10

The facility's ceiling groaned above them like it was ready to collapse.

Ken stood in front of the cracked terminal, staring at the glowing name: DAWN.

The boy with white hair.

The boy they called Subject 004.

The boy who was never supposed to survive.

His fingers trembled as he tapped into the file. The screen sputtered and struggled, like even the technology was trying to keep the truth hidden.

Then the information flooded in.

Subject ID: 004 — Codename: Dawn

Age at Project Entry: 7 years

Assigned Companion: Subject 017 (Ken Voss)

Memory Retention: High

Empathy Rating: 86%

Observation Summary: Demonstrated abnormal resistance to neural rewrites. Emotional attachments formed too quickly. Failed erasure protocol twice. Recommended for decommissioning.

Status: TERMINATION INITIATED — UNCONFIRMED.

Ken stared at the word: termination.

Misty stepped closer, peering over his shoulder. "They tried to kill him."

Ken swallowed hard. The air around him felt heavier. Like all the oxygen in the room had been sucked away.

"But they failed," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "He survived."

Misty touched his arm gently. "Maybe he's still out there."

Ken nodded, but his mind was already racing. He remembered that day—the last time he saw Dawn. The boy had looked over his shoulder and smiled like he knew something Ken didn't. Like he had made peace with something before it happened.

He had never told anyone, but after Dawn disappeared, Ken had started to forget things. Not just about Dawn—but about himself. His memories felt like puzzle pieces forced into the wrong places. Sometimes they fit. Sometimes they didn't.

And now he knew why.

Subject 017.

He clicked to the next file.

His own.

Subject ID: 017 — Ken Voss

Age at Project Entry: 8 years

Memory Resistance: UNKNOWN

Neural Tampering Attempts: 5 — ALL FAILED

Classification: Outlier

Special Note: Observation required. If uncontrollable, subject must be isolated or reclassified.

There were no videos. No pictures. No notes about a family. Just cold, clinical stats.

Ken had always thought his past was a blank slate because of some trauma—some normal human pain.

But now he realized...

They had taken it.

Every piece of him that wasn't compliant.

"I'm not here by accident," he said slowly. "They put me here to watch me."

"Then they're probably watching us now," Misty whispered, her eyes shifting to the ceiling.

Ken nodded. He reached under the console and ripped out the hard drive. "We can't let this stay here. We need proof."

Misty turned and walked to one of the cabinets along the wall. She pulled it open—more files. Yellowing folders labeled with initials and numbers. But one name stuck out.

REVERIE, MISTY A. — CODE: FRACTURE

She held the file in shaking hands.

Ken stepped beside her. "You don't have to—"

"I need to," she said, and opened it.

The contents weren't just words. There were photos—of her as a toddler, playing in a room with white walls. Notes about behavioral experiments. Sleep deprivation tests. Emotional conditioning.

Subject 001.

Core Test: Emotional Suppression Rejection.

Unique Response: Falsified Joy.

Memory Rewrites: 12

Effectiveness: Temporary.

Codename Assigned: Ghost.

Final Note: Unstable but contains critical memory threads linked to Subject 004 and Subject 017. May serve as bridge between anomalies.

Misty dropped the folder.

Her mouth was slightly open, but no words came out.

"I was... the first," she said.

"You're not unstable," Ken said quickly. "They just couldn't control you."

"I didn't fake joy," she said. "I thought it was real."

Ken didn't know what to say to that.

The silence wrapped around them again, and all he could think of was how cruel it was—to build a world so perfect that no one could be real inside it.

Misty knelt and stuffed the files into her backpack. "We're not safe here anymore."

Ken nodded. "Let's move."

They exited through a rear tunnel, one carved beneath the building's foundation. The lights had long died, but Misty's flashlight cut through the black just enough to guide them.

The tunnel opened up into the forest again—this time, deeper. Wilder.

But they weren't alone.

As they stepped out into the clearing, a noise echoed from the trees.

A low, synthetic hum.

Ken spun around. "Back!"

Misty ducked, and a drone whirred past, scanning the area with a red light.

Ken grabbed a rock and hurled it upward. The impact struck the drone's camera, causing it to spiral to the ground.

They approached it cautiously.

From the shattered shell, a voice crackled through.

"If you're hearing this... they've already breached the perimeter."

It was Berlin's voice.

"I don't know how much longer I can stall them. They're activating Crow. Ravyn has switched sides. And the Board is preparing a full wipe of your files."

"If you want to survive—find Room R. Find Dawn."

Ken looked at Misty.

"They're erasing us."

Misty held his gaze. "Then we better give them something worth remembering."