“Identity instability confirmed.”
You alright?Donnelly asks, shaken but present.
Yes, Silas replies.And no.
I laugh weakly. “Still here,” I whisper.
They change tactics after that.
They stop giving me things.
They stop acknowledging me entirely.
No voice. No simulations. No prompts.
Just absence.
Hours pass. Or days. My thoughts begin to loop. Without external anchors, even Silas grows quieter, more distant.
Say something,Silas urges eventually.Anything.
No,Donnelly counters.They want noise.
I lie still, staring into nothing, and feel myself thinning.
This is the real punishment.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Irrelevance.
I don’t know how long it takes before Donnelly starts to fade. His presence dims, his sharp edges blurring.
Don’t,I think, panic surging.Don’t leave.
I’m not leaving,he says, faint but stubborn.I’m just…quiet.
I can’t let that happen.
I sit up abruptly and slam my fist down against the surface beneath me.
For the first time, I feel resistance.
The impact sends a jolt up my arm – real, solid, undeniable.
I do it again.
And again.
Pain blossoms in my knuckles. Real pain. Anchoring pain.
I carve a rhythm into the nothingness, beating existence into the void.
There, Donnelly says, stronger now.That’s better.
The voice returns instantly.
