We left at sunrise. Milo drove; Kas navigated. I sat in the back, trying not to throw up from a cocktail of nerves and stale instant coffee.
The lab was deep in the forest. Pines so thick they blocked the sun, trees so tall they looked like prison bars. Milo said this place used to be the government. Cold War, maybe. Underground. "Places like that are built to be forgotten."
We hiked the last half-mile on foot, no phones, no electronics. Kas said they could hear the signals, like sharks smell blood.
We found it beneath a trapdoor, which was rusted shut. A faint hum buzzed from underneath—still powered.
Inside, it was ice-cold.
Concrete walls. Fluorescent lights flickered like bad memories. We passed rows of old tech: computers the size of bathtubs and glass servers filled with dead data. But then we hit the lower level.
That’s where things changed.
Biometric locks—still active.
Symbols were carved into the floor—some of them pulsed faintly.
And a mirror.
Just a mirror, standing in the middle of the room.
Kas approached first. She looked at it, then recoiled like she’d seen a ghost. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.
Milo grabbed her shoulders. “What did you see?”
She shook her head. “My brother. But he’s been gone for ten years.”
I stepped forward, heart pounding.
In the glass, I saw myself.
But not me.
Hair longer. Scar gone. A white lab coat. And eyes—mine, but colder. Sharper.
Then she—I—smiled.
And said: “Welcome back.”
The lights went out.
A red emergency glow kicked in.
The door behind us slammed shut.
From the speakers overhead, a voice crackled. Metallic, layered, almost human.
"Subject 19. Reactivation complete."
I staggered back. “Who’s Subject 19?”
Milo looked at me.
“You.”
I screamed. “What the hell does that mean?!”
Kas was already at a console, fingers flying.
“This place—it’s not just a lab. It’s a failsafe. They built it in case memory overwriting became irreversible.”
Milo added, “And you… You weren’t just immune. You were part of the team that designed the immunity.”
The mirror flickered.
Images appeared—flashes of my other life. Me in meetings, arguing with military brass. Experiment logs. Injection schematics.
My voice: “We only get one chance. If they breach global consciousness, we need survivors who can remember. Who can fight?”
I stumbled back. “Why didn’t I know any of this?”
Kas didn’t look away from the screen. “Because you made yourself forget.”
The voice returned.
"Subject 19. Memory override suspended. All protocols restored. Command interface online."
The console lit up in front of me. Rows of options. Activate resistance nodes. Broadcast counter-signal. Reboot sleeper agents.
Milo whispered, “This is it.”
I reached out. My hand shook.
Then I pressed:
“Broadcast Counter-Signal.”
Above ground, I felt it ripple through the air like thunder in reverse.
Somewhere in the city, a mother looked at her son and remembered he used to be left-handed.
A teacher blinked and realized she never taught alien history.
And a man on a park bench dropped his coffee, whispering, “Oh my God… they lied.”
They’ll come for me now.
I don’t know how much time I have.
But I remember who I am.
And they were never here.
No comments:
Post a Comment