EPISODE 3: ROOM SIX
1181 Words
EPISODE 3: ROOM SIX
The silence in Room Six wasn’t peaceful.
It was the kind of silence that vibrated — too loud to ignore, too sharp to breathe through. It pressed against the glass like it had weight, like it wanted to crawl inside Seviah’s skin and stay there.
She stood behind the reinforced wall, arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes locked on the boy inside.
Trainee 421.
He was trembling, barely clothed. His chest was marked with silver ink — strange sigils drawn across the skin like rituals carved in reverse. Some of them pulsed faintly, glowing with an unnatural rhythm.
He couldn’t have been older than seventeen.
The Awakening Chamber made him look younger. Smaller.
Disposable.
Dr. Merek stood beside Seviah, clipboard in hand, eyes flat.
“He’s already flinching,” Merek muttered. “The Gift rejects fear.”
The woman next to him — Dr. Vale scribbled a note without glancing up.
“Pulse erratic. Light response delayed. Initiate?”
“Initiate,” Merek nodded.
The lights dimmed.
A mechanical hum filled the observation hall, and something under Seviah’s feet shifted — like the entire building had inhaled.
421 looked up.
His mouth opened like he wanted to scream but hadn’t yet remembered how.
And then the sigils on his chest ignited.
White-hot.
Blinding.
The boy’s back arched. He gasped once — no sound. Just a jolt.
Then: fire. Not flame — not real fire — but something behind his eyes that burned in all directions. The temperature didn’t rise, but everyone in the room took a step back.
421 convulsed again.
His skin glowed. Not from heat.
From pain.
And then came the sound — sharp, broken, something between a cry and a breath sucked backward.
He collapsed.
“No surge,” Dr. Vale said, annoyed.
“The Gift didn’t take,” Merek added, writing. “Chamber purge in sixty.”
The medics prepared to enter, but Seviah didn’t move.
She was still staring.
421 was still.
But then—
He twitched.
Not a normal twitch — not the kind that comes from death nerves. His fingers moved. His lips.
His eyes opened.
Silver. Burning.
And then he turned his head.
He looked straight at her.
“Se…viah…”
The name wasn’t shouted. It wasn’t spoken with panic.
It was delivered. Like a message. Like a curse.
Seviah’s heart stopped.
He shouldn’t know her name.
No one here did.
Not even the staff.
Dr. Merek leaned forward.
“What did he say?”
Seviah stepped back, her mouth suddenly dry.
421’s lips pulled into a smile.
Not innocent. Not warm.
A knowing smile.
Then his head dropped sideways, and he was gone.
Chaos erupted.
Merek shouted for a full system freeze. The medics rushed in, but the boy was already cold. Dead. Body still flickering with silver echoes.
Seviah wasn’t listening.
Her name was still ringing in her ears.
Not outside.
Inside.
“Seviah…”
She pressed her fingers into her temples.
It wasn’t memory.
It was present.
Alive.
Something inside her was whispering it again.
“He saw you.”
“We saw you.”
“You weren’t supposed to be here.”
She turned from the glass and walked out of the room.
Not because she was told to.
Because if she didn’t leave now — she’d scream.
Or worse.
Burn.
She didn’t realize she was trembling until the elevator doors closed and her knees buckled.
The silence followed her — not just from the chamber, but from inside. She could feel it now: something buried just beneath her heartbeat. Heavy. Waiting.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.”
The words are repeated — not with sound, but with presence. A pressure that pushed against her ribs like it wanted to crawl out of her.
The elevator dropped her off on a different floor. No one met her. No one said a word.
Her wristband blinked green once, then blue. A new color.
The door to Observation Block 5 slid open.
Inside was another cell.
Colder.
Smaller.
And the mirror here didn’t glitch.
It stared back at her.
She sat on the bed, back stiff, jaw tight. Her fingers curled around the hem of her sleeve. There was a copper taste in her mouth. It hadn’t been there before the boy said her name.
She didn’t want to call him that. Not anymore.
He had eyes. A voice.
And somehow, he knew her.
That night — if it could be called that in a place without time — she didn’t sleep.
When her head finally tilted against the wall, her breath slowed… but something deeper kept her awake.
She dreamed.
Not of fire. Not of Nali.
But of a white room. A hallway of mirrors. And a hundred faces reflected in her own.
In the dream, they all said it at once:
“Seviah.”
She woke up choking.
In the morning, a tray of food slid through the wall. Standard protocol.
But on the tray, under the bland ration bar, was a slip of paper.
Folded. Handwritten.
“They’re lying about Room Six.”
Check the chamber logs. Look for entry S-421-A.”
Seviah stared at it for a long time.
It couldn’t be a mistake.
Nobody got paper here.
Nobody wrote anymore.
Whoever left it… wanted her to find it.
She folded the note and slid it under her mattress.
She didn’t eat the food.
By noon, the lights above her flickered again — this time, in sequence.
Blue. Red. Blue.
Her wristband vibrated once.
Then a voice came through the ceiling speaker:
“Subject S-47. Proceed to Echo Room 3.”
Her breath caught.
She’d heard of the Echo Rooms.
The ones that weren’t listed on the directory.
Where the walls talked back.
She stood slowly.
Her hand brushed the note beneath the bed.
Her fingers burned.
Only slightly — like a warning.
Or a promise.
She left the room without a sound.
The hallway to Echo Room 3 was colder than she expected. Not in temperature — in memory. Her bare feet felt like they were stepping through ghosts.
And when the door hissed open, it wasn’t a room at all.
It was a chamber of glass mirrors on all four sides.
No exit.
No light source.
Just her.
The door sealed behind her.
And the mirrors lit up.
Not with her reflection.
But with the boy.
Alive. Smiling.
Burning silver.
“You’re next,” he whispered from every wall.
Seviah’s spine pressed back against the glass.
She tried to breathe, but the air was thick — like ash in her throat.
The image of 421 shimmered, flickered, then multiplied.
Now he was in every panel, every reflection. Each version smiling wider, silver burning hotter.
Then, all at once — they stopped.
His face went still.
And the mirrors spoke in unison.
“You were chosen before you were born.”
The light cut. The chamber went black.
Silence returned.
But this time, it wasn’t empty.
Something inside her woke.
And it was listening.
- Writer
