Tick, tock.

It was the thirty-second time the clock had spoken.

The girl curled into herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited.

Tick, tock.

Her count began. 10, 9, 8 ...

Fear, or something deeper kept her face glued to her knees. But this was the thirty-second time. Shouldn’t she be able to break the cycle?

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The clock went silent.

The footsteps were soft, the sound of cloth sliding over wood, almost seductive in its gentleness. Almost. It just kept sliding, sliding, sliding ever closer. Warmth emanated from it, just subtle enough to raise goosebumps on her arms.

Its feet nudged her bare toes as it came to a stop. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.

... 3, 2, 1.

“Am I a monster?” The voice was soft, gentle, perfectly shaped. A gloved finger pressed into her hairline and warm breath clouded around her. She bit her lip to silence her whimpers, but all she wanted to do was scream, scream and change the cycle.

More fingers pressed into her jawline. “Hold still.”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck, just for a brief moment, before flickering away.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.

It was time to dream.

[Darkness. I can’t see past it.]

Drip, drop.

It was the thirty-second time the faucet had sprung a leak.

The girl sat rigid and straight, unable to tear her gaze from that leak. A broken piece of imperfection in this perfect room of unblemished white walls and floors.

Drip, drop.

Her count began. 10, 9, 8 ...

Fear, or something deeper kept her staring, frozen in position. But this was the thirty-second time. Why couldn’t she break the cycle?

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The faucet went silent.

The footsteps were crisp, the sound of shoes clicking across the floor, almost hypnotic in its rhythmic pattern. Almost. They just kept clicking, clicking, clicking ever closer. The smell of sanitizer emanated from it, just subtle enough to make her grimace.

The shoes came to a stop in front of her, black and perfect and shiny beneath white pants and the hem of a white lab coat. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.

... 3, 2, 1.

“How are you today?” His voice was smooth, perfectly oiled to quiet any true emotions. A gloved finger pressed into her hairline, his warm breath buzzing around her. She bit her lip to silence her whimpers, but all she wanted to do was scream, scream and change the cycle.

More fingers pressed into her jawline. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck, just for a brief moment, before flickering away.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.

It was time to dream.

[Where am I?]

Click, clack.

It was the thirty-second time the alarm had broken.

The girl continued sitting on the bed, staring at the dusty and barren wall, painted a faded violet.

Click, clack.

Her count began. 10, 9, 8 ...

Fear, or something deeper prevented her from looking around, seeing where she was. But this was the thirty-second time. How could she break the cycle?

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The alarm went silent.

The footsteps were cautious, the sound of bare feet slapping across the floor, almost normal in its raw humanity. Almost. They just kept slapping, slapping, slapping ever closer. A shadow fell across the wall, just subtle enough to make her shudder.

The footsteps came to a stop behind her. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.

... 3, 2, 1.

“Come on!” His young voice was a soft hiss of perfect innocence. His breath was wet and sticky against her skin. A small finger reached around her and pressed into her hairline. She bit her lip to silence her whimpers, but all she wanted to do was scream, scream and change the cycle.

More fingers pressed into her jawline. “Come on, get up!”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck, just for a brief moment, before flickering away.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.

It was time to dream.

[I can’t open my eyes. They’re glued shut.]

Tick, tock.

It was the thirty-third time the clock had spoken.

The girl curled into herself, squeezed her eyes shut, and waited.

Tick, tock.

Her face was glued to her knees. But this was the thirty-third time. Shouldn’t she be able to break the cycle?

... 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The clock went silent.

The footsteps were soft and almost seductive. Its feet nudged her bare toes as it came to a stop. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.

... 3, 2, 1.

“Am I a monster?” The voice was soft, gentle, perfectly shaped. Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Hold still.”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.

It was time to dream.

[My eyes hurt from rubbing them.]

Drip, drop.

It was the thirty-third time the faucet had sprung a leak.

The girl sat rigid and straight. Waiting.

Drip, drop.

She was frozen in place. But this was the thirty-third time. Why couldn’t she break the cycle?

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The faucet went silent.

The footsteps were crisp and almost hypnotic. The shoes came to a stop in front of her. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.

... 3, 2, 1.

“How are you today?” His voice was smooth, perfectly oiled. Fingers pressed into her jawline. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.

It was time to dream.

[Fine, I give up on trying to get my eyes open. Focus on something else.]

Click, clack.

It was the thirty-third time the alarm had broken.

The girl continued sitting on the bed. Waiting.

Click, clack.

Something prevented her from looking around. But this was the thirty-third time. How could she break the cycle?

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The alarm went silent.

The footsteps were cautious and almost normal. They came to a stop behind her. Her muscles clenched up, refusing to move.

... 3, 2, 1.

“Come on!” His young voice was soft and innocent. Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Come on, get up!”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy. The floor tipped below her and she slumped down to greet it as the world faded.

It was time to dream.

[There’s cold metal below me and surrounding me.]

Tick, tock.

It was the thirty-fourth time the clock had spoken.

Tick, tock.

Her face was glued to her knees.

... 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The clock went silent.

The footsteps were soft and almost seductive.

... 3, 2, 1.

“Am I a monster?” Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Hold still.”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy.

It was time to dream.

[Focus! What am I doing?]

Drip, drop.

It was the thirty-fourth time the faucet had sprung a leak.

Drip, drop.

She was frozen in place.

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The faucet went silent.

The footsteps were crisp and almost hypnotic.

... 3, 2, 1.

“How are you today?” Fingers pressed into her jawline. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy.

It was time to dream.

[Don’t get distracted! I need to figure out where I am.]

Click, clack.

It was the thirty-fourth time the alarm had broken.

Click, clack.

Something prevented her from looking around.

… 3, 2, 1.

The door creaked open.

The alarm went silent.

The footsteps were cautious and almost normal.

... 3, 2, 1.

“Come on!” Fingers pressed into her jawline. “Come on, get up!”

Pain erupted in her skull and neck.

Her thoughts grew fuzzy.

It was time to dream.

[Look up. Stretch the fingers ... It’s all so strange.]

Tick, tock.

It was the thirty-fifth time the clock had spoken.

Tick, tock.

“Hold still.”

Pain.

It was time to dream.

[Why am I so numb?]

Drip, drop.

It was the thirty-fifth time the faucet had sprung a leak.

Drip, drop.

“This won’t hurt a bit.”

Pain.

It was time to dream.

[What are those sounds?]

Click, clack.

It was the thirty-fifth time the alarm had broken.

Click, clack.

“Come on, get up!”

Pain.

It was time to dream.

[It doesn’t matter--don’t worry about the clicking, just figure a way out.]

Tick, drip, click.

Thirty-six.

The dreams always came.

Tock, drop, clack.

Thirty-seven.

An endless pattern.

[What is going on?]

Tick.

She was spinning into oblivion.

Tock.

It never ended.

Drip.

Repeat.

Drop.

Forty-seven times was too much.

Click.

She had done this before.

Clack.

Forever, ever, spinning.

[Stop getting distracted! Where am I? Cold everywhere, walls surrounding me, so close. There must be an edge. Where ... ? There. Use it. Pull yourself up.]

Slipping.

Down. Down into the hole.

Dreams. Darkness. Despair. Delirious. Doomed.

Death.

[Am I in a tank? There’s some sort of residue on me.

[Focus. Grab the edge. Get over it. Over the edge I go--]

Click, clack.

The blankets fell off her as she bolted upright. Dizzying panic made her pause before she quested her gaze around. She was in a bedroom. (The bedroom she’d always been in?) The walls were a faded violet. An organized dresser was beside the door.

A brown, dusty door.

She could finally see the door.

Click, clack.

She stood, and stumbled. She could move. How could she move?

Her gaze darted around the room. She assumed it was the same room from all the previous iterations. How many repetitions had she gone through? A hundred? A thousand? The last number she’d counted before she gave up was eighty-three. That was a long time ago.

The door opened and a little boy walked in, not noticing her for a moment. “Come--” His eyes widened and he stepped back. She peered down at him.

Panic flashed through his eyes. His mouth opened and closed for a moment, as if he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was seeing. “Wha-wha-what are you doing?” His voice was small and uncertain. (And maybe a bit robotic?)

She stared at him. Opened her mouth. A harsh gasp escaped her lips. She closed her mouth, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Who ... ?”

[The ground below me is cold, hard, rough. Did I fall? Why is everything so cold? I’m wearing clothes, shouldn’t those protect me? I shouldn’t be so cold.

[I have to move. I can almost see now. C’mon, stand up. I can do this. I just have to start moving in a direction and--]

Tick, tock.

She gasped and pressed her back against the wall. She couldn’t see much. What was going on? This was not how it was supposed to go.

Her momentary panic faded. She smiled.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

She could deal with that.

Tick, tock.

She stood and ran to the door, tripping over her own feet in the process. She ripped the door open and stepped out.

A hallway stretched out to either side of her. To her left, a tall, shadowy form approached on soft feet. Cloth was draped over it like a cloak, like a child in a cheap ghost costume.

She stumbled. Ghost costume? What? What was a ghost costume?

[I’m on the ground again. How did that happen? I just need to focus.

[Can I open my eyes yet? No. I think it’s that residue. It dried up on my face. Maybe if I sweat? How can I get it off? It will probably come off with time. Okay, how about I just crawl? Just crawl across the floor.

[Agh, what’s that? Rubber tubes? It’s connected to that tank-thing. What is it? Why was I in it? Okay, doesn’t really matter right now. I just have to--damn it, these tubes are everywhere. How can I get through--oh, I’m connected to something. How--]

Drip, drop.

She jumped to her feet. She stared around at the stupid white walls with their stupid white perfection.

Drip, drop.

She didn’t waste anymore time. Within moments she had crossed the room to the door, flung it open, and entered a hallway, much like the one in her dreams, the one with the ghost costume.

Doors lined the hallway, across and to either side of her. The (doctor?) was walking up to her from her left. His polished black shoes stopped their crisp clicking. They stood frozen for a moment, girl staring at doctor, doctor staring at girl, surprise written as mirroring expressions on their faces.

She turned and ran down the hallway to the right. She ran past doors, past white perfection, past windows, past more doors.

Behind her, the doctor shouted, “She’s escaped!”

She reached a stairwell and leaped down the steps, around a turn, down more stairs. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She was doing it. She was breaking the pattern.

She hit another landing and spun around another turn, then another, then through a pair of doors and through a hall. More doors and more windows.

The hall was empty except for her, lined with narrow windows. Her lungs were beginning to burn in her chest, as were the muscles in her legs. She slowed long enough to peer into a window. She stumbled to a stop. And stared.

A girl sat in a perfectly white room, staring at a sink. The faucet was dripping.

She turned to another window. There. A girl staring, frozen in place.

Where was she?

She took a few more steps and ran down to another window. The same sight. A girl, staring, frozen, wearing plain white scrubs and a plain expression. She glanced down at herself and saw the same scrubs. She stumbled away from the window, spun a confused circle, and began to run again. Ahead of her was a T crossing. She turned the corner and smacked into a tall doctor.

[Damn tubes. So easy to get tangled in it. Why am I on the floor again?

[Am I connected to something? No, just my imagination. I just have to find out where I am, find a person--no, no people.

[How did I get here?

[Stop worrying about it, just get untangled, and crawl out of here. Agh, why can’t that water drip just be quiet?

[Water. I could use that to fix my eyes. Okay, just follow the sounds ... Ow! I hope that’s the sink. Okay, stand up ... Yes! A sink.

[Ugh, my head hurts ... No sudden movements. Okay, wash out this stuff--don’t poke yourself!--that’s better. There is light in this room. Still can’t really see, but at least I know there’s light. Maybe I should call out? No--bad idea. Just keep washing out your eyes.

[What is that ticking? A clock? It’ll probably be going quiet anytime now--no, that wouldn’t make sense. Batteries don’t just die. Just focus on washing out your eyes. You’re delusional.

[A clock. A sink. That sounds familiar.

[Is there something in my neck?]

Click, clack.

She was prepared this time. She sat upright, flung off the blankets, and darted out the bedroom. She turned to the right, down the hall. Doors sat in orderly lines against the walls. Another repetition. But at least she could control her body this time. Another time.

It was strange how akin the hallway was to the hallway in her dreams, the one with the hospital and the leaking faucet. If the dreams with the ghost costume and the clock had been better lit, then maybe the hallway would be like that one as well ...

She slowed to a stop.

Considered.

Remembered.

In those dreams she had always thought this was a dream.

Unease made her glance around. She looked down. Her feet were bare, like in the dream with the clock. She wore the same white scrubs from dream with the hospital.

If this were to follow the pattern, she’d probably find a stairway soon. And then she’d run into a person. Which meant that behind these doors ...

She hesitated, then opened a door. Inside was a bedroom, well-organized, colored a faded purple. A girl sat in the bed, her gaze blank and unseeing. Perhaps in another world.

She closed the door.

Dread was sour in her gut.

Uneasily, she continued down the hall, lightly stepping down the stairs and reaching what she expected to be the bottom floor. She went down the hall and spied a little boy as she reached the T in the hall. The boy stared at her.

He was supposed to be upstairs.

But he was a copy-cat. Like the doctor.

She walked past the boy and turned down the hall, half expecting to see more doors, but instead, found a dead-end. Just one door. She hurried towards it.

Everything was a dream.

She needed to wake up.

She reached out, turned the doorknob, and pushed it open, heart pounding.

Light blinded her.

No, not her.

Me.

I’m not there.

I have to disconnect that tube. I have to pull--

A small tube is clutched in my hand when I wake. My head throbs. I’m on the floor again.

Moving slowly, I sit up, squinting in the light. I sit up groggily. I had managed to get more residue off my face than I had thought, or maybe I had cried it out of my eyes.

The tube’s width is just smaller than my pinky finger. Little rusted wires stick out of it.

Hesitantly, I reach behind my neck and touch the little hole that’s there. A metal ring keeps my skin separated. Using my smallest finger, I think I can feel more rusted wires just sticking out of the hole.

Which was odd. I didn’t think I was a cyborg.

Then again, I didn’t really know much about myself.

Using the boxy sink next to me, I get to my feet, wobbling for a moment. The sink is a dirty white, as are the scrubs I wear. That dried gelatine substance is a yellowish film everywhere on me.

It’s so contrary to my pristine dreams. If this isn’t yet another dream. That makes me oddly smug.

I lean against the sink, watching the slightly brown water spill from the faucet.

After scrubbing my face with the water, I turn the knob to shut it off, but the knob soon stops, allowing a steady drip to splash down.

The sound makes me queasy. Still using the sink to stand, I turn my attention to my surroundings.

The room is fairly spacious. Dirty white tile makes the floor with dirty white walls and ceiling with flickering lights. A few lights are out completely. Metal counters line the walls and a large digital clock is set near the top of the wall across from me, the seconds ticking away. It reads 6:04:56.

At the center of the room is a tank perfectly sized to hold a person. A tangle of tubes are attached to it and to a ... monitor, I guess. It’s spindly with a screen on the top, and it’s clicking away.

A leak. A clock. A click.

All I’m missing are footsteps.

I wait for a moment. Nothing comes.

There are surgical equipment on the counters--I assume they’re surgical equipment. They look like they’d be good for cutting people open.

Moving carefully, I walk to the door, head still throbbing. How long had I been stuck in that tank, dreaming?

Assuming this isn’t another dream.

I spare another glance around the room and reach out to touch the door.

Then comes a burble of a voice.

I freeze.

From a speaker on the wall, a barely distinguishable female voice says, “Unfor--chrrk ... hydro--chrrk ... flooded. Please--chrrk--off and dis--chrk--all ele--chrrk--”

The message continues on in this way for a minute then goes silent.

Slowly, I relax.

Just a message on broken speakers.

I grab the doorknob.

Then the steady ticking is silenced. As does the monitor. A few moments later, the faucet also goes quiet.

My heart pounds in my chest. I glance back. The glowing numbers on the clock has disappeared.

I open the door and step outside, breathing hard.

The hallway is familiar. Doors line either side of the walls. It is very much like the dreams, except for the grime. Stains mark the floor and there’s mold on the ceiling. Dust and cobwebs cling to corners--the place feels abandoned. Even the spiders gave up.

I wait, but none of my monsters appear. No doctors, no little boys, no ghost costumes. It’s another echo.

Am I still in a dream?

My stomach turns into knots at the thought.

I step out of the room and cross to the next, pushing the door open to see a room that looks exactly like mine.

I peer around hopefully to see if there’s anything different.

And there is. My hammering heart calms a bit. This room has the same instruments of invasion as mine, but they’re organized differently, some not quite put away, others looking as if they were never touched. It’s a subtle difference.

I’m not dreaming. I hope.

I walk over to the tank and peer over the side. I gasp and stumble back, heart in my throat. I stare blankly at the tank. There are goosebumps on my skin and all I can feel is a paralyzing fear that glues my feet to the floor, like that same feeling I had in the dreams.

I have to control this.

I step forward and peer over the edge again, barely aware that I’m hyperventilating.

Inside the tank is a skeleton. Hair is still stuck to her--I’m sure it’s a girl--and she’s wearing a pair of scrubs that match mine and, oddly, are in as good of shape as mine. Connected to the base of her skull is a tube. My hand reaches up to the back of my neck, feeling the hole where my own tube had been attached. Her bones have a gelatin-like residue, and judging by the stain marks, it used to fill the entire tank.

I back away from the tank, staring around at the room. The faucet is silent. As is the clock and the monitor.

I turn and run out of the room. By the time I make it out of the room I can barely breathe. I desperately suck air into my lungs, seeing only that white bone, the gaping eye sockets …

I had to see if there were any more skeletons.

No. I had to see if there was anyone else who was alive.

For the next few minutes--or maybe the next dozen--I search the rooms. In one room, I found a girl in partial decay. Another girl who appeared as if she had died only a few minutes before. Yet another whose bones were splintered and old. I searched every room on that floor. There was not a single living person.

Except for me.

At last, I lean against the hallway with a shudder, stomach ready to vomit (vomit what?).

What is going on?

Who are--were--these people?

Who am I?

I try to remember. I try to remember if I was raised here, if I volunteered, if I was stolen from my bed.

I can only remember dreams.

For several minutes, I just lean against the wall and rest. My muscles were weak. My joints were stiff and I had very easily run out of breath.

Was I like this before I entered the tank?

Eventually, I left the hallway and went downstairs. The stairwell is dark in some places, the narrow lamps having failed.

Downstairs is as musty as upstairs and is equally familiar, yet wonderfully different and foreign. A long hall stretches out ahead of me, these lined with windows as well as doors. At the end of the hall is the T.

I lick my lips and clear my throat. It takes me a few tries, but finally, I croak out a word. “Hello?” I cough and try again. “Hello?”

It feels as though I haven’t spoken in years. Maybe I haven’t.

I peer into one room after another, finding much of the same results as the upstairs: skeletons, decaying bodies.

Where are my monsters? They were the other consistent part of my dreams. Why aren’t they here?

After searching the rooms, I go to the T. I take the left and find myself facing a metal door with the words “EMPLOYEES ONLY” stamped into it. I grab the door handle, turn it, and enter another long hallway, this one wider and with more doors. I open the first door and peer inside to see a room of screens. Dozens upon dozens of screens that completely hide the walls.

I enter the room and do a full circle, taking in the chairs, small desks, and the screens. Each screen is divided into four tiles of different screens, each showing the same thing: the tank room, the bedroom, the dark room, and the white room.

My dreams.

Each room has a girl in it ... no, not each one.

One screen is completely empty.

My legs wobble, and I collapse to the floor. All I can see are the screens. The scenes from my dreams.

Shivers wrack my body. I hug myself, rocking back and forth.

What is this place?

Something crackles.

I let out a small whimper and stare around.

But it’s the robotic, female voice from before. “Unfortunately ... hydro--chrrk ... flooded. Please--chrrk--off and disconnect all ele--chrrk--”

A few minutes later, there is movement on the screens. A doctor enters the white room. A ghost costume enters the dark room. A behind them, a little boy enters the bedroom. All in perfect sync.

The girls all remain where they are.

I can’t hear the doctor, but I can count, and I can see his lips. Still in perfect sync.

My gaze searches the screens. I can’t be the only one. There has to be someone else who escaped the loop.

Did I escape?

A half scream, half sob bubbles up in me. My gaze darts from screen to screen. What changed with me? Why are they still in the loop? Because they’re dead?

What if I am the dead one?

The hysterical sob escapes my mouth, a sound so soft and foreign I instinctively slam my mouth shut.

What if I never escape the loop?

I turn from the screen. I leave the room.

For a moment, I can only stare blankly at the doors and walls. Then I begin to explore. I open every unlocked door and attempt to break into the locked ones. I found more screens with the same things on it. Some had boy on the screen. Yet other screens were blank and black. Every thirty minutes or so, the lights waver and the broken, mechanical voice attempts to get her message through the speakers, but they’re all broken.

Or just too old.

I probably heard a complete message at some point, but I stopped listening after the first few hours.

I found several bathrooms.

Which meant someone living had spent time here. More than one person.

In the bathoroom, I washed my face and my hair. Then I stared curiously in the mirror at the girl who stared back, trying to find something familiar, something I recognized.

But it must’ve been a while since I’ve looked in a mirror. I don’t recognize myself as someone I’ve seen before.

I have thick brown hair. It’s fuzzy and a bit sticky from the gel and goes down to my shoulders. My skin is pale, almost bleached, which I guess means I’m unhealthy. My face is strong and still a bit blank in expressions. I spent a few minutes just trying out different expressions, seeing how familiar they, all the time wondering how I knew these expressions when I can’t remember anything that I’d associate with them.

I also have scars. There’s some on my head, on my hairline and on my jaw, and probably a few elsewhere. There is also that hole in my neck where the tube had been attached.

After a long time of just exploring, searching, I find an unlocked, small room with a desk and a chair. The desk is cleared and the chair has wheels. Pushed up against the walls are shelves of files.

Hope rising, I quickly pull out an armload and scatter them on the desk, flipping them open to read--how did I learn to read?--and find a bunch of stiff words. I can see names and photos and basic info backgrounds. As I skim through the rest of my armload, I realize that these were all background files on girls, probably the same girls who lay in the tanks. I leave the files on the desk and pull out another armload from the opposite side of the room. These are also background files, but of boys.

I collapse in the chair, thinking. There must be hundreds of files from both sides. That meant hundreds of people I’d have to sort through before I found me, if I would even recognize me when I got there.

It might mean there are hundreds of skeletons here.

Which most likely means there’s more than just me.

I spend only a few more minutes on digging through files before I go back out and go to one of the few doors I haven’t opened. At least, I haven’t opened it here, in the grimier version of the hospital. I opened the door in my dreams.

The door that brought me out of my dreams.

It’s dusty, the metal knob a bit rusted. It takes a bit of pushing to open the door and get through to the other side.

The other side is an enormous room--at least, enormous compared to the other rooms.

There is a long counter--like a place to sign in--and there are chairs lining one side of the hall (like for waiting?). I wander into it, my bare feet making little sound on the polished, dirty floor.

To my left is are a pair of double-doors.

Instinct, or maybe some remnant of memory, said I was in the front entrance room, and that those doors would lead outside. Would lead me into the world.

Curiosity turns me to my right, to smaller door with a sign reading: “WAITING AREA.” I consider the sign for a moment before taking the knob and opening the door.

Inside it is small and dark with one large screen and one chair. I step inside, glance around, and I’m about to leave when the screen lights up. A man appears. He looks like the doctor from the white room. Perfectly combed hair, perfect white lab coat, perfectly placed smile. When he speaks, I flinch away. He has that same oiled voice.

“Welcome to BioTechnologies,” says the man. The speakers crack only slightly. “I am Dr. Liam Grayson, leading scientist in our mission to help people live without fear of never experiencing life after death.

“Many people are afraid of the afterlife--but what if you could subvert that fear by never experiencing it? Our goal is to create that subversion, and today I’m happy to tell you that the first step is well in process.

“I know what you must be thinking. Who are you to play at God? Cheating death is not a good end-all. My friends, you’re right. This will not be the remedy for all of you, but I dare say it may be the remedy for most of you.” He smiles, big and bright. I’m too busy thinking to scowl at him. Cheating death …

“Before you walk away, let me explain what I mean,” Dr. Grayson continues. He disappears and a new image appears in his place, a picture of a … brain? “How the brain works is a mystery, and an even greater mystery is how the consciousness works. At least, it used to be.” The image switches to that of a small piece of plastic. “See this SD chip? You use those to hold the pictures that you take on your cameras. Keeping all the scientific jargon out of this, I have created, essentially, an SD chip for the brain. In this SD chip I have created realities, and when connected to the chip, a person can enter these realities. It’s almost like a video game.”

My muscles go cold.

“You can put your memories into the chip,” Dr. Grayson continues, “you can create different places and do whatever you want in them. It’s like controlling a dream. And all of it will be recorded onto this little chip so that you can live on.” He smiles again. “If you die, you can continue living in this reality, these realities you’ve created.”

He continues talking, but I’ve stopped listening.

The dark room.

The white room.

The bedroom.

All of them … a computer made reality?

Doesn’t seem any less likely than a never-ending dream.

And someone made the decision to put me in those nightmares?

My hands are shaking again.

Something had happened. Something had gone wrong with me. I’m alive. This place is abandoned, cleared out.

Dr. Grayson’s face disappears for a moment before reappearing. The video has started over. “Welcome to--” he flickers out of sight. The screen goes dark.

The calm, female voice speaks, her voice clear for once. “Unfortunately, we are experiencing unexpected power surges due to a failure in the hydro system. The subfloor has flooded. Please turn off and disconnect all electrical devices. For your safety, we are temporarily turning off the water system as to make sure there aren’t any more leaks. All doctors are recommended to check on their patients during this time. We will be turning it off in 10, 9, 8 …”

I freeze, listening to her voice echo through the room … down the hall ... throughout the building. I know that count. I had counted it at least eighty-three times.

“... 3, 2, 1.”

I hold my breath, waiting the 6.4 seconds it took for the doctor--monster, little boy--to cross the room, to come to a stop. I count the 3 seconds for the pain to enter my head.

I force myself to stop imagining that scenario, the scenario that had happened at least eighty-three times.

I turn and leave the room.

Answers aren’t worth this.

I am a failed lab rat. This place is abandoned. That is all I need to know.

I cross the large room to the double doors. I suck in a breath, then push them open.

Fresh air smacks my senses, fills my lungs, moistens my skin.

It’s different. Refreshing.

Unpredictable.

I won’t be bound by that place. Not for anything.

I’m going to be free.

The End