Shut up,Silas snaps, sharp and close.Something’s wrong. Missing. Gone.
This is wrong. This is very wrong.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe deeply. I catalogue.
My body feels intact. No restraints. No immediate pain. No temperature extremes. No sound except the faint rush of blood in my ears.
Silence isn’t silence unless you’re used to listening.
This is sensory deprivation,Silas continues, measured.Minimal input.
They’re trying to see which of us surfaces first.
They don’t get to pick,Donnelly growls.We do.
Do we?
I sit up slowly.
The room doesn’t respond. No lights flare. No alarms. No voice congratulating me for compliance.
My hands come into view – pale shapes against pale nothingness. I wave one experimentally.
Nothing changes.
There is no mirror. No reflective surface. No screen. No cameras that I can see.
Which means the cameras are very, very good.
“Hello?” I say.
My voice sounds wrong here. Too loud. Too soft. It doesn’t echo. It just…disappears.
They’ve dampened sound,Donnelly notes.
Acoustic absorption panels, probably everywhere. No feedback.
I hate this,Silas chants.I hate it I hate it I hate?—
I clamp down hard.
Easy, I think back.You spiral, we give them what they want.
Silas goes quiet, simmering. Donnelly remains, cool and present.
Minutes pass. Or hours. Time is slippery without anchors.
Finally, a voice speaks.
Not loud. Not soft. Perfectly balanced, like it’s being placed directly inside my skull.
“Subject Zero-Three is conscious.”
I don’t respond.
“We will begin the isolation phase.”
Isolation phase.
