9

Ken's lungs burned with every breath, but he didn't stop. Not even as branches tore at his arms or roots threatened to trip him. The trees surrounding him were dense, twisted—like nature had grown sick trying to escape the same perfection the rest of the world clung to.

Behind him, Misty ran silently. She was fast, surprisingly fast, for someone whose shoes weren't made for forest ground. Her hood was pulled low over her head, but Ken could see her eyes glinting when the moonlight found her. Focused. Determined.

Neither of them said a word. Not until the sharp whistle of something flying through the trees shattered the silence.

Ken grabbed Misty's arm and dove behind a fallen log. A second later, a dart embedded itself in the tree above their heads with a metallic thunk. Not a tranquilizer—those were for capturing. This was a warning. A tracker. Something to mark them.

Misty's breath caught in her throat. "They're already here."

Ken nodded, keeping his head low. "And they're not waiting anymore."

They had planned to find shelter. Regroup. But plans were for people who had time, and Ken realized very quickly—they didn't.

"We have to keep moving," he said, voice low. "The old facility should be east of here."

Misty didn't ask how he knew. She just nodded and followed, trusting him. Ken wasn't even sure how he knew. It was like a gut instinct guiding him, like breadcrumbs dropped in a dream he hadn't remembered until now.

As they moved through the trees, the forest seemed to shift with them. It was too quiet—no animals, no insects. Just the sound of their steps, their breath, and that distant humming that always seemed to exist somewhere just out of sight.

Then, they found it.

A rusted chain-link fence wrapped in ivy stretched out ahead, half-collapsed, and bent inward like it had been torn open from the inside. Beyond it stood a concrete structure partially buried beneath soil and vines, like the earth itself had tried to swallow it whole.

Misty stepped beside him, eyes scanning the ruins. "This... was part of the academy?"

Ken nodded slowly. "Before they built the perfect one."

They pushed through the broken fence and approached the entrance. A heavy metal door sat slightly ajar, rusted hinges groaning as Ken forced it open.

The inside smelled like rot and something older—metal, old blood, and forgotten memories.

They were in.

The hallway was lined with broken lights and flickering panels. Some of the walls still bore peeling posters with Bright High's emblem on them, but the words had faded. The only legible one read:

"Compliance is Excellence."

Ken ignored it.

They moved deeper. Misty's flashlight beam danced over the walls as they passed old classrooms and destroyed labs. Everything was shattered or stripped clean—except for one locked door at the end of the corridor.

Room 0.

A keypad blinked red beside it. Ken stared at it, then reached into his bag and pulled out the paper-wrapped journal Berlin had given them. Inside was a small silver key.

"It won't work on this," Misty said.

Ken slid the key into the panel's side slot anyway. The light turned green.

The door hissed open.

They stepped into the room—and the past.

The room looked more like a surveillance hub than a classroom. Rows of dusty monitors lined the walls, most cracked or black. In the center was a single terminal, its screen glowing faintly.

Ken approached and tapped a key.

Static.

Then, a low hum. A robotic female voice crackled through the speaker:

"Welcome back, Subject 017.

Clearance verified.

Reestablishing access logs..."

Ken froze. The voice had called him by number.

Misty stood behind him, still as a statue.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

Ken didn't answer. He didn't know.

But the screen flickered again, revealing a list of names. Some he recognized. Some were students who had "transferred" or vanished. Others were redacted.

At the bottom of the list: DAWN.

Ken's breath hitched.

He clicked on the name.

The screen filled with files: observation logs, test results, psychological evaluations.

Subject 004: Dawn

Age at capture: 7

Memory resistance: 97%

Projected bond attachment: Subject 017 (Ken Voss)

Directive: Monitor, test, neutralize.

Misty stepped closer. "They tested you against each other."

Ken scrolled down further.

Status: Termination recommended. Outcome: Failed.

A timestamp. A location code.

Ken recognized it.

"The playground," he whispered.

"That day," Misty said softly, "wasn't an accident."

Ken nodded.

"They tried to erase him."

But Dawn had survived.

Outside, the wind howled.

Something moved in the trees.

Someone had followed them.

Ken shut the screen off and grabbed Misty's hand.

"Whatever happens next," he said, "we don't stop. We don't go back."

She squeezed his hand.

"No more perfect lies."

And they ran deeper into the dark.