CHAPTER FOUR:THE MASK
1094 Words
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** *
Arielle didn’t drive home.
She parked in a silent motel two towns away, one of those off-the-road places with flickering neon, paper-thin walls, and a “no ID, no questions” policy. It was safer. For now.
The flash drive burned cold in her hand as if it knew what it carried.
Room 77 still lived in her skin. The metal chair. The two-way mirror. The feeling of being *watched* even now. She hadn’t been inside a memory — she’d been inside a lab. A test. Maybe a weapon.
And maybe… she wasn’t the only one.
***
She connected the flash drive to her laptop.
The screen flickered black, then loaded a simple terminal interface. A command prompt appeared.
> LOGIN: *A77*
> PASSWORD: *UNKNOWN*
She hesitated — then typed: *ARI77*
The system accepted it.
Her heart stopped.
A file appeared on-screen: *“SESSION LOG – E77: PROJECT REFLEX”*
She opened it.
A grainy video played.
A room. A mirror. A small child strapped to a chair — *her*.
A man in a lab coat paced behind the glass. His voice was clear.
> “Day 28. Subject A77 shows complete dissociation under Reflex Phase Three. Zero memory retention. Emotional resistance developing.
> Progress: optimal.
> Vane recommends memory lock protocol. Expose to trigger in adulthood. Monitor responses.”
*Vane.* The name from the fire logs.
*“Dr. Harlan Vane – Project Overseer.”*
The video continued.
Another doctor entered. Whispered something.
The camera zoomed on the girl’s face.
Eyes open. Still. Blank.
Then she blinked once.
The screen went black.
> “END OF SESSION.”
Arielle’s hands shook.
She wasn’t just *on* the list. She was the *origin of the experiment*.
She closed the file.
That’s when another one loaded itself automatically. Labeled simply: *“MASK.”*
It wasn’t a video. It was a photo.
A patient ID badge.
Black and white.
A young man — maybe 8 or 9 — face partially obscured. The photo had been cut in half.
But the tag below was clear:
> *B77 – Noah*
Noah?
A second subject?
She zoomed in.
There was something familiar about his eyes.
Something she couldn’t place — like a memory trying to surface but kept drowning.
She checked the list again. Name #13 was simply: *“Noah.”* No last name. No history. No record.
Dead? Survivor?
The killer?
A sharp knock hit the motel door.
She jumped.
No peephole. No chain lock.
She stayed still.
Another knock.
Then a pause.
Then a low voice, muffled through the door:
*“I remember you.”*
Her blood turned to ice.
The door clicked — unlocked — even though she hadn’t touched it.
She grabbed her coat, laptop, and the flash drive in one motion, slipped out the bathroom window, and bolted into the night.
***
She drove until her gas tank nearly cried out.
Back in the city, she stopped at an old internet café — the kind filled with flickering monitors, broken keyboards, and security camera blind spots. She paid cash. Took the last booth.
Replugged the flash drive.
Tried something bold.
She searched the drive’s hidden partitions.
And there it was.
*A private message thread — between Dr. Vane and someone signed only as “B77.”*
She opened the first exchange:
> *B77*: The system is resetting. I don’t remember her fully. But I know her face. I know what she became.
> *VANE*: You’re unstable. You were not meant to carry memory this long.
> *B77*: She’s the trigger. She’s not broken — she’s asleep.
> *VANE*: Then wake her up.
> *B77*: Or end her?
The last message came without warning. Sent just hours ago.
> *B77*: She’s started looking. I’ll bring her back to Room 77.
***
Arielle sat frozen.
Was *B77… Noah?* Was he the killer?
Or was he trying to warn her? Wake her up?
She couldn’t tell anymore who was good. Who was dangerous. Or what the truth really was.
But one thing was clear: she wasn’t meant to remember.
Someone had tried to *erase* her.
And someone else was trying to *restore* her.
***
On her way out of the café, she passed a wall of old missing persons posters.
One caught her eye.
From 2004.
A boy, 9 years old. Pale eyes. Same shape as the boy in the ID badge.
*NOAH REESE.*
Disappeared after leaving a foster home outside Providence.
Below it, someone had scribbled in black ink:
*“FOUND HIM.”*
The edges of the poster were burned.
Arielle stared at the photo until her head buzzed.
She whispered, “I know you…”
Flash.
A hand reaching for hers in the hallway.
Two children huddled in the dark.
A voice: *“Don’t forget me. Ever.”*
She staggered back.
Behind her, someone had written on the café wall in ash or charcoal:
*“A77 + B77 = THEM.”*
And under it:
" The program never stopped. it evolved".
> It’s balance.
> You woke up. That means it’s working.”
> “You’re not who you think you are, Arielle. You never were.”
The screen flickered — static.
Then one last flash:
> *“Do you feel it now?”*
The video ended.
Arielle stared at her reflection in the black screen, heart racing.
***
She pulled out Julia Knox’s journal again — flipping to the pages that never made sense.
One passage now screamed at her:
> “They made 77 test subjects. But only two were marked for activation.
> One to remember.
> One to destroy.
> God forgive us if both survive.”
Tears welled up in her eyes — not from sadness, but terror.
She remembered a dream — no, a *memory* — of a boy taking her hand during the tests. Whispering something in her ear as she was dragged away.
*“Don’t forget me. Ever.”*
Noah.
He had been in Room 77 too.
And now he was wearing the mask — or maybe becoming it.
But what about her?
Was she supposed to stop him?
Or join him?
***
Her thoughts were broken by a news alert on TV.
“Third High-Profile Death Shocks Capitol — Sources Confirm 77 Symbol Found”
The anchor’s face was pale.
“This marks the third unexplained death connected to what some officials are now calling a serial conspiracy…”
Arielle turned up the volume.
- Writer
