Observation didn’t begin with needles or restraints. It began with silence. They moved me at dawn, the hour Genesis preferred for transitions. Less resistance. Less attention. The corridors were washed in pale light, the kind that made everything look clean even when it wasn’t. I walked between two escorts who never touched me, never spoke, never looked directly at my face. To them, I was already an abstraction, Subject Vessel, Phase-B Carrier, Asset Pending Review. The observation wing was buried deeper than the living quarters. No windows. No curved walls. Everything straight, sharp, precise. This was where illusion ended and intention showed its teeth. The room they placed me in was white. Not soft white. Surgical white. A narrow bed. A transparent wall facing a control room filled with
