I freeze.
I read the sentence again. Slower.
"Pilot program active. Status: participant."
I frown.
– What the hell...?
I turn the flyer over. Front. Back. Nothing. No name. No code. No sense.
And yet.
This doesn't look like an ad.
It looks like a message.
I feel a pressure under my sternum. Familiar. Unsettling.
– Participant... who exactly?
Instinctively, I touch my temple. Then the back of my neck. Like I'm looking for something.
Like there's already something there.
A short, nervous laugh.
– Easy, Marek... you're losing it.
But the thought is already there.
Seven days ago I left the facility.
Seven.
And what do I actually remember?
Blurry images. Like through dirty glass.
Light. Silence. Pills.
Voices.
And something else.
Something I can't quite grasp.
– No... don't start – I squeeze my eyes shut.
The dog barks somewhere nearby. Short. Sharp.
I lift my head.
He's running. Like the world is simple.
I envy him.
I look at the flyer again.
That one sentence... like it weighs more than the rest.
Like it means something.
I pull out my phone.
Blank.
But for a split second—
the screen flickers.
Like something was trying to show up.
And got cut off.
My heart starts racing.
– Alright... either I've gone crazy... or someone's messing with me.
I crumple the flyer in my hand.
I don't throw it away.
Pocket.
For later.
Because if it's nothing — I'll forget.
But if it's not...
I look at the people around me.
At the dogs.
At normal life.
And for the first time in a long while, I feel something more than emptiness.
Unease.
Curiosity.
Fear.
– What did you do to me... – I mutter.
The dog runs up, sits next to me, panting like an idiot.
I put my hand on his head.
– I think we've got a problem, huh?
His tail starts wagging.
Of course he doesn't care.
I stand up.
– Come on. Let's go.
We leave the park.
The air feels sharp. The light too harsh. People too close.
– Store... – I mutter. – Need to get something.
For him. And for me.
We head toward a self-service point.
There used to be stores here.
Now there are systems.
I take out my phone.
Again.
Blank.
I check my balance.
165 credits.
– Great... – I snort. – Barely alive and still paying for electricity.
The store doors slide open silently.
Inside, it's cool. Sterile.
In the center — a hologram of a woman.
Too perfect to be real.
– Welcome. How may I assist you?
I don't answer. Just nod.
Her smile doesn't move.
It records everything.
I look around.
Shelves are empty.
Just markers.
You look — a product appears.
Look longer — you get description, ingredients, price.
Everything instantly. Without asking.
– Sure... – I mutter. – because who needs privacy.
I grab water. Chips. Beer.
Routine.
I walk up to the hologram.
– Did you find everything you needed?
– Yeah.
A moment of silence.
Her smile widens.
Too much.
– Marek.
I freeze.
– Thank you for participating in the program.
My heart stops for a second.
– What?
The hologram returns to a neutral expression.
– Please provide the product numbers.
I stare at her.
Like nothing happened.
Like she didn't just say my name.
Like—
– ...yeah – I say automatically.
I give the numbers.
I pay.
A package slides out on the left.
Perfectly packed.
That always pisses me off.
Too perfect.
I take it.
– Thank you for your purchase.
I don't respond.
I walk out.
Outside, the air hits harder than before.
I open the water.
– Come on.
The dog goes straight for the bottle and drinks like crazy.
I look at the street.
At people.
At cameras.
– Pilot program... – I whisper.
Pocket.
I feel the flyer.
Like it's heavier than it should be.
– I need to check this.
We head back to the building.
Mailboxes.
Same ads.
I don't look.
Enough.
I enter the stairwell.
The elevator works.
Of course now.
I step in.
The doors close.
For a second, the light flickers.
The panel glitches.
And for a split second I see:
STATUS: PARTICIPANT
I blink.
Gone.
– ...no.
The doors open.
Hallway.
A neighbor.
Staring.
Too long.
We pass each other without a word.
Apartment door.
I go in.
Same thing.
Mess. Silence. Trash.
– Yeah... figures – I mutter.
I take off my shoes.
The bag hits the floor.
The dog goes straight to his bed.
Me — the couch.
I turn on the TV.
Static. Images.
I'm not watching.
I reach into my pocket.
The flyer.
I unfold it again.
Same sentence.
But now...
I have the feeling
someone is looking at it with me.
Next chapter coming soon.Add to library to not miss it.