That implies more than one phase is coming our way.
“You may experience disorientation,” the voice continues. “This is expected. You are encouraged to self-regulate.”
I laugh.
It comes out thin, brittle. “Encouraged,” I repeat.
No response.
The voice is gone as suddenly as it appeared.
Silence folds back in.
They’re not here to hurt us,Silas says.Not directly.
That’s worse,Donnelly replies.They’ve taken our memories and I don’t think they plan on giving them back.
I lie back down and stare into the featureless grey.
They don’t take my senses all at once. That would be crude. Obvious. Instead, they shave them down slowly.
First, touch dulls. The surface beneath me loses definition. I can still feel pressure, but texture fades until it’s just a concept – down instead of hard.
Then smell vanishes. Not that there was much to begin with, but the faint sterile tang I hadn’t consciously noticed is suddenly gone.
Sound follows.
The rush of blood in my ears fades, leaving an unsettling vacuum. I open my mouth and shout.
I feel my throat move. I feel my chest expand.
I hear nothing.
Okay,Silas says, voice tight.Okay okay okay.
Breathe, Donnelly replies.We knew this was coming. Make yourself useful and try to fucking remember…something.
I clamp my jaw shut and focus inward.
This is where they think I disappear.
They’re wrong.
I’ve lived inside my own head longer than most people live anywhere else.
Time stretches until it thins. Thoughts lose edges. Memories drift in without context.
Faces. Names. A laugh I can’t place.
They’re trying to dissolve the boundary,Silas says. Between stimulus and response. Between identity and environment.
They’re trying to erase us,Donnelly snaps.Which is why we need those memories back.
A flicker of fear sparks at that, sharp and unwelcome.
Because erasure is the one thing I’ve never been good at surviving.
I sit up again, more abruptly this time, grounding myself in movement. Or trying to. Without sensory feedback, the motion feels unreal, like I’m piloting a body from a distance.
