...
The pitch-black scene was abruptly shattered by a sound...
[Warning: Critical Vital Sign Decay Detected.]
[Warning: Critical Vital Sign Decay Detected.]
[Memory Simulation Protocol: Terminated.]
[Warning: Critical Vital Sign Decay Detected.]
[Emergency Directive: Memory Simulation Protocol Aborted.]
The echo of an artificial voice resonated in his ear, piercing the layers of darkness.
The world he once inhabited evaporated, leaving behind a void that echoed with solitude.
His apartment —his sanctuary from the outside world—his shelves lined with books, his meticulously organized room, all gone. The refreshing scent of air freshener that permeated the air, the familiar floorboards that warmed his feet —all succumbed to oblivion, like a dream fading into bitter reality.
Then, the ultimate loss: the warmth that coursed through him like lifeblood, the vibrancy of a youthful body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the effortless flex of muscle and bone—all extinguished. Replaced by an encroaching annihilation, a dark abyss that swallowed everything.
With weary reluctance, his heavy eyelids fluttered open...
The impenetrable darkness began to recede, yielding to the dim, clinical light of the desolate intensive care unit.
Slender wires tethered his frail form to a complex network of monitors, each displaying a different set of data: electroencephalogram, blood pressure, heart rate, blood oxygen levels.
The rhythmic beeping of the life-support machines sliced through the oppressive silence, each pulse heralding the deterioration of his vital signs. Yet, no response. No medical staff, no doctor, came to his aid; the outcome was sealed.
Amidst the machines, a bed carried his body, withered to a skeletal frame. Though only twenty-eight, his thin skin clung to fragile bones — a grim testament to the ruthless disease that had claimed him a year ago, slowly draining the life from his once vibrant form.
Upon his head, an advanced neural headset, a futuristic contraption reminiscent of virtual reality gear, but far more invasive, its tendrils reaching deep into his nervous system, interfacing directly with his brain.
Precise electrical signals were sent to his brain through this device. Specific regions, particularly the memory center, were stimulated, and the resulting neural signals were transferred to a simulation device. These signals were then retransmitted into the patient's body via his brain and nervous system, in an attempt to relive stored memories.
The memories displayed were unpredictable, as this technology was still experimental. Typically, the device accessed events that had profoundly impacted the patient, whether joyful or sorrowful.
He was one of the test subjects for this technology, to improve it and reduce the chance of recreating negative memories from the patient's life, by collecting data and studying the readings of their data.
This technology offered an alternative to euthanasia, aiming to ease patient suffering. For those enduring unbearable agony, it provided a way to extend life until its natural conclusion. It was a vision for terminally ill patients—granting them a chance to live, even as death drew near. To allow them to live their lives to the fullest...
All that had come before were merely memories from his life. Though they might have seemed ordinary, his brain perceived them differently.
His life was nothing more than a cage of solitude since the loss of his parents. The specter of orphanhood haunted him, even after his entire family cast him aside and stripped him of everything.
He was unlike others. He buried his emotions deep within his soul, trusting no one, choosing isolation and loneliness. For him, only reading books, drinking coffee, and showering stirred his emotions.
Therefore, the simulation program found little to display...
Even though that was his final moment. No one was beside him...
Knowing he was alone, even in his dying moments, a weak smile touched his lips. He could barely speak, but he forced the words out, a final, fragile utterance.
"...Enough...", he whispered, his voice barely a breath.
There was nothing left to say.
His weary heart yearned for rest, its rhythm faltering as his other organs failed.
His eyes drifted closed...
Again...
Darkness. Utter darkness.
An endless darkness, seeping in, slowly devouring his senses. His vision faded, as if a black curtain was drawn over his eyes, leaving only an impenetrable blackness, unlike any he had known.
A rush of emotions rushed through him, thoughts lingering in his mind:
"… so this is how it ends..."
"… Alone."
"Figures."
"... I always told myself—being alone is better than getting hurt..."
"...And in the end, it wasn't life that broke me... it was the hope that things would get better."
"Should I break down? But my heart turned to stone ages ago. Or... should I laugh at how pathetic this all is?"
"But really… was my life that dull and boring?..."
"... All the memories I've relived were... just drinking coffee on my days off. Always the same kind..."
"... There are also memories of cleaning days, and endless days of books... Was my life really that dull? Is this really all there was? Coffee, cleaning, books..."
"... Seriously? God, is there something wrong with this simulation program, or was my life really this dull?..."
"...So dull that a high-tech simulation had to dig up an old novel to make things interesting?..."
"...but..."
"... I was really angry that day. ...Over novel character's death..."
"... Can you believe that? ...A grown man, upset over that..."
"... No… its not about the novel but..."
"... It was her story..."
"… Victoria..."
"... But she wasn't just a character to me..."
"… She reminded me of someone..."
"... The me from long ago..."
"... I knew how it would end. … I knew. … And still, I hoped."
"... I wanted her to be happy... Like i always wanted my self."
...
His heartbeats, once a ringing presence in his ears, gradually faded, a distant echo dissolving into the void. Then, his inner whispers, his companions in solitude, subsided, leaving a silence deeper than any he had known.
The sensation of his own skin began to slip away; it felt as though the boundaries of his body were blurring, as if he were becoming a ghost. Even the sensation of his clothes vanished. He tried to scream, to move, to open his eyes, but his body remained heavy, unresponsive, a prison he could not break.
Despair engulfed him, a bottomless well swallowing him whole, a world devoid of time itself. He floated in a boundless void, adrift, his sense of time lost, a stranger in an alien world. He was becoming a mere idea, a disembodied consciousness.
Suddenly, the darkness began to recede, as if black curtains were slowly lifting from his eyes. His inner whispers returned, clearer now, breaking through the suffocating silence.
His sight gradually returned, from impenetrable blackness to gray shadows, then to a faint light seeping into his eyes. The pitch-black darkness became ordinary darkness, the darkness he was accustomed to.
Then, sensation returned to his body, a searing pain swept through his entire being, as if his skin was being flayed, pulses of pain exploding throughout his body. He tried to scream, but his voice failed him.
He felt his breath cut short, his chest pressing down on him forcefully, like a heavy weight crushing him, squeezing his lungs until he could barely breathe. He tried to resist, but his body was unresponsive, as if bound by invisible shackles.
He was desperate, fighting for every breath, fighting to remain conscious, trying to find an explanation for what was happening, but his mind refused to succumb to the chaos that was engulfing him.
The pain intensified, his breath choked, he could no longer endure. It was an unbearable sensation, his inner self screamed, resisted, but to no avail.
In the moment he thought it was the end, his body finally responded…
His eyes snapped open, unable to think, his body moved instinctively, driven by the survival instinct, he inhaled deeply…
"Haaaaah!"
Before he could exhale that breath, indescribable pain seized him. He waved his hands desperately in panic, sharp pain piercing his hands, ears, chest, head, and upper torso.
The pain was concentrated in that area, then suddenly, he felt the pain subside, but it didn't completely disappear. The lower part of his body, however, was stinging intensely.
He turned his gaze to the source of the pain in his legs. His vision was blurred, barely able to make out anything in the darkness.
They appeared as shadowy, spherical figures moving. Gradually, his vision began to clear, and suddenly, he wanted to scream, but he couldn't; his breath was ragged.
"Ugh…"
A groan, like that of an old man, escaped his lips, he couldn't speak, he was struggling to catch his breath…
Those balls he couldn't distinguish were rats gnawing mercilessly on the flesh of his legs, about twenty rats, most of them retreated, but three couldn't resist the taste of the flesh.
Finally, the intense pain subsided after most of the rats retreated, he regained his senses, and quickly, he began to feel around the ground for something to drive away the rats…
"Anything… please… a rock…" he muttered quickly.
He found something better, a long branch of wood, perfect for swinging, as if it were prepared for this moment…
Without hesitation, he grabbed the branch and began to swing it, it wasn't a hard swing but it was enough for crushing the first rat's head...
"Crunch!"
The first rat's skull shattered with a sickening crunch, its blood splattering across the filthy floor.
A sharp sting pierced his chest as he swung, like something jagged was scraping at his lungs from the inside. But there was no time for that; he delivered a second blow to the second rat.
"Crunch!"
The second met the same fate.
Then came the third. As he raised his hand, the pain in his chest intensified...
"Crunch!"
The blow was unsuccessful; it struck its side, not its head. The rat shrieked, convulsing in pain before crawling into the shadows.
The rat's last whimper faded into an eerie silence as he ran, and the remaining rats retreated into the shadows, granting him a moment to catch his breath at last.
His chest heaved, a desperate struggle for air, but his breaths remained ragged, accompanied by a faint gurgling sound, as if his breath was trapped... He tasted a metallic bitterness in his mouth, growing stronger, the taste of blood. He felt lightheaded, and his vision began to blur.
He continued to do so while a strange feeling washed over him, a sense of otherness. "Shorter". As if the world had expanded.
His perspective had completely shifted, his gaze fell upon his body, now smaller. He tried to move his hands or feet, but movement was a struggle, his limbs weighed down with pain. His eyes turned to his hands...
He opened his palm marked by the calluses of labor and hardened by toil, across his body. A tapestry of wounds: old scars, congealed blood, and fresh tears from the rats' teeth. Bruises bloomed on his skin, a testament to past violence. Every movement sent a jolt of pain through him. His clothes were tattered, a cheap, coarse fabric that chafed his skin with every movement. Its texture was dry, like sandpaper, creating a painful friction against his already damaged skin. The ragged holes marred it, like scars on the garment's body, bearing witness to a harsh life.
He looked around, he found himself in a cramped room resembling a cell. The air was thick and foul, a mixture of old sweat, moldy stench, and another revolting odor. The floor was cold stone, the chill seeping into his bones. And in the corner of the cell, a pile of straw appeared to be a makeshift bed."
A small barred window, too high to reach, offered a sliver of moonlight. On the opposite wall, a heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron, remained firmly shut.
He managed to stand with difficulty, swaying slightly before taking a few hesitant steps. He scanned the rough walls, wandering through the confines of the cramped cell, He felt intensely dizzy, as if the ground were spinning beneath him
"Where... what?" he thought, his body trembling with pain.
"Did i die... or ... dream... is it? Has... the simulation... malfunctioned?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus, but the throbbing in his legs made it an impossible task.
"Are these... another's memories?" , The thought was a strained, internal whisper, his mind tight with a knot of confusion.
"But... the wounds..." , His inner gaze fell upon them. "Real." He breathed the word internally, a raw, broken echo.
"So... very real." , He tried to swallow, but his throat was blocked, as if something warm and sticky prevented him from swallowing.
"The simulation... cannot... transmit pain."
The thought was barely a sigh, a desperate attempt to cling to the frayed edges of logic.
"Then... what... is happening?"
Suddenly, the distinct echo of footsteps resonated through the corridor, the sound growing steadily closer until it halted before the cell door. Then came the metallic jingle of keys, followed by the click of the cell's lock being disengaged.
The heavy wooden door creaked open...
A gruff voice cut through the silence. "I swear I heard something. Anyway, I forgot to take the body... Oh, it'll be disgusting... now."
The speaker stopped abruptly, a stout man with a circular build, his face round, with full cheeks. He wore a light helmet on his head, and his light blonde hair fell across his forehead. He wore a worn leather jerkin over a simple tunic, with some pieces of tarnished plate armor strapped to his arms and chest. His belly protruded noticeably.
His eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth hung slightly open as he stared at the boy, who leaned against the wall, his face a mask of fear and confusion. Drops of sweat fell from his forehead, indicating his intense nervousness.
"Aaaaaah!... a G-G-GHOST!?"
the guard stammered, his voice laced with terror. He turned and fled, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The boy was left alone, still reeling from the pain and the guard's reaction.
"What kind... language wa...?" , he thought, his mind racing.
"Why... do I... understand it? ...those clothes... a guard?"
His breaths grew shallow, his muscles failing. A bitter chill seeped into his bones, despite the warmth of the cell. A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he lost his balance, succumbing to darkness. He fell upon the cold stone floor, still and unmoving...
°°°
Moments later, the guard, panting and wide-eyed, returned with another guard, a woman named Elara. "Are you sure you weren't hallucinating, Borin?" Elara asked, her voice skeptical.
"I swear, Elara! He was standing right there, like a... a ghost!", Borin insisted, still shaken.
Elara was in the lead, advancing with confident and swift steps, a stark contrast to Borin's stammering panic.
She was tall, with broad shoulders and a slender waist, reflecting her physical strength and agility. She scanned the cell with a critical gaze from her piercing grey eyes, Her face was not of traditional beauty, but it was strikingly compelling.
Her sharp features reflected an unwavering determination, and her dark, brown skin added to her strength.
Her thick, dark hair was pulled back into a tight and practical braid, falling behind her shoulders, revealing the sharp line of her jaw and the resolve of her chin. She wore light leather armor, adorned with small metal plates, providing simple protection without hindering her movement.
Elara approached the boy's prone body, her expression shifting from skepticism to concern.
"Has he moved?" , She placed a finger beneath his nose, checking for his breath.
His breath came in short, shallow gasps, each one punctuated by a soft, wet gurgle...
"He's alive!", she exclaimed, her voice sharp. "Borin, go quickly! Summon Priestess Lyra! Fast, GO NOW!"
Borin, his face a mask of bewildered compliance, stammered, "Ok-okay, I will, I will now!"
He turned and bolted down the corridor, the clatter of his greaves echoing off the stone walls.
Elara's thoughts raced, her brow furrowed. "I swear, he wasn't breathing this afternoon. He was dead!..."
A flicker of something like hope, or perhaps desperation, sparked within her, reflected in a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "Maybe... maybe my cursed luck is finally turning?"
....