Time did not behave normally in the facility.
I learned that within my first few hours there—if they were hours at all. There were no clocks. No windows. No sun to rise or fall. Light simply existed, constant and merciless, bleaching every sense of direction from my mind.
After Dr. Hale and the other researchers left, ATHENA instructed me to follow another corridor. This one opened into a large hall—wide, open, and painfully white like everything else, but filled with people.
Participants.
There were dozens of them.
They sat scattered across the room in small clusters or alone, some on long white benches, others on the floor with their backs pressed to the walls. No one spoke loudly. No one laughed. The silence here was heavier than the confinement room, thick with despair and resignation.
These were not people waiting to be rescued.
These were people who had already understood the truth.
I walked slowly, my footsteps echoing softly, afraid that any sudden movement might shatter whatever fragile calm existed. Faces turned toward me briefly—hollow eyes, sunken cheeks, expressions stripped of curiosity.
No one asked my name.
No one welcomed me.
I realized then that hope was a currency long exhausted in this place.
"Participants will now proceed to the nourishment area," ATHENA's voice announced overhead.
The word nourishment felt wrong.
We were guided into what looked like a canteen—long white tables bolted to the floor, identical stools, and a counter where food appeared through seamless openings in the wall. Everything was efficient. Sterile. Devoid of comfort.
Trays slid out silently, each holding the same meal: bland rice, protein blocks, colorless vegetables, and water.
No one complained.
That scared me more than anything else.
I sat at an empty spot, forcing myself to eat though my stomach churned. Around me, people chewed mechanically, eyes unfocused. Some stared straight ahead as though replaying memories only they could see.
"This is your first cycle, isn't it?"
The voice startled me.
I turned to see a girl about my age sitting across from me. She looked… normal. Tired, yes—but not hollow. Not shattered.
"I—yes," I said cautiously. "How did you know?"
"You still look like you expect answers," she replied softly.
Her name was Lena.
She told me she had arrived two days ago—another near-fatal accident, another miracle survival. She still flinched at sudden sounds. Still whispered to herself when she thought no one was listening. But her eyes hadn't gone empty yet.
"They break people here," she said plainly, poking at her food. "Not all at once. Slowly."
"What is this place really?" I asked.
Lena glanced around before leaning closer. "They call it a research facility. But it's more like a waiting room—for people who aren't allowed to die."
She explained the rules in a low voice.
No violence toward researchers.
No self-harm.
No refusal to participate.
"Every five days," she continued, "they run an experiment on you. Near-death scenarios. Sometimes physical. Sometimes psychological. Sometimes both."
My hands trembled.
"What happens if you refuse?"
Lena gave a sad smile. "You don't."
I swallowed hard.
"There's no escape?" I asked.
Her smile vanished completely.
"They've tested that," she said. "Doors that lead nowhere. Corridors that loop. Security systems that respond before you even think about running."
She lowered her voice even further.
"And even if you did get out… they'd let you die."
I froze.
"They won't allow death inside the program," Lena said. "But outside? That's different."
I pushed my tray away, appetite gone.
"What's the worst part?" I whispered.
Lena didn't answer immediately.
Finally, she said, "The waiting."
She looked around the canteen—the broken people, the silent chewing, the cameras tucked neatly into every corner.
"You better enjoy this rest while it lasts," she said quietly. "The days between experiments are the closest thing we get to peace."
Something shifted inside me then.
I understood that what they called rest was merely the pause between torments. I feel really scared really really scared.
Behind a reinforced glass wall overlooking the hall, two figures stood in silence.
One of them was the man from the accident.
His suit was immaculate. Not a single trace of blood. Not a single sign of guilt.
He watched the participants eat, his gaze settling briefly on Ann.
"She's adapting faster than the others," the researcher beside him remarked.
The man smiled.
Surveillance screens lined the wall beside them, displaying every angle of the hall, the corridors, the confinement rooms. Ann's face appeared on more than one screen.
"Subject potential confirmed," the man said calmly.
He folded his hands behind his back, eyes gleaming.
"Let's see how she handles her first experiment. I hope you do well my dear ", he smirk.