The air in the chamber tasted metallic, like old coins and rusted pipes. Subject 17 lay on the steel table, wrists bound to cold metal loops, eyes fixed on the flickering overhead light. The hum of machines droned in their ears, a low vibration that made the back of their skull itch. They had no memory of how they got here, only the certainty that this place was not meant for them.
A door hissed open. Footsteps echoed, deliberate and heavy. The subject turned their head, but the room was too bright to see clearly. A voice cut through the noise, calm and clinical. “You are in Sector 9. You will remain here until further notice.” The words felt like a test, a trap for anyone who might question them.
The subject’s throat burned. They tried to speak, but their tongue felt swollen, clumsy. The voice returned, softer now. “You are not yourself yet. That will change.” A shadow moved near the table, and the subject strained to see. A figure in a white coat, face obscured by a mask. The coat had no name, no rank—just a series of numbers stitched into the sleeve.
“What is my name?” The question slipped out before they could stop it. The figure paused. Then, without turning, they said, “You will remember.” The subject’s fingers curled into the table’s edge. They had no name, no past, only this endless gray space and the weight of the voice that spoke to them like a stranger knowing their secrets.
The door hissed again. The figure vanished. The subject was alone, but not silent. They listened to the hum of the machines, the distant murmur of voices beyond the walls. Something was wrong here. Something deeper than the cold or the restraints. They had a feeling, a gut-deep certainty that this place was built to erase people—not just their memories, but their very existence.
They shifted, testing the restraints. The metal was cold, unyielding. But beneath the pain, there was something else: a flicker of resistance, a pulse in the wires that connected them to the machines. They didn’t understand it, but they felt it—a thread of possibility, a way forward. The subject closed their eyes and focused on the sound of their own heartbeat, steady and loud in the silence. They would find a way out. They had to.
—
The next day, the figure returned. This time, they carried a tray with a glass of water and a small plate of something pale and shapeless. The subject watched as the figure set it down, then stepped back. “You need nourishment,” the voice said. “But you are not ready to speak.” The subject stared at the food, then at the figure. They wanted to ask questions, but the words felt trapped in their throat.
The figure turned to leave. “You will remember,” they said again. The subject reached out, hand trembling. “Wait.” The figure stopped. “What is your name?” The question hung in the air, heavy and useless. The figure didn’t answer. They just walked away, leaving the subject alone with the water and the silence.
That night, the subject dreamed of a place they didn’t recognize. A city of glass towers, lights blinking like dying stars. People moved through the streets, their faces blurred, their voices muffled as if underwater. The subject tried to call out, but no sound came. Then a door appeared—old, wooden, creaking on rusted hinges. They reached for it, but something pulled them back, a force they couldn’t name.
They woke up sweating, the cold of the table still clinging to their skin. The tray was gone. The figure wasn’t there. The subject sat up, wincing as their joints protested. They had to move, had to find something—anything—that would help them remember. They stood, shaky but determined, and walked toward the door. It was locked, of course. But the walls… the walls were different today. A faint line ran along the base, almost imperceptible. The subject knelt and ran their fingers along it, feeling the edge of something hidden.
They pressed against it, hard. A soft click echoed in the room. The wall shifted, revealing a narrow passage. The subject hesitated, then stepped inside. The air was warmer here, heavier. A tunnel stretched ahead, lit by dim blue lights. They didn’t know where it led, but they had to find out. They took a deep breath and started walking.
—
The tunnel was long, the air thick with the smell of damp concrete and something else—something chemical. The subject’s boots echoed against the floor, a sound that felt too loud in the stillness. They didn’t know how far they’d gone when the lights flickered. A sudden gust of wind swept through the tunnel, carrying with it a faint whisper. The subject froze.
“Help me,” the voice said. It was weak, barely audible. The subject turned, scanning the darkness. “Who’s there?” They didn’t get an answer. The whisper came again, closer this time. “They’re watching.” The subject’s pulse quickened. “Who are you?”
The voice was different now, more urgent. “I’m like you. They took me too. But I escaped. I found this place.” A pause. “You have to run. They’ll find you if you stay here.” The subject’s mind raced. Who were ‘they’? What had they taken? They didn’t have time to ask. The whisper faded, leaving only the sound of their own breath.
The tunnel stretched on, but the subject didn’t stop. They moved faster now, heart pounding against their ribs. The lights flickered again, and for a moment, they thought they saw something—a figure in the distance, half-hidden by shadows. They didn’t look back. They couldn’t. The air grew colder as they went deeper, the walls closing in around them.
Then, a sound. A low growl, followed by the scrape of metal on stone. The subject stopped, breath catching in their throat. They turned slowly, hands raised. A figure stood at the end of the tunnel, tall and hunched, their face obscured by a mask similar to the one worn by the figure in the chamber. But this one was different—its movements were jagged, uneven, like a broken machine.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” the figure said, voice distorted and harsh. The subject took a step back. “Who are you?” The figure tilted its head, as if considering the question. “I am what remains.” Then it lunged.
The subject barely dodged, crashing into the wall. They scrambled to their feet, heart hammering. The figure was faster, closing the distance in seconds. The subject swung a fist, but it connected with empty air. The figure grabbed them, lifting them off the ground. Their vision blurred as they were thrown against the tunnel wall.
“Stop,” the figure growled. “You don’t understand what they’ve done to you.” The subject struggled, trying to break free. “What do you mean? What have they done?” The figure’s grip tightened. “They took your mind. They rewired it. But some parts… some parts resist.” A pause. “You remember, don’t you?”
The subject’s breath caught. Memories flickered—fragments of a life they couldn’t place. A city, a face, a voice calling their name. They tried to grasp it, but it slipped away like smoke. “I don’t—” The figure cut them off.
“You do. You just don’t want to remember.” The grip loosened, and the subject collapsed to their knees. The figure stepped back, their form flickering like a dying light. “Run,” they said. “Before they find you again.” Then they vanished, leaving the subject alone in the dark.
—
The subject kept running, breath ragged, heart pounding. The tunnel seemed endless, but they couldn’t stop. They had to find a way out, had to understand what was happening to them. The air grew warmer as they moved, the walls no longer cold and unyielding. A faint glow appeared ahead, a soft blue light that pulsed like a heartbeat.
They reached the end of the tunnel and found themselves in a vast chamber. The walls were lined with machines, their surfaces covered in glowing lines of code. A central console stood in the center, its screen flickering with unreadable symbols. The subject approached cautiously, their eyes drawn to the screen. Something about it felt familiar, like a memory they couldn’t quite grasp.
A voice echoed through the chamber, low and resonant. “You have come far.” The subject turned, heart racing. A figure stood in the shadows, their face hidden beneath a hood. “Who are you?” The figure stepped forward, revealing a face that sent a jolt through the subject’s chest. It was someone they had seen in their dreams—the same city, the same blurred faces. But this person was real.
“I am your past,” the figure said. “Or what remains of it.” The subject’s breath hitched. “What happened to me?” The figure’s eyes were dark, filled with something that felt like sorrow. “They took you. They took all of us. But some of us fight back.” A pause. “You are one of them.”
The subject didn’t know what to say. They felt the weight of the words, the truth buried beneath layers of confusion and fear. “How do I fight back?” The figure stepped closer, their voice softer now. “You remember. You just have to find it again.” The subject closed their eyes, focusing on the memories that had haunted them—fragments of a life they couldn’t fully recall. A name, a place, a moment that felt like it was slipping away.
“I remember,” they whispered. The figure nodded. “Then you are ready.” They turned toward the console, fingers moving over the keys. The screen flared to life, displaying a series of symbols that pulsed in time with the subject’s heartbeat. “This is the code,” the figure said. “The key to everything. But it’s not just information—it’s a choice.” The subject watched as the symbols shifted, forming patterns that felt both alien and familiar.
“What happens if I use it?” The figure’s expression was unreadable. “It will change you. It will reveal the truth. But once you see it, there’s no going back.” The subject hesitated, then reached out. Their fingers touched the screen, and a surge of energy coursed through them. The chamber filled with light, and for a moment, everything made sense.
They saw the city again, but this time it was clear—towers of glass, streets alive with people, a world that had been stolen from them. They saw the figures in white coats, the machines that had taken their memories, the truth buried beneath layers of control. And they saw themselves—whole, real, and free.
The light faded, and the subject stumbled back, breathless. The figure was gone, but their words lingered. “You are ready.” The subject looked around, the chamber now empty except for the glowing console. They had found the truth, but what came next? They didn’t know. All they knew was that they were no longer a prisoner. They were something else now—something powerful, something free.
They turned and walked back through the tunnel, the weight of their new understanding pressing against their chest. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time, they felt like they were in control. The past was gone, but the future was theirs to shape.
