ISOLATION

The night before the final day of the search.

Inside the lab.

The low hum of machinery echoed softly through the sterile room, punctuated by the rhythmic clanking of Meesha's keyboard. The lights above flickered ever so slightly, casting long shadows across the floor.

Collins sat still for a moment, his eyes fixed on the flickering data feed on the monitor in front of him. Then, mustering the courage he had suppressed for days, he finally spoke.

"Why did you even agree to come here, Meesha?"

His voice was quiet, but resolute.

"This was never our fight to begin with. So why… Why did you convince me to come?"

Meesha stopped typing.

Her fingers lifted slowly from the keyboard and hovered for a moment, frozen in the air — as if the question had touched something buried deep beneath her resolve.

She sighed.

Then, without turning to face him, she replied:

"Finally asked that, huh?"

A long pause.

"Why do I care?"

She repeated his question, almost to herself.

"Because… there's someone waiting for me on the other side."

"Someone who wants to protect me."

"And I want to protect him, too."

Collins blinked, taken aback.

"Your dad?" he asked, hesitant.

"I thought he stopped talking to you after your mother died."

Meesha nodded faintly, still not facing him.

"He did. Completely. Not a word since the funeral."

"But even so, he's the last piece of family I have left. And maybe that's all I need — someone to fight for. To protect."

There was a stillness between them, heavy and real.

Then Meesha turned her gaze slightly, just enough to see Collins from the corner of her eye.

"Isn't that your reason too?" she asked.

Collins frowned, attempting to deflect.

"What do you mean… same reason?"

Meesha's voice sharpened.

"Don't play dumb, Collins."

"You're desperate for answers. Obsessed with uncovering the truth. But I've never seen you like this before — not until this mission."

Collins didn't respond. His silence only added to the weight of her words.

Meesha's tone grew colder, her frustration slipping through.

"And the truth is… you don't actually care about why any of this happened."

"You don't care about philosophy or ethics. Not science. Not even the diary."

"You're not searching, Collins. You're running."

She paused, and then continued with quiet intensity:

"All you care about is making sure that whatever happens next — whatever hell unfolds — it doesn't touch you or your daughter."

"That's why you can't even bring yourself to understand the diary."

"Because understanding it might mean accepting that you're already too deep in this to run."

Collins clenched his jaw, but said nothing.

Meesha pressed on.

"All you want is a location, right? A warning. Just enough of a clue so you can disappear. Grab Lila, vanish from the map. Because as long as you two don't die, the rest doesn't matter."

Silence.

The lab was still. The only sound left was the subtle thrum of machines and the faint echo of Meesha's words hanging in the air.

Finally, Collins exhaled. Slowly.

"…Is that enough?"

His voice cracked ever so slightly.

"Yeah. You're right."

"That's all I ever wanted. Just a fucking clue. One thread to follow so I could get my daughter and myself out of this mess."

He turned to her now, his expression hardened but tired.

"This is their game, Meesha. The higher-ups. The ones who let this all happen. You and I? We're not soldiers. We're not heroes. We're collateral."

"We can't stop their mess. All we can do is survive it."

Meesha stared at him in silence. Then, with barely a whisper, she asked:

"…Survive it for how long?"

"Run to where, exactly?"

Collins didn't answer. His mouth opened — then closed.

Finally, with a hollow breath, he muttered:

"…I don't know."

Meesha looked down at the terminal, fingers brushing lightly against the control panel.

"You'll find out soon enough."

Her voice was soft now — not angry, just tired.

She stood up, picking up a drive from the console and handing it to him.

"I've uploaded a scan of the full diary into Version 5's data system," she said.

"You can read it manually or access the audio logs if you prefer."

She turned back toward the re-integration chamber, her voice fading into the hum of the lab:

"Might as well hear the rest… while there's still time."

Time: 36 Minutes Later

The wind outside had long died down, leaving only the low hum of the lab's ventilation system behind Collins as he stood motionless before the threshold—the boundary line that marked the beginning of the radiation zone.

He was already suited up, the protective gear clinging tightly to his frame, layers of polymer and radiation shielding sealing him off from the hostile environment ahead. The visor on his helmet reflected the stark red line painted across the concrete floor—a symbolic and literal point of no return.

With a subtle motion, he activated his comms.

"Status?" he asked, his voice controlled, but heavy with anticipation.

There was a brief pause before Meesha's voice responded through the static.

"All clear. Radiation levels remain within the threshold range. You may proceed now."

With a steady breath, Collins stepped forward, his boots crunching faintly on broken glass and scattered machine debris. The sound reverberated through the empty zone like distant echoes of a time long lost. Though the scanner readings showed everything was as expected, the unease crawling up his spine remained.

The facility was vast and silent, every corridor a reminder of its former glory—and eventual downfall.

Meesha's voice returned in his earpiece,

"I'm sending over the schematic now. The facility's central chamber is 340 meters ahead. Review the map and re-evaluate your route accordingly. Some access tunnels are unstable."

A digital blueprint appeared on the inside of his helmet visor, glowing in light blue. Collins adjusted the route markers with a flick of his wrist, plotting a safer path.

As he walked through the crumbling hallways, Collins broke the silence. His voice came low at first, almost as if speaking to himself.

"You know… you were right."

There was no immediate reply, so he continued.

"I've spent so long pretending this wasn't my problem. That I had nothing to do with any of it. But the truth is—I've been a selfish bastard. Always thinking only about myself."

His breath fogged the inside of his visor momentarily.

"Starting this mission? Yeah… it was probably just fear. Self-preservation. But the reason I'm still here—still walking through this wreckage—it's not the same."

There was a pause on the other end before Meesha responded, her voice quieter this time.

"Collins..."

She hesitated, the tone of her voice suggesting she wanted to say something meaningful, something that would ease the tension between them. But before she could speak further, a sharp tone cut through the channel.

A metallic voice over the facility intercom echoed into her lab room:

"Dr. Meesha patel, report to Conference Hall 3. Priority Level: Immediate."

Meesha muttered a curse under her breath.

"Collins, I'm being summoned to a meeting. I'll keep the line open, but I might not be able to respond for a while."

"Understood," he replied, eyes still fixed on the corridor ahead.

"I'll keep moving. I've got this."

"Be careful in there," she said, a note of concern slipping through her otherwise composed tone.

"The radiation zone isn't the only thing that's changed in that place."

Collins didn't answer immediately. He stopped for a moment, watching motes of dust float through a beam of dim emergency light.

"Don't worry," he finally said.

"It's not just survival anymore."

And with that, he moved forward, deeper into the facility—toward the truths buried beneath its silence.

Deep Within the Facility

After what felt like an eternity of slow progress through the decaying, irradiated corridors, Collins began to feel a peculiar trench settle into his chest—a deep, hollow sensation of isolation. The eerie silence of the facility was nearly deafening. Every echo of his own footsteps bounced off the lifeless walls like a ghost mocking his presence.

He was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

His hand drifted unconsciously toward the left side of his chest, where the radiation sensor rested beneath his suit. The readings remained stable. Yet something else was beginning to stir—something far more human than fear of the environment: regret.

Meesha's words echoed in his mind, the ones she had uttered in cold, cutting tones not long ago: "You never tried to understand the diary."

With a sigh, he paused near a rusted metal support beam and leaned back against it, Maybe now, in this void of silence, in this place where the world felt erased, he could finally try.

He scrolled through the onboard interface on his wrist and opened the audio logs. The diary, digitally recorded and uploaded by Meesha into the suit's memory bank, blinked to life on the screen. He tapped "Resume."

A mechanical, slightly modulated voice began to speak through the internal speakers of the helmet. Though artificial in tone, there was something deeply human in the rhythm, as though the soul of the writer had been embedded in every word.

"So, you made it this far, reader.

Impressive.

I'm honestly impressed by the level of dedication you're putting in—

Or maybe you're just someone with a bit too much time to waste.

Either way, here you are.

And look—I made it too. Writing and writing like I'd never felt before.

I think I've made good progress. As a writer. Or better yet, as a storyteller.

But today?

Today I'm bored."

Collins chuckled dryly at the blunt honesty of the line, the tension in his jaw loosening slightly.

"I thought the last two stories should be even more philosophical.

They felt like me—like my signature.

But now I realize... philosophy is just a highly polished coat of paint we throw over shit-talks to make them sound sensible.

Damn. Even this sounds philosophical, doesn't it?

Anyway—

For the last two entries, I'm going to keep things simple.

Today, I'll tell you about something real.

Today I'll tell you about isolation."

A chill passed through Collins—not from the environment, but from the raw mirror of those words. They fit his current state far too well.

At the Base Camp – Conference Hall 3

Back at the base camp, the atmosphere was starkly different, yet the theme of isolation lingered in the air like a stubborn ghost.

Meesha moved briskly through the narrow hallway, her mind spiraling with potential replies. She knew exactly who had called for her: Elliot. And if he asked about Collins… she needed to sound casual, precise, and above all, convincing.

She entered Conference Hall 3. The room was softly lit, tastefully minimal in decor. Elliot was already inside, pouring two glasses of whisky at the modest bar near the sidewall. He turned upon hearing the door.

"Ah, Dr. Patel," he said warmly, gesturing for her to enter. "Please, have a seat. No need to be so formal today."

She nodded, managing a slight smile, and sat opposite him at the long, polished table.

Elliot approached and offered her one of the glasses.

"A drink for the woman who's held half the expedition together," he said, settling into his chair with a relaxed sigh. "You've done more than we could have asked for, Meesha. I just wanted to personally thank you."

Meesha accepted the glass with a polite nod.

"You're very kind, sir. But truly, I was only doing my part."

Elliot swirled the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip.

"Bravery," he mused, "should always be met with kindness. I wish more people believed that."

There was a pause as they both sipped, the whisky warming their chests. Then he leaned back slightly, his voice turning more conversational.

"I was planning to invite everyone who was still here," he said. "But most are packing up, finishing reports, preparing for departure."

He glanced at her. "Except Captain Collins, of course."

Meesha's grip on the glass tightened slightly. "Captain Collins? What about him?"

"Nothing urgent," Elliot said. "Just found it odd—I haven't seen him these past two days. I figured he was resting. He was pushing himself too hard lately."

Meesha forced a calm laugh. "Yes, definitely. He must be resting. He was always the kind to push his limits, even when nobody asked him to."

Elliot nodded, half-listening, lost in thought. "Was he always like that? Even before this expedition?"

She blinked, then replied, "Yes... he's always been a bit of a workaholic. Dedicated to a fault."

"Hm. I see," Elliot murmured, setting his glass down gently.

There was a long pause before he added, more softly:

"As a matter of fact, I didn't call you here to discuss reports. I just wanted... someone to talk to. It's been quiet here. Too quiet. Isolation has a strange way of creeping up on you in places like this."

Meesha's expression softened.

"Oh no worries, sir. The conversation was refreshing for me too. Really."

They both finished their drinks. Elliot offered a final nod of gratitude before Meesha excused herself and rose to leave.

Back in the Lab

As she stepped back into the hallway, the sterile lights of the base cast a pale glow over her path. Her pace quickened toward the lab. Only now did she allow herself to breathe a little deeper, a sense of relief settling over her shoulders.

She hadn't told a lie—but she hadn't told the truth either.

And out there, somewhere beyond walls of steel and layers of radiation, Collins was walking alone.

Listening to the last voice of a man who had once tried to make sense of the world.

A man who had once believed that words could protect people.

And perhaps, Meesha thought, maybe—just maybe—those words still could.

Inside the Radiation Zone

As Collins neared the center of the radiation zone, the mechanical voice from his suit's internal speaker continued to echo Eden's monologue—each word pressing deeper into the silence.

"So. Isolation.

It's funny—most people think isolation is silence.

But it's not.

Isolation is noise.

The kind only you can hear.

Your heartbeat is pounding like a warning siren.

Your breath, a thunderstorm trapped in your skull.

And your thoughts… God, the thoughts.

When you're truly alone, your mind becomes an overcrowded room.

Every version of yourself you've ever been—every person you've failed or disappointed—they all start talking at once.

And you? You just sit there, right in the center.

Like a king of nothing, listening to the echoes of your own unraveling."

Collins finally arrived at the edge of the central sector—a looming structure half-buried in darkness. He activated his flashlight, its narrow beam piercing through the dense black ahead. The corridor yawned open before him, metallic walls narrowing into a tunnel of oppressive silence.

He stepped in.

The only sounds now were the crunch of his boots and Eden's voice—still speaking, steady and calm, like a ghost guiding him through memory.

"It strips you.

Not like a thief in the night.

No—

Isolation takes its time.

Like a sculptor, patient and cruel, carving away at your edges until all that's left is the soft, honest pulp of who you really are.

Not who you perform for others.

Not the role you've been assigned.

Just… you.

Ugly. Honest. Unadorned.

And most people can't stand that.

So they fill their lives with noise.

Work. Screens. Lust. Social validation.

The illusion of togetherness is stronger than the reality of connection.

But when that illusion breaks?

When the doors close…

When the camp goes quiet…

When there's no one left to impress or deceive—

That's when you finally meet yourself.

And let me warn you:

Most of us don't like who we meet."

The narrow passage widened into a vast hall—its floor cracked and hollow, trembling slightly underfoot. Collins swept the beam of his flashlight across the expanse. It was clear… but fragile. With cautious steps, he advanced, each movement deliberate, measuring the pressure beneath his weight.

The voice continued:

"I didn't like who I met.

I met someone small.

Someone afraid.

Someone who hid behind long, clever diary entries—

Laced every fear with metaphors, wrapped his emptiness in philosophical frosting.

But beneath all that?

Just a child.

A child who sat too long in a room that stopped loving him.

And maybe that's why he convinced me to lead, that's why rim convinced me to lead the Project."

Collins froze. His eyes narrowed.

The words felt... deliberate. Targeted. Almost personal.

He pressed his palm against the wall, bracing himself.

"Could it be?" he whispered to himself. "Rim? General Rim? Eden knew him?"

The speaker resumed, as if answering.

"Project: Perfect Being.

What a name, right?

Like we had any authority to define what perfection even meant.

But I didn't join because I believed in science.

Or politics.

Or the grand promises about saving the world.

I joined because isolation had hollowed me out.

I thought if I buried myself in data and wires and objectives—

If I became indispensable—

Maybe I wouldn't hear the echoes anymore.

Maybe I could build something that wouldn't need anyone.

Something flawless.

Something unlonely.

But I was wrong."

The flashlight flickered momentarily. Collins paused, adjusting its angle. The hall was opening into what appeared to be a chamber ahead—the floor was fragile, damaged by the radiation and could collapse if not handled with caution.

"Because isolation," Eden's voice continued, softer now, but far more cutting,

"is a patient sculptor.

It followed me here.

In the fluorescent silence of the lab.

In the unfinished code.

In the eyes of every imperfect prototype.

It whispered, again and again—

You cannot build perfection out of loneliness.

Collins stood at the threshold of the chamber. The air was still.

The walls around him, painted by the beam of his torch, seemed to breathe with the weight of buried truths.

He didn't say a word.

There was no need to.

For the first time in years, he wasn't running from the silence.

He was walking straight into it.

Soon, Collins sensed a presence. His voice trembled as he whispered to himself,

"Someone... someone was there, right?"

Something—or someone—was watching him from the shadows. Only a pair of eyes glowed in the dark, a strange blend of blue and green, piercing through the void. Collins' breath quickened. Fear crept up his spine as he hesitantly stepped forward, trying to get a clearer look.

But before he could move any closer, it stepped toward him.

Out of the shadows emerged a boy. No older than eight. A mere child.

His frail frame was visible now—skin clinging to bone, as though he hadn't eaten in weeks. But what struck Collins more than his starved appearance was the impossible question clawing at his mind.

How?

How could a child survive here? In this level of radiation? Without a suit?

It wasn't possible.

But after everything Collins had seen lately, what was impossible anymore?

He steadied himself and cautiously took a step forward, eyes locked on the boy.

The child just stood there. Silent.

His lifeless eyes stared at Collins, unblinking—like a CCTV camera scanning for threat.

Then, Collins' comms device crackled to life with static.

He quickly opened a line.

"Meesha… you won't believe what I just found."

There was silence.

"Meesha?"

"Hello?"

Finally, a voice sputtered through,

"Col—Collins—" a violent cough interrupted her words.

Panic surged through his chest.

"Meesha?! What's going on?! Talk to me!"

He shouted into the comms, again and again.

Then—crash.

A sharp sound echoed through the channel, as if something—or someone—had fallen.

And then, another voice.

Soft. Calm.

"I told you to get some rest, didn't I?"

Collins' blood pressure spiked. Sweat trickled down his forehead.

"Elliot!" he screamed. "What the fuck did you do?!"

But the channel remained dead. No answer.

Then—

BANG.

BANG.

BANG.

Three gunshots. Rapid. Final.

Collins stood frozen. Rage erupted inside him, tearing through reason like wildfire.

The boy in front of him flinched, terrified by Collins' sudden outburst.

He turned to run—but the floor, weakened by time and neglect, gave way beneath their feet.

Collins lunged forward, but it was too late.

Both he and the boy plummeted into the abyss below.

They crashed hard onto the basement level. Dust and debris engulfed them. Collins lay on the ground, barely conscious. His vision blurred, his limbs numb.

And just as darkness crept in, a voice echoed from his comms—cold, mechanical, but hauntingly human:

"Isolation is not when you're alone while crossing a bridge… but when you realize there's no one waiting for you on the other side."