A low hum vibrated through the air like the distant buzz of a powerline. His eyes flickered open, unfocused at first, then shot wide with confusion. He lay flat on his back, staring up at an endless void — no clouds, no ceiling, just infinite, colorless nothing. It felt less like a room and more like a space that had forgotten how to be anything at all.
He shifted, and a cool, slick sensation touched his skin. Beneath him, the ground wasn't ground at all. It rippled like liquid silver, smooth but constantly shifting. He blinked slowly, trying to process it, but his thoughts were like static-filled radio signals. No memories. No context. Where am I? How did I get here?
The silence didn't last. It never does.
FWHOOOM!
Fire. Fire from every direction. Waves of orange and gold swept over the metallic sea, consuming everything in an instant. The air boiled with blistering heat, searing his lungs with every frantic gasp. He tried to scream, but it came out as a choked, breathless wheeze. Too hot. Too hot. His body wouldn't move. His chest felt crushed beneath the weight of something unseen.
MOVE! His mind screamed at his muscles, but they refused. Flames licked at his legs, crawling up his bare flesh like thousands of biting insects. The stench of charred meat hit him like a punch to the face. It was sharp. Nauseating. His meat. His flesh.
His heart thudded like a war drum, panic clawing at him from every angle. MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! But he couldn't. The fire claimed his arms, chest, face — every inch of him caught in a storm of pain. I refuse to die. His teeth clenched, eyes wild and full of rage. I refuse to die!
Then, it stopped.
The fire vanished.
The crushing weight disappeared.
He shot up, gasping for air like a drowning man breaking the surface. His chest heaved with every breath, sweat pouring from his face. He dropped to one knee, clawing at his throat as if something were still choking him. Cold air. It's cold. He sucked it in, sharp and biting like winter wind.
A sharp pain exploded in his skull like nails being driven in from the inside. He winced, eyes squeezing shut as he pressed his palm to his temple. His head pulsed with every beat of his heart. He staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunk man, his other arm limp at his side. The ground beneath him felt solid now. No more liquid silver, just cold, smooth tile.
It was a dream. The thought surfaced slowly, like it didn't belong to him. It was just a dream.
He glanced down at his hands, turning them over. No burns. No scars. Just skin. Normal. It wasn't real. His breath came slow, long and steady. His heart was still racing, but it was slowing. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. But it felt real.
That's when it hit him.
Where am I?
He turned, taking in his surroundings. The room was a narrow rectangle. Cold. Sterile. Dim. A single caged light bulb flickered from the ceiling, barely bright enough to push back the shadows. Its glow pulsed weakly, like a dying heartbeat.
The floor beneath him was a checkerboard of white and gray tiles so clean he could see himself staring back. His reflection was warped, twisted like a funhouse mirror, but he could still see the details. Bare feet. Bare chest. Bare everything.
Why am I naked?
The walls were cold concrete, rough and unmoving. No seams. No cracks. Just four solid, unwelcoming slabs of gray. The air stank of bleach and chemicals, sharp enough to make his nose wrinkle. A single steel door stood at the far end of the room, plain and featureless except for the small keypad on the side.
Hospital?
No. I've never been to a hospital.
…Right?
A chill slithered down his spine. Something about the smell. Something about the light. It was familiar, but not in a way he liked.
Why can't I remember?
He pressed his palms to his temples, fingers curling in frustration. Think. THINK. His name. Everyone remembers their name, right? He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping something—anything—would come back to him. Static flickered behind his eyes like an old TV set searching for a signal. His skull throbbed harder, teeth clenched, but still… nothing.
Who am I?
A crackle of static hissed through the air, loud and sharp. His eyes shot open, head snapping toward the sound. His gaze locked onto a metal intercom box, barely visible near the ceiling, next to a steel chute that jutted from the wall.
"Subject 0173, advance to Testing Area A."
His breath hitched. "What the hell does that mean?!" His voice was raw, sharp with confusion. He took a shaky step forward, eyes locked on the intercom like it might answer him. "Subject 0173? What is that?! What are you talking about?!"
"Subject 0173, advance to Testing Area A."
"HEY!" he yelled, heart racing again. His chest rose and fell with every sharp breath. He bolted toward the intercom, hand slamming against the cold metal. "Hey! Who are you?! Why can't I remember anything?!" His voice cracked with desperation. Silence. The only sound was his ragged breathing, bouncing off the cold concrete walls. "Don't ignore me, you piece of—"
"You are not human," the voice said, calm and cold as frostbite. "You are Subject 0173. Advance."
He recoiled like he'd been slapped. "The hell I'm not human! I'm standing right here, aren't I?!"
"Advance or die, 0173."
Her voice was flat. Dull. The kind of voice you'd hear from someone counting down your last seconds.
"You're lying," he said, his breath shallow. "You're lying!"
"You are disposable. If you refuse, Subject 0174 will replace you."
His stomach twisted like he'd been kicked in the gut. Another one. Another me. Another number.
He doubled over, dry heaving. Acid surged up his throat, bile splattering across the clean tiles. The sharp, sour stink mingled with the sterile air. He wiped his mouth, heart still racing, eyes locked on the single steel door.
Advance or die.
His breathing slowed, but his eyes never left the door. His fingers twitched at his sides, clenching into fists, releasing, then clenching again. His gaze sharpened like a blade being drawn from its sheath. No choice, huh? He took a slow, steadying breath.
He stepped forward, one slow step at a time. His heart was steady now. Cold. Focused. His fingers curled around the steel knob. It was colder than the air. Unforgiving. Merciless. He twisted it, his face stone cold as he pulled it open.
Whatever's on the other side...
I'm ready for it.