A bead of water dripped from Ephraim's spectacles. The distant dripping of water he had heard when he was unconscious was now ringing to his ears as he stared intently towards the glass pane. A red text had appeared with the sound of an error that made him gape as he fixes his eyes to the entirety.
Unauthorized access.
"What the hell . . ." He exclaims and then examines the red text slowly disappearing. Ephraim for a moment, stood motionless. It took him a second or two before he sauntered forward—to touch the glass pane separating the lagoon to the laboratory.
He feels his palms touching the cold glass, familiarizing its texture, and its wintry feel to his skin. Again, the red text appeared. It seemed to be etched within the glass, like a hologram.
"Technology," Ephraim exclaims, tying the cloth to his head. He proceeded to draw his journal from the belt. The water did not soak it much, fortunately. It seems like the leather protected the journal's contents.
[It seems like this is a laboratory.] He writes. [Perchance it is a guinea-pig lab for a simulation experiment. I must confirm with my team members for more information.]
Ephraim sketches the space.
[. . . unauthorized access . . .] He writes the glass in his drawing. [When I bumped into and touched the glass, a red text appeared; it seemed like the glass itself detects skin; and thus, making fingerprint analysis possible.]
Ephraim tried to touch the glass with a cloth. The red text did not appear.
[Analysis: the glass pane doesn't seem to detect cloth]
Ephraim walked to the other end of the glass, to his right. He then sees more of the place and more of the lab; it appears to him there was only a glass separating the laboratory from the lagoon. Ephraim stared at the ground; it was covered in a mossy cobblestone path, with vines etched with flowers crawling to the ground and to the walls.
The place was obviously for simulation.
He was speculating—yet again. The laboratory had had a wide glass pane made to observe the entirety of the "jungle"—and this wasn't uncommon in laboratories for research.
For research . . .
Ephraim immediately wrote down his analysis.
That's right—he was searching for research!
ANDROMEDA's research—
His eyes lit up, but they quickly died down—he realized he was being too hasty. It was too early to conclude things. Ephraim walked and scrutinized every detail he could find. It took him a while before he reached something he was familiar with.
CCTV cameras.
"Hello!" He exclaims. "I—I'm trapped here!"
No answer. The CCTV didn't look like it was operating.
Ephraim sighed. Who was he kidding? ANDROMEDA was long abandoned. It was uninhibited in the late 70s, approaching the 80s until it completely shut down for good. There was no way the CCTVs still functioned—
Blink.
Ephraim blinked. Again.
Blink.
The lights in the camera were blinking; its red light was blinking.
"H-hello!" He says, "I'm trapped here! I need help!"
The camera still blinked for a moment, until small red light focused and remained still.
"H-hello?"
{Hi!}
"Hello . . .?" Ephraim scowled in confusion, as he turned sideways, searching for the source of the voice.
{It's been a while since someone visited. . .}
"Visited. . . ." Ephraim frowned. "Who are you? Where are you, rather? I need help, you see I got here and I don't remember anything that happened—I have a task force, and we're searching for something; I'm also injured—"
{First thing first,} the voice says gleefully, interrupting Ephraim mid-sentence.
{What year is it? I'm guessing I slept for about thirty-five, long, tiring years.}
"Thirty-five . . ." Ephraim shook his head, as he turns around to find the source of the voice. And that's when he realized—
The voice came from everywhere.
The whole place was ringing with that voice.
{So? What year is it?} The voice asks; it was the voice of a naïve child asking so innocently.
"2020," Ephraim answers, and then he held his pen firmly and wrote down.
[Analysis: A childlike, honeyed vocal sound belonging to a female spoken to me, saying she had slept for 35 years; asking what year it i—]
{What are you writing down, Mister?} The voice asks. {It seems like you're taking notes? Are you one of the M31 crew?}
"M31 . . . crew?" Ephraim asks the voice.
{ANDROMEDA,} the voice says. {The ones who are tasked to research M31,}
"Research M31?" Ephraim frowns. ". . . you mean . . . Andromeda Galaxy?"
{Precisely. Messier 31. Andromeda Galaxy}
"What . . . in the world . . . can you get me out here?" Ephraim says. "Show yourself!"
{Aye, if I could do that I would; but my programming is botched now. I cannot appear to be a Hologram, even if I wanted to!}
"H-hologram . . .?"
{My system is botched by the M33 crew, Triangular Galaxy team! Ah! But they didn't shut me down, that's what matters. But I hate them, still!}
Ephraim, although confused, continued to speak. "I . . . how can I get out?"
{Aah, I know people hate listening to my sentiments. They've been like that since the 70s~} the voice says. {I can't help you get out of the CELL.}
"This is a cell . . .?"
{More like a room for the SUBJECTS.} The voice giggled. {I won't be able to get you out if I don't have my body with me.}
"Where can I get your body?"
{That's what I'm talking about!} The childish voice giggled. {First, you must program me again.}
"Program . . . you?"
{My system is botched, and I'm nothing but a mere fragment of the real me.} It says. {The real me used to be a Hologram made by cosmonauts and astronauts, as well as engineers and scientists. I know my configuration for consciousness, yet M33 crew botched my Hologram program. . .}
Peculiar as it seems, Ephraim started to understand the talking voice. "So I have to reprogram your Hologram configuration . . ."
{Smart one, eh?} The voice says. {But yes, you're right!}
"Tell me what to do," Ephraim exclaims.
{That's the spirit~} the voice says in a sing-song manner. {Well firstly, you have to get something . . .}
**
"Push more!"
"Aah! Yes! We can do it!"
"More, more!"
"One, two . . . and three!"
Both Esmeralda and Samuel winced and grunted as they exerted a full force to their arms. They screamed and groaned when they noticed the block did not even budge. Esmeralda collapsed to the ground, sitting down with her palms supporting her torso.
"It's not doing anything!" Esmeralda exclaims.
"Damn it," Samuel says, punching the fallen concrete. "We're not even leaving a dent."
"Aah! Why do you have to be so small!" Esmeralda says.
"Coming from you, Hag!" Samuel grunts. "Damn it! We're not the best combination here!"
Esmeralda and Samuel had been pushing the blocks for a while. They had been pushing with all their might, but it was futile. Both of them had small statures and lean bodies. It was far from possible to move ginormous fallen concretes with their manpower.
It was futile.
Samuel soon sat beside Esmeralda, breathing heavily. His sweat had mixed with dust and concrete powder—the two of them looking worn out, tired, and dirty.
"Ack!"
Esmeralda blinks, as she sees Samuel clutch his injured arm. The bandaged had now reddened—
"Stupid! You opened your wound!" Esmeralda exclaims, "don't move!"
Esmeralda instantaneously shuffled through her equipment, and then she reapplied a bandage to Samuel's arm, reworking the old one. She wiped alcohol to his wounds before doing so, with gaze fixated around the injured arm. She almost didn't hear Samuel's wince.
"I-I'm sorry," Esmeralda says. "Does that hurt?"
"No," Samuel exclaims. "I can handle it."
Samuel's arm had veins protruding and was fair. He had thin hair enveloping his forearm and a delicately toned muscle. Esmeralda admired it for a while until she finished reapplying the bandage.
"Your arm is good," Esmeralda paused, "I mean good to go!"
Samuel tilted his head, "thanks."
"Y-yeah," Esmeralda awkwardly replies.
"We're gonna die here, huh?" Samuel says. "Damn rescue'll be slow, we'll be dead before help arrives."
"Don't be too pessimistic!" Says Esmeralda. "That beeper—can you hear it? There's still hope,"
"I hope we can get through these blocks before the blocks get through the freaking beeper, or the blocks get through us. It's all the other way round." Samuel exclaims. "We have to hurry."
"But h-how . . ." Esmeralda says. "We've been pushing the blocks so hard, but there's nothing happening."
"You bet," Samuel laughs, which died down shortly. "Damn it, I can't think of anything."
Esmeralda sighs. "I know . . . you're a researcher, not an escape artist."
"Wait . . ." Samuel murmurs.
"And I'm a biologist! Plants and animals are my forte, not concrete! Not escape! Not critical thinking!"
"Wait a sec . . ." Samuel says.
"I don't know what we'll do! We're not the best combination around—"
"Yeah! Right! That's right!" Samuel exclaims.
"H-hey, you didn't have to tell me so cheerfully that we're not the best combination around," says Esmeralda. "A-although I'm the one who said it first—but still, you know it's—"
"No, idiot!" Samuel exclaims. "It's not that! I am a researcher with a good memory!"
". . .and?"
Samuel frowned. "You can't guess from that?"
Esmeralda shook her head.
"Fine!" Samuel sighs, and then grins.
"I have a good retention rate," he says. "If I can't reverse engineer the circuits,"
"Then . . . ?"
"Then maybe," Samuel says. "I could reverse engineer the concrete?"
Silence.
". . . is that a joke?" Esmeralda says. "I-it's not funny, Shorty! I know it's making you panic, but don't get crazy!"
"Stupid! I'm not going crazy!" Samuel says. "Weird as it sounds, I have a good photographic memory. I watched the pillars fall!"
"Sam . . . a-are you really going—"
"No, are you freakin' serious?" Samuel sighs. "In short! I can imagine in reverse how they fell."
"So . . .?"
"Ah, stupid minds can't get the meat of the text sooner," Samuel says. "In simpler terms, like Lego, I could break it down. I could reverse the memory in my mind."
Esmeralda's eyes widened, pointing to Samuel as she realizes what he was trying to point out. "And like Lego . . .!"
"Yes!" Samuel nodded. "And like Lego, I could see where are the parts that could lead us an easier path to escape!"
Esmeralda beamed—
At least for a second.
"But we still need manpower . . ." Says Esmeralda. "It's useless."
"Aha," Samuel exclaims. "That's why we need another aftershock."
"What?"
"Yes," he says. "It's our only shot."
"I don't get it—"
"While the rocks are shaking," Samuel says. "We can use the magnitude of the earthquake to our advantage."
"Now you're going crazy!"
"Aha, am I?" Samuel laughed. "Well, listen, crazy is the only last choice we'll have, Uncharismatic hag! It's better than dying, right?"
Esmeralda sighed. "Fine,"
"That's the spirit," Samuel says. "If they can't help us,"
"Then we'll help them!" Esmeralda finishes. "Now, what should we do?"
"First," Samuel exclaims. "We must find the space closer to a wider space. The rock which fell to Ephraim."
"The rock which fell to Ephraim?"
"Yes," he says. "We'll have to deduce. Which of the concrete will be brittle enough to crumble in another wave of aftershock? We need to give it a shot,"
"Or else?"
"Or else, we'll die," Samuel says. "That's the only choice we have. If help doesn't come, then we'll be the one to help."
Esmeralda nodded. "Okay!"