Diver

I first remember feeling wet. Then, blinded by some holy light.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hands over them. The first years of my life faded into the darkness of my palms. The years I thought I had spent inside that house melted into mere minutes.

What did my mother look like?

Where am I?

Where was I?

I peeked through the cracks between my fingers, but the light was too powerful. I was naked. My hands trembled as I rubbed my eyes, desperate to force them to adjust. Before I could react, two hands clamped around my wrists and wrenched them away from my face. I tried to scream. How do you scream? My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Something sharp plunged into my neck.

Falling.

I don’t remember being thrown. My stomach lurched, the weight of my own body collapsing in on itself. My limbs flailed against nothing. Am I still falling?

Then, suddenly, I landed.

A hard, cold surface. No light. No sound. I was no longer naked. My breathing came in shallow, frantic bursts. How long had it been? I pressed my hands against the ground, trying to ground myself in something real.

The house surrounded by glass.

I was on the outside.

A creak split through the silence, and a sliver of light bled into the room. A figure loomed in the doorway, draped in long, flowing black silks. Their head was wrapped tightly in cloth, concealing their features. My breath hitched. I looked down at myself—gray smock, gray slippers.

The figure didn’t move.

What is it waiting for?

I clenched my fists without realizing it. My body felt unfamiliar, as if it didn’t belong to me. Slowly, I lifted my gaze to meet the figure’s face. Two sunken holes stared back.

“He... hello—” My voice cracked, raw and unfamiliar.

“Come.”

The word sliced through my skull. I saw no mouth move beneath the cloth, yet I heard it—inside my head.

“Now.”

The voice was deep, male, but hollow, as if it came from somewhere far away. He stepped forward. I stepped back. But my feet betrayed me, propelling me forward as he turned and walked into the hallway.

Endless.

The corridor stretched infinitely in both directions, lined with identical doors. No markings. No signs. Just repetition. The overhead lights cast a dim, artificial glow, yet the air felt thick with shadow. My own footsteps echoed in the silence.

The figure made no sound.

We walked forever. My legs were weak, stiff—new. I tried to grasp onto memories of the house in my mind, but they slipped away like water through my fingers.

Then, the figure stopped. I nearly crashed into him.

A door. No different from the rest.

It swung open.

The figure turned its hollow gaze on me. My throat tightened.

“In.”

The command rumbled through my skull. I didn’t choose to move—I simply obeyed. The door slammed shut behind me.

I turned.

My knees buckled.

Metal slabs.

Bodies.

A machine towered in the center of the room, lined with thick hoses as wide as a human head. My breath came in ragged gasps. The walls seemed to close in. My back hit the door.

This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

I buried my head in my knees. My chest heaved. A sob tore from my throat, then another, then another.

I was dead. This was death.

Crying felt pointless after a while.

Look up. Just fucking look.

My body trembled as I lifted my head. My stomach clenched. The bodies—were breathing. Shallow, steady. Relief flickered through me, then quickly faded. The machine in the center loomed, its many tubes hanging above each metal slab, waiting.

A voice.

Not the man’s. Not mine.

Instructions flooded my mind.

First, frisk and undress the patient. All items must be disposed of in the incinerator.

I clutched my head. Stop! My skull throbbed as if my mind was being pried open and filled with something foreign.

You will not be let out until the job is done.

The words repeated, hammering into my brain.

“You will not be let out until the job is done.”

“You will not be let out until the job is done.”

“OK!” I shouted. The room fell silent again.

I turned in circles, searching for the figure. The room was empty. Only the machine. Only the bodies.

I stepped toward one of them. A woman—older than me.

Collect all clothes and items and immediately dispose of them into the incinerator.

I shook my head. No. No, I won’t do this.

But my hands moved.

I unlaced her shoes. Removed her smock. Her eyelids twitched, her eyes darting beneath them. Are they asleep?

My feet carried me to the machine. A chute opened along its side. I placed the clothes inside.

The world tilted. My head swam, my vision doubling. I’m not in control.

I pressed another button. A deep buzz rattled through the room. The chute sealed shut. A whirring sound filled the air. A red light turned green.

The incinerator.

A whisper curled through my mind.

Touch her.

I turned sharply, as if expecting to find someone else in the room. No one.

Just me.

Just the machine.

Just the hose hanging above her face.

Attach the hose.

“What?” The word slipped out before I could stop it. I clapped a hand over my mouth. Great, I’m talking to myself now. I’ve lost it.

What does it do?

I hesitated before pressing the suction mask over the woman’s face. My breath shook. Her chest still rose and fell in steady rhythm. Am I going to kill her?

Without thinking, my feet carried me back to the machine. My fingers moved as if guided by something else, pressing a sequence of buttons. A loud buzz. The light above the hose flickered from green to orange.

The machine whirred, louder than before, a deep droning sound with a steady thump like a heartbeat. I stared at the orange light, unable to move. The noise pressed closer, as if the machine itself was leaning over me, breathing down my neck.

A final buzz.

I flinched, stumbling backward. The noise stopped. The light turned green.

Don’t look.

Why?

Remove the hose.

My feet moved again, betraying me, taking me back to the woman.

Don’t look.

What had I done?

Don’t look.

I reached around blindly, fumbling for the release switch on the suction mask. A hiss of air. The fog inside the mask cleared.

Don’t look.

I opened my eyes.

Her face was gone.

I staggered back, dropping the hose. My stomach twisted in knots. I couldn’t stop looking. Her features had vanished, smoothed over like wet clay. Only two dark pits remained where her eyes should be. Yet—her chest still rose and fell. She was alive.

Touch her.

No.

The machine beeped, and a hidden panel slid open, revealing a small computer screen. Green text scrolled across black:

Charge: Traitorous Behavior. Reconditioning Required.

My stomach churned. What was traitorous behavior? My mind came up empty, as if the answer had been wiped from me. Like I had three people inside my head. Me. The one who knew the what was going on. And something else.

I turned to the next patient. An older man. My hands moved on their own, stripping him of his clothes. He was wearing a blazer—odd compared to the others. As I carried it to the incinerator, something clattered to the floor. A disc.

All items must be disposed of.

I crouched down and turned it over. Words were scrawled in black ink:

Chopin Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor. By Lilly.

My breath hitched. A name.

Is she Lilly?

Hide it.

My head snapped up. The faceless woman hadn’t moved. I swallowed hard and set the disc on the table, planning to decide later.

Clank!

I whipped around.

The noise came from the other side of the machine.

I turned slowly, my pulse hammering.

Footsteps.

I pressed myself against the machine. They’ve come to get me.

“I’m getting rid of it!” I yelled, grabbing the disc and bolting toward the incinerator.

The footsteps grew faster. Closer.

A shadow moved.

Black silk.

I stopped breathing.

The figure approached, silent and massive, until it was close enough for me to see—

A boy?

He wasn’t wearing the hood. His face was young, pale, his blue eyes sunken. Before I could react, his hands shot out, seizing my arm and twisting it behind my back.

I screamed. He shoved me against the table, pinning me down. My head brushed against the old man’s cold skin. I struggled, but his grip was iron.

He pointed.

I gasped for breath, barely able to move. He tightened his hold, forcing my gaze in the direction he wanted.

Another table.

With a young boy.

He shoved me forward, forcing me toward the other boy’s table, his grip twisting my arm tighter with every step.

We reached the table, and just when I thought he might let go, he twisted my arm once more before releasing it. But the relief was short-lived. His hand clamped around the back of my neck, shoving me forward until my face was inches from the boy’s still form.

He snapped his fingers beside my ear. Once. Twice. Again. Pointing to the boy on the slab. Each sharp pop sent jolts down my spine. Then came the pounding—his fist slamming against the metal table, over and over. My flinches only seemed to spur him on.

What do you want?

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes. He wouldn’t stop. The relentless snapping, the hammering against the table—it rattled in my skull until I thought I’d lose my mind.

“What do you want me to do? Just tell me, please!” I choked out, breaking free-whipping around to face him.

For the first time, he hesitated. His fingers twitched at his sides as if he was trying to decide something. Then, instead of answering, he grabbed my shoulders and turned me back toward the body.

No. Not this again.

“Let go!” I screamed, the force of it ripping through me. l. I felt a surge of energy, my head pulsated, and my eyes burned.

And just like that—he let go.

I stumbled back, my fists clenched, chest heaving. His expression shifted, confusion flickering in his sunken blue eyes. The pounding in my skull faded, replaced by an eerie coldness that spread behind my eyes.

My rage was gone.

Was I... crying?

“What do you want?” I asked again, my voice barely above a whisper.

He just stared, like he was calculating something. Then, in a frantic motion, he rummaged his pockets.

I should run.

Run.

Instead, my feet stayed planted.

A glint of metal.

My stomach dropped.

He pulled out a knife.

I stumbled backward. He wasn’t coming for me—he was waving his free hand, slamming the table to get my attention.

Then, in one sharp motion, he dragged the blade across his own palm.

What the fuck?

Blood pooled in his hand. He crouched down, dipping a finger in the crimson, and began to write on the floor.

W... A... K... E... H... I... M.

Wake him?

He stood and turned toward me. His bloodied hand still gripped the knife.

I backed up, but my body felt sluggish, heavy.

He walked towards me, raising the blade to my throat.

I froze. His blue eyes locked onto mine, then flicked toward his message on the floor. Nudging me to re-read it.

My breath came in ragged gasps. “I—I can’t. I don’t know how.”

Suddenly, the room was bathed in red light.

An alarm.

Panic flashed across his face. He lowered the knife.

“Help!” I screamed. “He woke up!”

The boy grabbed my hair, clamping his bloodstained hand over my mouth. They’ll kill us, his eyes seemed to say.

I understood.

We were both going to die.

He shoved me aside and reached for the unconscious body, slinging one limp arm over his shoulder. He struggled under the weight. My feet—acting on their own—moved forward. I grabbed the other arm. He looked to me, confused, but quickly proceeded.

Together, we hauled the body forward, step by agonizing step.

The young man’s skin was warm under my fingertips. His skin was soft.

It felt like I could feel his heart beating through my palms.

It was a steady hypnotic rhythm. Soon it was all I could hear. My labored breaths started to match his steady ones. We were in tune.

The ground softened beneath me, turning slick and unstable, like sinking into quicksand. My balance wavered. The weight of the body we carried melted away, and suddenly, he was gone.

The room stretched, blurred, then faded. I was falling. Or floating?

Above me, the blue-eyed stranger grew more distant, his form slipping through my fingers as darkness pulled me under. The glow of his eyes—sharp, searching—was the last thing I saw before they, too, disappeared, swallowed by the void.