EPISODE 5: THE ISOLATION ROOM
1219 Words
Seviah was escorted without handcuffs.
Not because they trusted her.
Because they didn’t understand her.
Two guards walked a step behind, silent. No one looked her in the eye. Not even the woman who met her at the chamber doors — a tall, dark-haired researcher with red-tinted goggles and gloves that didn’t seem standard issue.
The door hissed shut behind them.
No windows. No screens.
Just a circular room, padded and silver-lined, with a single ring drawn on the floor in white.
“Step inside the ring,” the woman said, monotone.
Seviah stared at it.
“Why?”
“To ensure a safe distance. For us.”
For them.
Not her.
Of course.
She stepped in. The white ring hummed slightly beneath her feet, like it recognized her.
“State your name.”
“Seviah Lirien.”
The hum grew louder.
The red-goggled woman tilted her head.
“Tell me what you feel.”
Seviah didn’t speak.
Because it wasn’t a feeling anymore.
It was pressure — behind her ribs, in her spine, in her thoughts.
Like someone was pushing from the inside. Trying to look out through her eyes.
“Nothing,” Seviah said flatly.
“Interesting,” the woman replied. “Because the sensors disagree.”
She turned to a screen mounted behind the mirrored wall. Seviah could see faint flickers — her pulse, brainwaves, electromagnetic spikes.
The room was lighting up around her.
“We’re going to simulate a threat,” the woman continued. “To measure your reactive thresholds.”
Seviah’s fingers curled into fists.
“I didn’t agree with that.”
“You don’t have to.”
A loud buzz filled the chamber.
The lights overhead snapped into blinding white.
And then — the air changed.
Something dropped from the ceiling.
Fast.
Loud.
She flinched — pure instinct.
And it stopped inches from her head.
A training drone — like the ones they used in combat facilities — was hovering, whirring, watching her with a single red eye.
“Target acquired,” it said in a distorted voice.
“Engaging.”
It fired a small, blunt bolt — meant to bruise, not kill.
Still, Seviah ducked, breath jerking. The bolt smacked the wall behind her and ricocheted off.
“This is your fear index baseline,” the woman said calmly through the speaker. “Let’s elevate.”
The drone shifted.
She heard the power surge before it fired.
This time, it aimed for her chest.
She didn’t think.
Didn’t move.
But the ring beneath her feet lit up.
And so did her hands.
A sharp burst of heat raced up her arms, not painful — hungry.
The bolt never touched her.
It disintegrated midair.
A white pulse erupted from her chest and hit the drone with enough force to blow it backwards into the wall. Metal screamed. Sparks flew.
The glass in front of the red-goggled woman cracked — just slightly.
Seviah’s breath trembled in her throat.
Her arms were still extended, fingers glowing silver-blue. Light danced between them like static caught in wind.
The air buzzed around her like something alive.
She looked down at her palms.
And they were no longer hers.
The woman hit a button.
An alarm began to sound — low and fast.
But Seviah didn’t hear it clearly.
The voice was back.
Not whispering.
Laughing.
“There you are.”
She stumbled backward, pressing her back towards the wall — but the wall felt soft. Like it was moving with her. Or… breathing.
“Don’t let them put you to sleep,” the voice said. “Not again.”
A door opened at the far end of the chamber.
Someone new stepped in.
Not in white.
In grey. Tall. Gloved hands. A hood drawn over his head. She couldn't see his face — only his boots, soaked by the rain.
The alarms stopped.
The red-goggled woman stepped aside.
The man in gray said nothing at first.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was smooth.
And familiar.
“She’s not supposed to be in this phase yet.”
“She shouldn’t be burning.”
Seviah froze.
He knew.
Not just her name.
Her condition.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
He looked up.
And his eyes were silver.
Just like 421’s.
“I’m the one who kept you alive, Seviah.”
“But I can’t protect you anymore.”
Seviah’s eyes narrowed.
“Protect me from what?”
“From them.” He tilted his head slightly toward the mirrored wall. “And from what’s inside you.”
“You don’t even know what’s inside me.”
“I know enough,” he replied. More than they ever will. More than you do.”
She took a step forward, hands still tingling from the aftershock.
“You’re one of them. Your eyes—like his. Like 421.”
“That wasn’t his number,” the man said, calmly. “That was his sentence.”
Seviah’s jaw tightened.
“Then what was his name?”
The man didn’t answer.
“He knew me,” she continued. He said my name like he’d been waiting. He looked at me like I was supposed to—”
“Burn with him?” the man interrupted. Yes. That’s what they wanted. Two anomalies. One chamber. One survivor.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“You were meant to burn together. And cancel each other out. But the Gift… chose differently.”
“Then why am I still here?”
The man’s voice dropped.
“Because you weren’t chosen by the Gift, Seviah. You are the Gift.”
The words hit her harder than the drone bolt.
The lights flickered overhead.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“It means,” he stepped closer, now within the boundary ring, “you’re not a carrier like the others. You’re the origin. The first. Or the last. Depending on which side you’re on.”
“What sides?”
“The ones who use the Gift…” his tone darkened, “…and the ones the Gift uses.”
Seviah’s hands were trembling again, but not from fear.
From recognition.
Something in her — some old, unspoken instinct — knew he was telling the truth.
Or part of it.
“Why did they let you in?” she asked. “Why didn’t the alarms stop you?”
“Because they think I’m still theirs.”
“Are you?”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Not since you woke up.”
Behind the glass, someone was shouting orders.
The man didn’t flinch.
He stepped even closer — now inches from her. She could see the silver in his veins now, just under the skin of his neck. Glowing softly.
“They’ll come for you after that.”
“I figured.”
“You have two choices,” he said. “Let them cage you again.”
“Or?”
“Run.”
A panel on the far wall clicked — a hidden door sliding open silently.
“You have sixty seconds before they override me.”
“Why are you helping me?” Seviah whispered.
The man reached into his coat.
And handed her a folded scrap of paper — familiar handwriting.
Nali’s.
“Because she asked me to.”
- Writer
