The Re-set

THE WHITE ROOM

The cold woke me first.

Not the cold of winter. Not the cold of a room with a broken heater. This was deeper. This was the cold of a floor that had never felt the warmth of a living body. The cold of a place that didn't want me there.

I opened my eyes.

The ceiling was white. Flat. Unbroken. No cracks. No stains. No light fixture that I could see. Just white, stretching above me like a closed lid.

I sat up slowly. My muscles ached. Not the ache of exercise. The ache of disuse. Of lying still for too long. Days. Weeks. Longer.

I looked around.

The room was circular. Perfectly round. White walls with no seams. No corners to hide in. No doors. No windows. Just a continuous curve of pale, padded surface.

In the center, a bed. A single bed with a thin mattress. Gray sheets. A metal frame. No pillow.

On the wall, a digital clock.

The numbers were red. Bright. Unnatural.

**00:91**

I stared at it.

Ninety-one minutes? Ninety-one seconds? That didn't make sense. Clocks didn't go to ninety-one. They reset after sixty. They followed rules. They made sense.

This clock made no sense.

I looked at my hands. They were my hands. I knew that much. But they looked wrong. Pale. Thin. The veins visible beneath the skin like blue rivers on a map.

I touched my face. My fingers traced my cheekbones, my jaw, my lips. The face was mine. But it felt like a mask. Something I was wearing. Something I could take off.

I couldn't remember my name.

I tried. I sat there on that cold floor, staring at my pale hands, and I tried to remember my name. Nothing came. Just silence. Just emptiness. Just the sound of my own breathing.

I stood up slowly. My legs shook. I steadied myself against the wall.

The wall was soft. Padded. Like the walls of a mental hospital. Like the walls of a room designed to keep you from hurting yourself.

I walked toward the bed. Ten steps. I counted them. One, two, three...

I reached the bed. I touched the mattress. Thin. Stained. Old.

I looked at the clock again.

**00:91**

The numbers hadn't changed.

I opened my mouth to speak. My throat was dry. My voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

"Hello?"

No answer.

"Is anyone there?"

Silence. The kind of silence that presses against your ears. The kind of silence that makes you hear your own heartbeat.

I walked to the opposite wall. Ten steps back. I pressed my ear against the padding.

Nothing. No footsteps. No voices. No machines humming in the distance.

Just silence.

I pressed my palm against the wall. The padding gave slightly. Like skin. Like flesh.

I pulled my hand back quickly.

I looked at my arm. The sleeve of my jumpsuit was rolled up. I hadn't noticed. I had been wearing a gray jumpsuit. No shoes. No socks. Just the jumpsuit and my own pale skin.

And on that pale skin, I saw the marks.

Scars. Old ones. White lines that crisscrossed my forearm like a map I couldn't read. I traced them with my finger. Some were long. Some were short. Some were raised. Some were flat.

I couldn't remember how I got them.

Then I saw something else.

Beneath the scars, carved into my skin, were words. In my own handwriting. I knew it was mine. I recognized the shape of the letters. The way the 't' crossed. The way the 's' curved.

I read them.

**"Don't trust the voice. The body is under the bed."**

I stared at them. I read them again.

**"The body is under the bed."**

I looked at the bed. The thin mattress. The metal frame. The gray sheets.

I didn't want to look under it. Something in my gut told me to stay away. Something in my gut whispered: *"Don't. Don't. Don't."*

But I had to know.

I knelt down. My knees pressed against the cold floor. I leaned forward. I looked under the bed.

Darkness. Nothing visible. Just shadows.

I reached my hand underneath. My fingers touched the floor. Smooth. Cold. Same as the rest of the room.

No body.

I pulled my hand back. I exhaled. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath.

I looked at my arm again. The words were still there.

**"The body is under the bed."**

Not *was*. *Is*. Present tense.

I looked under the bed again. This time, I saw something.

A crack. A hairline fracture in the floor. A perfect rectangle, barely visible.

A panel.

I ran my fingers along the crack. The edges were clean. Precise. Like they had been cut with a laser.

I tried to lift it. It didn't move.

I tried again. Harder. My fingers slipped. I tried a third time.

It lifted.

A small panel. A square of the floor, about the size of a shoebox. I pulled it aside.

Beneath it, there was darkness. A hole. A hollow space beneath the floor.

I leaned closer. I looked down.

The smell hit me first. Earth. Rot. Something old. Something that had been down there for a long time.

Then I saw it.

A face. Pale. Still. Eyes open. Staring up at me.

My face. My eyes. My nose. My mouth.

A body. My body. Lying beneath the floor, looking up at me.

I screamed.

I fell backward. My back hit the bed frame. I scrambled away. My heart pounded. My breath came in gasps. My hands shook.

I looked at the hole. The face was still there. Still staring. Still pale. Still mine.

I pressed myself against the wall. The soft padding. The fleshy padding. I pressed myself against it like I was trying to disappear into it.

*"That's my body,"* I thought. *"That's me. Under the floor."*

But if that was me under the floor...

Then who was I?

I looked at my hands again. The scars. The carved message.

**"Don't trust the voice. The body is under the bed."**

I didn't know what voice they meant. There was no voice here. Just me. Just my breathing. Just my heartbeat.

Then the speaker crackled.

Static. Then a voice. Calm. Neutral. Clinical.

**"Good morning, Rami. Today is day one. You are here to heal. Trust the process."**

I looked up. The speaker was embedded in the ceiling. I hadn't noticed it before. Now I saw it. Small. Black. Hidden in the white.

"Rami," I said. "Is that my name?"

**"Yes. You chose this place. You volunteered for this process. You wanted to forget."**

"Forget what?"

**"I cannot tell you. That would break the process."**

"Break the process?" I laughed. A dry, hollow laugh. "I don't even know what the process is."

**"The reset. Every hour, your mind is wiped clean. You start again. You have been here for one thousand and ninety-six days."**

I stared at the clock. 00:91.

"One thousand and ninety-six days," I repeated. "That's three years. I've been here for three years?"

**"You have. But you don't remember. You never do. Every hour, you wake up. Every hour, you ask the same questions. Every hour, I give the same answers."**

I looked at the hole in the floor. The face was still there. Still staring.

"If I've been here for three years," I said slowly, "then who is that? Under the floor?"

**"That is not your concern."**

"It's my face. My body. That is my concern."

**"You are seeing things. Stress can cause hallucinations."**

I shook my head. "I'm not hallucinating. I saw it. I touched it. It's real."

**"You are not in a state to judge what is real. Return to the bed. Close your eyes. We will start again."**

"No."

**"I am not asking."**

I looked at the clock. The numbers had changed.

**00:45**

Forty-five minutes. I had forty-five minutes before the reset. Forty-five minutes before I forgot everything.

I looked at the hole again. The face was still there. Still staring. But now the mouth was moving.

Silent words.

I leaned closer. I watched the lips.

*"Don't believe him,"* the face said. *"He is the reset."*

I looked up at the speaker.

"Who are you?" I asked. "What are you?"

**"I am the voice that guides you. I am neutral. I am the process."**

"You're not neutral. You told me not to look. You told me the body wasn't real. That's not neutral. That's a lie."

**"I do not lie."**

"Then what is under the floor?"

**"You are not ready to know."**

"Tell me."

**"No."**

I stood up. I walked to the hole. I knelt down. I reached my hand into the darkness.

I touched the face.

Cold. Waxen. But real. Real skin. Real bone. Real flesh beneath the cold.

I pulled my hand back. I looked at my fingers. There was dirt on them. Real dirt. From under the floor.

"I touched it," I said. "It's real."

**"You are making a mistake."**

"Maybe. But it's my mistake to make."

I looked at my arm again. The carved message was still there.

**"Don't trust the voice."**

I didn't trust it. I didn't trust any of it. The room. The clock. The voice. The body.

I trusted only one thing: the man who carved those words into his own skin. The man I used to be.

And that man wanted me to look.

I looked at the hole again. The body was still there. Still staring. Still smiling now.

I smiled back.

"Okay," I said. "I'll remember."

**"You can't."**

I looked at the clock. 00:15.

Fifteen minutes left.

I sat down on the edge of the bed. I closed my eyes. I tried to remember.

Nothing.

I tried again. Nothing.

I opened my eyes. I looked at the clock. 00:10.

Ten minutes.

"You said I volunteered," I said. "Why would I volunteer to forget?"

**"Because the old you was broken. The old you wanted to be erased."**

"What did I do?"

**"That is not relevant."**

"It's relevant to me."

**"It doesn't matter. You will forget again in ten minutes."**

I looked at the hole. The body was still smiling.

"Maybe I don't want to forget," I said.

**"You don't have a choice."**

I lay down on the floor. Not on the bed. On the floor. I pressed my cheek against the cold surface.

"If I'm not on the bed," I said, "will the reset still work?"

**"It will work anywhere."**

"Then why is there a bed?"

**"To make you comfortable."**

I laughed again. "You don't make people comfortable. You make them forget."

I looked at the clock. 00:05.

Five minutes.

I closed my eyes. I felt the cold floor against my cheek. I felt the weight of my body. I felt the scars on my arm. The carved words.

**"The body is under the bed."**

"Hey," I said. "The voice. Is it you?"

**"I am the voice."**

"No. The other one. The one under the floor."

**"There is no other voice."**

I opened my eyes. The clock showed 00:03.

Three minutes.

I looked at the hole. The body was gone. The space beneath the floor was empty.

I sat up. I crawled to the hole. I looked down.

Nothing. Just darkness. Just dirt.

The body was gone.

"Where did it go?" I asked.

**"You are losing time. The reset is coming."**

I looked at the clock. 00:02.

Two minutes.

I looked at my arm. The carved words were still there.

I touched them. I traced them. I felt them.

**"Don't trust the voice."**

**"The body is under the bed."**

"Hey," I said. "Wherever you are. Who you are. The old me. The one who carved these words. I see you. I hear you. And I don't believe him."

**"Don't—"**

"I don't believe you."

**"You are making a mistake."**

"Maybe. But I'm making it."

I closed my eyes. I waited.

The clock reached 00:00.

The light went out.

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**END OF CHAPTER 1**

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**Written by: Bavly Hany Roushdy**

Brand: BeboDev