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SYSTEM INITIATED:
Simulation 2: Subject Trey O'Malley
Simulation Parameters: Trauma Source Identified — Psychological Breakdown Risk High
Commencing Simulation...
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Trey opened his eyes.
His breath caught in his throat. **Something was wrong.**
The walls around him weren't the dull, featureless ones of his prison cell. They were cracked, yellowed, worn—**familiar**. His childhood bedroom? No. But **he knew this place**. It felt like déjà vu, like he had lived here before.
He shot up, heart pounding in his chest. **The body wasn't his.** His hands trembled, thinner, paler, marred by scars and marks—**not his own.** The floor under him creaked, a wooden floor with a sharp knife on the side, and he didn't recognize it, but his mind—**Jonah's mind**—did.
**Name:** Jonah Carter
**Age:** 17
**History:** Abused and tortured by his so-called "friends."
**Trauma:** Psychological and physical torment.
**Trigger:** A friend asking to come over.
**Outcome:** [CLASSIFIED]
Trey's head spun, the memories crashing over him like a flood. **This wasn't him.** His hands shook as the trauma of Jonah's life—his pain—ripped through him, forcing him to remember every detail. Every wound. Every moment of fear.
He gasped for air, fighting to push the foreign thoughts out. **Focus. This is a simulation.**
The air was thick. Cold. His body was lighter, disconnected. He looked down at himself again. **Jonah.**
The sunlight outside streamed in, casting harsh shadows across the walls. A broken old fan hummed in the corner, its blades turning lazily. The faint hum of traffic outside. The normality.
A buzz. His phone lit up.
Trey stared at it, a sinking feeling in his gut. He shouldn't—**he couldn't**—but his fingers moved without his permission, grabbing the phone from the bed.
**"Yo, Jonah, we chillin' at your place today?"**
Trey's heart pounded. The message felt like a weight, too heavy to bear.
**No.** He dropped the phone like it burned him. His palms were slick with sweat. The room swam around him, the walls closing in. **Don't answer. Don't answer.**
The phone buzzed again.
**"Dude? Hello??"**
A quick knock at the door. His breath caught.
The sound echoed in his ears—**too familiar.** Too real. **Jonah's fear** crawled up his spine.
The door creaked open.
"Jonah! Hey, man, I was knocking forever." The boy stepped inside, uninvited, his face full of easy smiles, his eyes lighting up as if nothing had happened, as if everything was fine.
**Everything was not fine.**
"Yo, what's up?" The boy dropped onto the bed, laughing. "I was texting you, but I guess your phone's dead or something."
Trey didn't respond. His pulse was a drumbeat in his ears. He could feel the blood rushing through his veins, the pressure mounting with every word his friend said, every movement he made.
The boy—**Jonah's friend**—chattered on. "So, I was thinking, let's hang out today. Haven't been here in a while."
Trey didn't move. He couldn't. He felt trapped in this body, suffocated by Jonah's past. The walls of the room, the familiar smell of cheap cologne and stale air, they **weren't his**, but they felt like they belonged to him. **Like they were part of him.**
A cold, heavy sweat broke out on his neck. **It's coming. It's coming.** The walls felt too close now. Too tight. The air too thick.
Another knock at the door. He couldn't breathe.
"Jonah?" the boy called, his voice light, unaware. "What's up? You good?"
"You're not good." Trey's heart twisted. Jonah's past was a chain around his throat, tightening with every breath. He reached for the knife without thinking. It felt familiar in his hand, the cold steel heavy.
The boy stopped talking. His eyes narrowed. "Hey, man, what's—what's wrong?"
Trey didn't have time to respond.
Everything went **black**.
The world around him **stretched** as his mind tore away from reality.
**The trauma triggered.**
He lunged.
The boy barely had time to register what was happening before Trey was on top of him. The blade sank into soft flesh, the boy's scream cut short by the weight of Jonah's rage, a pent-up fury, a torment unleashed.
Blood—**hot. Red. Sticky.** It splashed over Trey's hands, his arms, and he didn't stop. Each strike was a replay of Jonah's pain, a physical manifestation of every cut, every bruise, every wound that had been inflicted on him in the past.
His mind barely registered the boy's stillness. The body beneath him. The ragged, desperate breaths.
Jonah was never allowed to be anything other than a victim. Never allowed peace. And now, **neither was Trey.**
His hand **shook** as he let go of the knife. His breath was shallow, the world spinning around him. He was **stuck**—caught in a loop, a memory, a horror that refused to let him go.
The door slammed open.
Trey turned toward the sound, but his vision was blurry, his body slow to react.
**Bang!**
The gunshot rang through the room, so loud it vibrated his skull.
He heard the noise before he felt it. A burning sensation in his chest, as if his body had been set on fire. He staggered back, his knees buckling beneath him. He could feel it—**the blood**, warm and thick. His skin went cold as the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.
His hand reached for the wound, but it wasn't enough. The world tilted. He couldn't see. He couldn't breathe.
**Bang.**
The door creaked open wider. Trey could feel eyes on him, but it didn't matter anymore.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
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SYSTEM COMPLETE:
Simulation 2: Subject Trey O'Malley — Trauma Trigger Executed
Results: Subject Mortally Wounded — Immediate Termination Required
Simulation Over.
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