.
And somewhere in the depths of her mind, a voice whispered: *Run.*
