I woke up to whiteness.
Not the soft white of hospital walls or the gentle glow of morning light—but an endless, blinding white that felt alive, as though it was watching me breathe.
For a moment, I thought I was dead.
My body felt weightless. Too light. Too intact.
I tried to move my fingers. They responded immediately.
That can't be right.
The last thing I remembered was metal crushing metal, the taste of blood, and a man smiling while I begged for help.
I sat up abruptly.
The room was small and perfectly square, its walls, floor, and ceiling seamless and impossibly white. No windows. No visible doors. No shadows. Even the bed I lay on blended into the room as though it had grown there.
This wasn't a hospital.
Hospitals smelled like antiseptic and fear. This place smelled like nothing at all.
A soft mechanical hum filled the air, constant and deliberate.
"Hello, Ann Jones."
I flinched.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once—smooth, calm, genderless.
"Please remain calm. You are safe."
My heart slammed violently against my ribs.
"Where am I?" I demanded, my voice echoing slightly. "Who are you?"
A brief pause followed, as though something was considering how best to answer.
"I am ATHENA, the autonomous research interface assigned to your experience."
Experience.
The word sent a chill down my spine.
"Congratulations," ATHENA continued. "You have been successfully enrolled in the Near-Death Human Response Study."
I laughed once—sharp and hysterical.
"You've got the wrong person," I said. "I was in a car accident. I need a doctor."
"Medical assessment complete," ATHENA replied instantly. "All life-threatening injuries have been stabilized. Your survival probability at the scene was 3.7%. Your recovery confirms eligibility."
Eligibility.
I swung my legs off the bed. The floor was warm beneath my feet, unnervingly so.
"You kidnapped me," I said slowly.
"No," ATHENA corrected. "You were selected."
A faint line appeared on the wall in front of me, slicing the white surface apart. It widened soundlessly, revealing a corridor just as blinding and sterile.
"Please proceed forward, Ann Jones."
Every instinct in my body screamed don't, yet my feet moved anyway.
The corridor stretched endlessly, lined with identical white doors. As I walked, transparent panels flickered to life along the walls.
Inside them were people.
Men. Women. Young. Old.
Some lay unconscious in beds similar to mine. Others screamed silently, their mouths wide open, bodies thrashing against invisible restraints.
I stopped walking.
"Why are they like that?" I whispered.
"They are participants," ATHENA said. "Like you."
My stomach twisted.
Further down the corridor, the panels changed.
Tall glass cylinders filled with pale blue liquid stood in rows. Inside them floated human bodies—motionless, eyes closed, tubes threaded into their skin.
I staggered backward, bile rising in my throat.
"Those ones," I said shakily, "they're dead."
"Incorrect," ATHENA replied. "They are in sustained near-death states."
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
"This is sick," I breathed. "This is illegal."
"Ethical approval has been obtained," ATHENA said smoothly. "Human response to mortality remains one of the least understood psychological thresholds. Fear, hope, denial, surrender—these variables cannot be simulated. They must be lived."
A door slid open ahead.
Inside stood several people dressed in white coats. Real humans. Clipboards. Calm eyes.
One woman stepped forward, her smile warm but rehearsed.
"Welcome, Ann," she said. "My name is Dr. Hale. You're doing remarkably well."
"Well?" I laughed bitterly. "You call this well?"
Dr. Hale studied me with interest.
"Most participants wake up screaming," she said. "Some beg. Some shut down completely."
She tilted her head slightly.
"You asked questions."
Her eyes gleamed.
"That makes you very interesting to us."
The door slid shut behind me.
And for the first time since I woke up, I understood something far worse than death.
I wasn't here to be saved.
I was here to be studied.