THE MARK THAT SHOULDN'T BE THERE
Part 1: The Scar That Wasn't His
Orion sat motionless on the edge of his bed, his fingers hovering over the scar.
It was fresh. Surgical. Precise.
Someone had cut into him recently—within the past day.
But who? And what had they taken?
The thought sent a cold shudder through him. He traced the uneven stitches, his mind cycling through every impossible scenario. Could the black-suited men have done this? Or worse—had it been done before he ever made it back to his apartment?
His eyes darted around the room, scanning for anything out of place.
His phone vibrated again.
The screen glowed with the same nameless message.
RUN.
Orion's pulse hammered.
Something was here.
He moved without thinking—grabbing his coat, his keys, anything his hands could reach. His instincts screamed at him to leave, but leave and go where? He didn't even know what he was running from.
His breath came fast, uneven. His apartment suddenly felt too quiet.
Then, in the corner of his eye—
His closet door was open again.
He hadn't touched it.
Orion's stomach clenched. He turned toward it slowly, step by step, a sickening weight settling deep in his gut.
And then—
A shadow shifted inside.
Not his.
Something else.
Something that wasn't supposed to be there.
Something watching.
Orion took another slow step forward. His own breath sounded deafening in the silence. He reached out—
A hand shot out from the dark.
Thin. Cold. Fingers wrapping around his wrist like iron.
And a voice—low, whispering—rasped against his ear.
"We put something inside you."
Orion's world collapsed into darkness.
Part 2: The Wake-Up Call
Pain.
Sharp, blinding pain.
Orion gasped awake, his body jerking violently. His chest heaved, lungs dragging in air as if he had been drowning. His vision blurred, his limbs stiff.
Where was he?
He blinked, his surroundings coming into focus. The air smelled sterile, like disinfectant and metal. Bright white lights buzzed overhead.
He tried to move—but his arms wouldn't budge.
His wrists were strapped down.
His ankles too.
He was restrained.
Panic surged. He yanked against the bindings, his breath coming fast. No, no, no—
A voice cut through the sterile silence.
"You need to stop struggling, Orion."
His head snapped toward the sound.
A woman stood at the foot of the bed.
She was dressed in clean, clinical scrubs, a clipboard in her hands. Her face was calm. Too calm.
Like she had been expecting him.
"Where am I?" His voice came out hoarse.
The woman tilted her head slightly. "You're safe."
That was a lie.
"Where am I?" he demanded again, throat raw.
She ignored him, flipping a page on her clipboard. "You've been unconscious for twenty-four hours. We had to sedate you after the procedure."
Procedure.
Orion's stomach twisted. "What did you do to me?"
The woman gave him an almost pitying look.
"We removed something that wasn't supposed to be there."
A slow, cold horror crept up his spine.
His mind flashed back to the scar.
Something had been inside him.
And now, it wasn't.
His breathing turned shallow. "What was it?"
The woman's expression didn't change. "Something old. Something that shouldn't exist."
Orion felt his heart pound against his ribs.
The woman sighed, setting her clipboard down. "I know you have questions. I know this is confusing."
She stepped closer.
"But you need to understand something, Orion."
She leaned in, her voice dropping lower.
"You were never supposed to survive this long."
The words landed like ice.
Orion's pulse stopped.
The woman straightened, giving him a small, clinical smile.
"We'll be observing you for the next 48 hours. In the meantime, try to rest."
She turned toward the door.
Orion's mind screamed.
No. No, no, no, he couldn't stay here.
"Wait!" His voice came sharp, desperate. "Where am I?"
The woman hesitated.
Then—she glanced back.
And the look in her eyes made Orion's blood freeze.
"You're back where you belong," she said softly.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And for the first time, Orion saw the name on the wall.
Not a hospital.
Not a government facility.
BLACKWOOD PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL.
Orion's breath shattered.
He had never left.
Part 3: The Cell with No Exit
Orion's entire body tensed.
Blackwood Psychiatric Hospital.
He wasn't in some underground lab, or a hidden government facility.
He was back in the asylum.
The place where it all started.
But how? He remembered leaving, remembered escaping—but that didn't matter now. He was here again.
He turned his head slowly, scanning the room.
No windows. No vents. No visible door handle.
A pure white room, padded walls, metal restraints. The kind of room meant for people who weren't supposed to leave.
Orion forced himself to breathe. Think.
He yanked at the straps on his wrists. Too tight. Too strong. His legs were bound to the bed, and the mattress beneath him was bolted to the floor.
They didn't just want him here.
They wanted him to stay.
His heartbeat pounded against his skull.
Then—
A sound.
A soft drip.
Something wet. Sticky.
Coming from above.
Slowly, Orion tilted his head up.
His stomach lurched.
The ceiling wasn't white. Not anymore.
Something had seeped through the cracks. Thick, black liquid. It pulsed, as if alive, spreading across the surface like veins, like rot.
Then—
A single word formed in the darkness, written in something thick and wet.
"DON'T FORGET."
Orion's breath hitched.
He didn't get the chance to react—
Because suddenly—
The lights went out.
Part 4: The Watchers in the Dark
Total blackness.
The kind of darkness that felt alive.
Orion's breath came shallow, his hands flexing against the restraints.
Then—
The air changed.
The room was silent, but not empty.
Something else was here.
He couldn't see them. Couldn't hear them.
But he could feel them.
Shadows pressing against the walls. Figures moving just beyond his reach.
Then—
A whisper.
Right beside his ear.
"You were never supposed to wake up."
Orion jerked violently, straining against the straps.
No. No, no, no—
Then, the lights flickered back on.
And he wasn't alone.
There were figures standing all around his bed.
Dressed in black. Unmoving. Faceless.
Just watching.
Part 5: The Doctors Who Weren't Human
The figures didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
They weren't wearing masks.
They just didn't have faces.
Orion's chest heaved. He tried to speak, but his throat was tight, his body frozen.
Then—
A door opened.
He hadn't seen it before. It hadn't been there.
The woman from before—the one in the medical scrubs—stepped inside.
The faceless figures didn't turn. Didn't react.
They just existed.
The woman looked down at him, perfectly calm.
"I told you to rest, Orion."
His voice finally tore from his throat.
"WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?"
The woman exhaled softly. "You're still fighting it. That's a problem."
Orion yanked at the straps again. "Fighting what?"
She studied him for a long moment. Then, she nodded to the figures.
"Leave us."
The faceless people moved in unison. Silently. Gliding.
And as the last one exited—
The door vanished.
Like it had never been there.
Orion's breath shuddered out. "Let me go."
The woman ignored him. She stepped closer.
And then—
She reached up, pressing her fingers against his forehead.
Orion screamed.
Because suddenly—
His mind wasn't his anymore.
Part 6: The Memory That Wasn't His
The world shifted.
Orion wasn't in the asylum anymore.
He was somewhere else.
A dark room. The sound of water dripping.
And someone was speaking.
Not to him.
About him.
A deep voice, rough and familiar.
"He's resisting."
Another voice, softer, clinical. "He was always meant to."
Orion tried to move. Tried to see where he was. But he wasn't really here.
He was inside a memory.
One he didn't remember having.
The deep voice spoke again. "The last procedure wasn't enough. We need to go deeper."
Orion's pulse spiked.
"Deeper into what?" he tried to say.
But the memory wasn't listening.
The second voice exhaled. "You don't understand, do you?"
A pause. Then:
"He doesn't have real memories. He only has the ones we gave him."
Orion's chest tightened.
"No," he whispered. "No, that's not—"
The deep voice sighed. "Then erase it. Again."
The world snapped back.
Part 7: The Truth They Buried
Orion gasped, jerking upright.
The straps on his wrists were gone.
He was still in the asylum.
The woman was still there.
But something was different now.
He remembered.
Or at least—he remembered that he wasn't supposed to remember.
His memories weren't real.
Orion wasn't real.
His pulse thundered. "What did you do to me?"
The woman watched him carefully.
"You're not Orion Blackwood," she said softly.
His breath caught.
"You never were."
Part 8: The Man Who Wasn't There
The world tilted.
Orion felt like he was slipping.
No, no, no—this wasn't right.
He had a life. A job. A past.
Didn't he?
The woman gave him a small, almost sympathetic smile.
"You were an experiment, Orion."
His throat locked.
"You were created here."
The words were ice in his skull.
No.
"You never left Blackwood Asylum."
His heart pounded violently.
No. No, that wasn't true.
The woman stepped back. "You only think you did."
Orion shook his head.
"Lies," he rasped. "You're lying."
But the woman just turned toward the wall.
She pressed her hand against it—
And the white padding peeled away.
Underneath—
A mirror.
Orion's pulse stopped.
Because in the reflection—
There was no one standing where he should be.
He wasn't there.
He was never there.
The woman whispered the final words.
"Now do you understand?"
Then the lights went out.