Memories [1]

How long had it been since I woke up in this room?

This bleak, sterile void. Walls white as bones. Air still as death.

I laid on the bed—if you could even call it that. A steel frame with a stiff mattress, centered in the middle of a too-clean room that looked more like a prison cell than any place of rest. Was this even my bed? Did I have a bed before this?

I couldn't remember.

I couldn't remember… anything.

The days—if you could call them that—bled together in a blur of pain and silence. There were no windows. No clocks. Just the ceaseless rhythm of them.

Needles. So many damn needles.

Injections. Blood draws. Electrodes. Tubes.

Every part of my body had been poked, pierced, and prodded more times than I could count. I was a pincushion in a lab coat's wet dream.

It hurt. Everything hurt.

Machines lined the wall, buzzing and blinking. They harvested data. My data. Every breath, every twitch, every heartbeat. Like I was a project—not a person.

The pain was constant. Even breathing hurt on some days. My muscles felt like glass. My nerves, like open wires. I was always sore. Always aching.

I stared at the ceiling with bleak eyes. I didn't blink often anymore. The weight of being awake was exhausting. But I couldn't sleep. Not really.

I had become numb. Or maybe I was just empty.

I couldn't tell the difference.

On some days they tested me in combat simulations. Brutal ones.

I was nothing compared to my foes. I was weak. Pathetic. A punching bag for AI systems in training.

Even when I tried using [Poetic Sword]—a technique that came to me like a whisper in the dark—it did nothing. A pretty move with no power behind it. I didn't even remember learning it. It felt familiar, but I had no recollection of how or why it was in my arsenal.

I couldn't win. Not even once.

The gap between me and the others… it wasn't just wide. It was a canyon. Uncrossable.

The world was colorless. My thoughts sluggish. My body barely responded.

I had lost so much that I couldn't even tell if I had lost myself.

---

The door slammed open with a sharp clang.

A metal plate slid across the floor. Today's food was cold. Watery. Tasteless. Maybe drugged.

I didn't move.

I turned my head slowly toward the polished mirror bolted to the corner wall.

There was something I was forgetting. Something important. But it was slipping away.

Like a dream.

"Test Subject 059. Move."

A gruff voice barked from the speaker.

My legs obeyed on autopilot. I moved—not because I wanted to, but because it had become instinct.

Like a trained animal.

I was taken down the corridor. Fluorescent lights flickered above. The walls were too white, the air too dry. My hands were cuffed to a mobile bed.

Then the room I knew what was coming next.

My heart beat wildly.

---

"AaaaaaaaAAARGHHHHH!!"

My scream tore through the sterile lab. My throat bled raw from how often I'd cried out in this room. And still, it wasn't enough.

They shoved needles into my spine. Into my brainstem. Electroshock. Neural downloads. I was awake through all of it.

You don't get used to pain like this.

You don't build a pain tolerance. Instead you get used to screaming.

The lights above blurred into one glowing halo. The ceiling spun. My body convulsed uncontrollably. And still the pain didn't stop.

My thoughts shredded like wet paper. My mind teetered on the edge.

They called this "adjustment."

After thirty agonizing minutes, they unstrapped me.

I couldn't even sit up. They dragged me across the floor like trash.

As I was pulled away, I heard one of the researchers mutter:

> "059 is showing rapid neurological responses. Chip compatibility holding at 89%. If progress continues, we can risk a higher-tier implant in two weeks."

Higher-tier implant?

I didn't know what that meant.

But my gut clenched.

Whatever it was, it wouldn't be good.

They dumped me back into the cell.

---

Then after two hours came the voice.

"Open the door," a woman said.

Footsteps echoed.

A tall woman entered, probably in her late twenties. Auburn hair tied back in a sharp ponytail. Glasses on the bridge of her nose. She wore a black coat, her gaze calm—measured. She wore a soft smile. Like someone who didn't belong here, but chose to be here anyway.

"Hello, Axel," she said softly.

"Let's begin today's lessons."

…Axel?

Was that my name?

Her presence was strange.

It didn't make the pain go away, but it made me feel less like I was drowning.

She taught me things—every day, something new.

Magic theory.

Weapon dynamics.

Technology interfaces.

Cooking. Psychology. Tactics.

She wasn't gentle, but she was thorough. And when the lessons ended, she told stories.

Of adventurers.

Of dragon slayers and demon kings.

Of heroes who ended wars. People who rose from nothing.

I couldn't feel awe anymore.

But something… flickered inside me.

A whisper.

Was it… hope?

---

Later, when she left, I stared into the mirror again.

Something felt off.

Wrong.

No matter how much I tried I couldn't recall any of my memories. Even my own face looked foreign.

For a split second, I blinked—

And he was there.

Another me.

Smirking.

"Yo, Jack," he said. "How long you planning on sleepwalking through this life?"

-Jack? That name-

His voice sounded jokingly harsh, "Wasn't the whole point to survive? What happened to that?"

My breath caught.

A faint ding echoed in my ears.

A translucent panel appeared in front of me, glowing faintly blue.

---

[Backstory writing in process…]

Quest: Survive. Rewrite your backstory.

Note: Your backstory will influence your abilities, traits, and narrative development. Tread with caution.

---

"What the hell…?" I muttered.

The smirking figure in the mirror chuckled.

"Think of it as me giving you purpose. A lifeline, maybe."

"…Who are you?"

"Seriously?" He tilted his head. "You already forgot? Tsk. Your mind's worse than I thought."

He leaned closer.

"I'm Icarus."

The name echoed through my mind.

Icarus…

It was familiar. Like a forgotten scar.

But no matter how hard I tried to remember… it stayed out of reach.

The figure waved lazily.

"Anyway, I'm not supposed to be here. Technically. So, let's keep this chat between us, yeah? I just couldn't sit back and watch you die like this yet. You still have a role to play after all."

-A role?

I was still reeling. Still trying to process.

But the only thing guiding me now…

Was that strange panel.

---

And the voice in the mirror.