The tension from the pub still clung to me as I sat in my room, staring at my laptop screen. My thoughts kept circling back to Wilburt, to the Oculus Aeternum, and to the dark undercurrent that Hana had finally revealed. The Art Academy wasn't just a prestigious university—it was a cover for something far worse. And Wilburt's disappearance was proof that they were willing to do anything to keep their secrets.
I should have felt safe here, in the familiar surroundings of my own home. But something gnawed at me. I hadn't told anyone where we had been tonight, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on me. Watching. Waiting.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed on the desk beside me, breaking through the silence. I glanced at the screen—unknown number. I hesitated for a moment, my gut instinct screaming at me to ignore it, but curiosity got the better of me.
The message was short, only three words: "We're watching you."
My heart skipped a beat. I stood up, pacing around the room, feeling the walls close in. My hands trembled as I reread the message, trying to steady my breathing. Who was watching? Was it the scientists? The people behind the Oculus Aeternum?
A second message pinged before I could respond: "Stop asking questions. You're next."
A cold sweat broke out across my skin. I rushed to the window, yanking the curtains aside and peering out into the street below. Everything looked normal—the quiet hum of traffic, the faint glow of streetlights—but the message had flipped a switch in my brain. I was no longer safe.
I tried calling Hana, but there was no answer. My fingers fumbled as I typed a quick message, hoping she would respond: "I just got a message. Someone's watching me. Call me back."
While waiting for her reply, I sat back down and opened my laptop. I needed to focus. Maybe the message was just a scare tactic—a way to throw me off track. But something about it felt too deliberate, too targeted. If they were watching me, they knew I was close to something.
I forced myself to take a deep breath, clearing my head. Then, without thinking, I typed the words "Oculus Aeternum human trials" into the search bar.
At first, nothing but irrelevant news articles and academic research papers appeared—generic information on the ethics of bionic research, opinions from scholars on how far humanity should push scientific boundaries. But then I found something—buried in a forum deep in the web.
It was a post, dated a few years back, from an anonymous user: "They're testing on people. Art students, tech prodigies, anyone who fits their profile. The Oculus Aeternum isn't just a design—it's a real experiment. And people are disappearing."
My pulse quickened as I clicked the link. The post was followed by a long thread, comments from other users confirming rumors of human trials. The stories were fragmented, but they all painted a chilling picture. The Oculus Aeternum wasn't some art exhibit—it was part of a dangerous, underground program to push the limits of human biology. And the test subjects? Students, just like me.
I scrolled down, my eyes widening with every post. They were talking about memory loss, neurological damage, complete blindness in failed trials. But the worst part—some of the students had never been seen again.
My stomach turned as I thought about Wilburt. Had he known all of this? Was he trying to stop it? Is that why they took him?
Another notification. I checked my phone again—another message from the unknown number: "Last chance. Run."
Run. The words echoed in my head. Whoever was sending these messages, they weren't bluffing. I had to get out of here. But where could I go? I glanced at my laptop one last time, noticing a final comment on the thread: "They use GPS tracking. If you've been marked, they'll find you."
Panic seized me. If they were tracking me, there was no way I could escape. I felt like a rat trapped in a maze, with no way out. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls pressing in.
I grabbed my bag, stuffing in essentials—my phone, laptop, a few clothes. I had no idea where I was going, but staying here was no longer an option. Just as I zipped my bag shut, my phone buzzed again. This time, it was Hana.
"Get out of there," she said, her voice tense. "I just got your message. If they've made contact, you're in danger. I'll meet you at the safe house."
"Safe house?" I asked, my voice shaking.
"There's a place my dad used to use when things got messy with his work. It's secure, off the grid. I'll send you the address—get there fast. We'll figure this out."
Her words hit me like a lifeline, pulling me from the edge of panic. I could trust Hana. She had a plan.
"Okay," I said, my voice steadier now. "I'm leaving."
As I stepped out of my room, I noticed a car parked at the end of the street—a dark sedan I hadn't seen before. Its headlights flickered on as I walked out the front door, the engine quietly idling.
They were watching me.
I hurried down the street, my pulse racing. The sedan didn't follow, but I could feel the eyes on me. Every sound felt amplified, every shadow threatening. My phone buzzed again, and this time, it was a notification from Hana with the address of the safe house.
I had no choice. They had marked me for their next trial—just like the others. And if I didn't move fast, I'd disappear just like them.