Echoes in the Fractures (Part 1)

Lin Ser's perspective:

The air in the laboratory cooled down, the scalding orange-red fading to gray-blue embers, water vapor condensing into fine beads in the corner, slowly sliding down, dripping audibly. I stood before the "Memory 07" box, my fingers hovering above the latch, fingertips ice-cold, sweat long dried, leaving salty traces. My breathing was steady, almost mechanical, each inhalation calculating the next step—open it, hear Simon's voice, find what he had left behind. I wasn't afraid of failure; I feared emptiness.

Ivy leaned against the table, her eyes bloodshot yet piercing. Nolan crouched beside the box, fingers tracing the lock, wrinkles deep enough to hide secrets. I didn't look at them, only said softly, "Open it." My voice was flat, carrying a metallic coldness, like the commands when calibrating Ceylon. Nolan glanced up at me, said nothing, pressed down on the latch—click—the box sprang open, revealing its contents: a chip, embedded in black foam, its edges emitting a faint blue light.

I picked up the chip, my nail scraping its surface, coolness seeping into my skin. I turned toward Ceylon; it stood by the door, its screen still dark, silent enough to suffocate. I inserted the chip, my movements precise as if assembling parts. The screen lit up, blue light piercing the eyes, an audio began to play, Simon's voice deep and trembling: "Lin Ser, if you're hearing this, I'm gone. Ceylon is my shadow, don't hate it." I froze, my heart skipping a beat, but I didn't panic. I had to listen to the end, had to clarify.

Hope ignited in my chest, faint yet burning. I stared at Ceylon, imagining him walking out of that heap of metal, scarf fluttering, smiling and saying, "I'm back." But reason suppressed fantasy; I knew he was lying, he hadn't left, he was hiding here, waiting for me to decode.

Ivy's perspective:

The box opened with a click, like a bone breaking. I leaned against the table, hand gripping the edge of my sweater, my sweaty palm sticking disgustingly. Lin Ser picked up the chip, cold as a corpse, inserted it into Ceylon. I stared at her, at that blue light, my heart pounding about to explode. Simon's voice sounded, deep enough to stab the ears, as if crawling out of a grave: "Lin Ser, if you're hearing this, I'm gone." I clenched my teeth, tears burning, threatening to fall, but I held them back. I had to stand straight, couldn't collapse in front of her.

"Gone?" I rasped out two syllables, my voice trembling out of tune, like a leaking bellows. I suspected he was lying. Where was he? Burned to ashes here, or had he run away? I shouted at Lin Ser: "Do you believe it? He's gone? Listen to this ghost talk!" My voice shrill and piercing, finger pointing at Ceylon, as if to puncture its lie.

Nolan crouched there, head down, silent. I hated his deadpan demeanor. My doubts blazed like fire, burning my brain into a mess. I wanted to believe Simon was dead, but that voice was too real, real enough to frighten me. I imagined him standing at the door, smiling and saying, "Ivy, stop shouting." But that fantasy shattered, into a pile of ashes. I pondered, what exactly did he want to do? Leave a machine here to torture us?

Nolan's perspective:

When the latch sprang open, my fingers burned, causing me to flinch. The chip lay there in the box, blue light faintly flickering, like an eye not fully awake. I looked up at Lin Ser, cold as ice, inserting it into Ceylon, her movements without the slightest hesitation. Simon's voice drifted out: "Lin Ser, if you're hearing this, I'm gone." Deep, shaking like a rag in the wind. My throat tightened; I coughed once, concealing that heavy feeling.

I didn't stand up, stayed crouched, staring at the water droplets on the floor, my mind turning sluggishly. He's gone? Where to? This damned place burned like a furnace; where could he go? I suspected he was playing tricks. This bastard always loved hiding things, hiding secrets like hiding bottles of alcohol. But I didn't say anything, remained silent, accustomed to silence; silence allowed me to catch my breath.

Ivy started shouting, her voice sharp enough to pierce the ear. I frowned, hand rubbing the bridge of my nose. She didn't believe it; I didn't either, but I didn't have her fire. I hoped he was dead; dead would be simpler. But that voice drilled into my ear like a nail, nailing me into irritation. I pondered, staring at Ceylon: what was hidden in that pile of iron? His shadow? Or his ghost? I imagined him walking out, patting my shoulder, saying, "Nolan, stop frowning." But I knew that was nonsense; he wouldn't come back.