Dr. Elara Voss adjusted the sterile gloves on her hands, the latex creaking like dry parchment. The hum of the lab’s ventilation system filled the air, a low, mechanical drone that never ceased. She stepped into the observation chamber, her boots clicking against the polished floor. Through the thick glass, the subject sat at the center of the room, their back straight, hands folded on a steel table. A single overhead light cast sharp shadows across their face, but Elara couldn’t see their eyes—only the faint glint of reflective lenses embedded in their skull.
“They’re ready,” said a voice behind her. Dr. Malik Reyes stood in the doorway, his lab coat hanging loosely over his frame. His gaze lingered on the subject. “You sure about this?”
Elara didn’t look away. “The data’s consistent. Their neural patterns align with the prototype’s parameters. If this works, we’ll have a breakthrough.” She hesitated, then added, “They’re not a patient. They’re a variable.”
Reyes frowned but said nothing. He stepped into the chamber, his boots echoing louder now. The subject didn’t react. Their head remained still, as if they’d been carved from stone.
“Name,” Reyes said, his voice clipped.
The subject tilted their head slightly, a slow, deliberate motion. “A-7.”
“What’s your objective?”
“To observe. To adapt.” The words were flat, devoid of inflection. Elara’s fingers curled into her palms. The subject’s voice was too precise, too practiced. Like a script.
Reyes turned to her. “They’re not responding like the others.”
“They’re not others,” she said. “They’re the first to retain memory after the procedure.”
A flicker of something in Reyes’ expression—worry, maybe. But he nodded and left without another word.
Elara stepped closer to the glass. The subject’s reflection stared back, their face obscured by the lenses. She wondered what they saw when they looked at her. A scientist? A jailer? A ghost?
The lights in the chamber dimmed. A soft chime sounded, and the table beneath the subject slid open, revealing a panel of glowing blue nodes. Elara’s pulse quickened. This was the moment.
“Initiate sequence,” she said.
The subject didn’t move. The nodes pulsed, their light shifting from blue to red. A low vibration filled the air, like a distant earthquake. Elara’s teeth clenched as the sound grew louder, until it was a deafening roar. The subject’s head jerked back, their body tensing. Their fingers curled into the table’s edge, knuckles whitening.
“Stop!” Elara shouted, but the system was already engaged. The subject’s chest heaved, their breath coming in ragged bursts. Then, abruptly, they went still.
The lights flared white. The room plunged into silence. Elara’s hands trembled as she pressed against the glass. “A-7?” she called. No answer.
A flicker of movement. The subject’s head turned slowly, their lenses reflecting the harsh light. They didn’t speak, but their eyes—finally visible—locked onto hers. They were black, deep and endless, like voids carved into flesh. Elara’s breath caught. There was something in them, something that hadn’t been there before.
“What did you see?” she whispered.
The subject tilted their head again, the same slow motion as before. Then they spoke, their voice a whisper now, raw and fractured. “The code. It’s everywhere. In the walls, in the air… it’s *listening*.”
Elara’s stomach dropped. “What code?”
The subject’s lips parted, but no words came. Their body convulsed, their fingers clawing at the table. The lights flickered, and for a heartbeat, the room was plunged into darkness. When the power returned, the subject was gone. The table lay empty, its surface smeared with something dark and wet.
Elara stumbled back, her heart hammering. “Reyes!” she screamed. But the chamber was silent. The door behind her slammed shut with a metallic clang.
She pressed her palms against the glass, her reflection distorted by the cracks spidering across its surface. “A-7?” she tried again, her voice barely a whisper.
Nothing. Only the hum of the ventilation system, now louder, more insistent. Like it was *singing*.
Later, she’d remember the moment she realized the experiment had never been about the subject. It had been about *her*. The code wasn’t in the walls. It was in her mind, waiting. And now, it was awake.
