The hum of the control room faded into the background as Ronald led Samuel to a bank of terminals near the thick glass window. Jake and Lila lingered nearby, still shaken by what they'd seen in the anomaly's swirling depths. Elena stood a few paces away, conferring with a group of technicians, her sharp eyes flicking over the monitors with restless energy.
Ronald's hands moved with the confidence of someone who had once belonged here. He tapped a few keys, and a schematic of the facility's core systems appeared on the main screen—a web of tunnels, coils, and containment fields, all converging on a single, pulsing node: the anomaly itself.
"This is the terminal gate," Ronald said, gesturing to a heavy, vault-like door at the far end of the observation deck. "It's the only controlled access point to the anomaly. When we first built it, the idea was to send probes—machines, not people—into the field to map its boundaries. But the data was never enough. Eventually, the project heads decided to send in volunteers."
Samuel studied the schematic, his brow furrowed. "And how do you get people out again?"
Ronald's face darkened. "That's the problem. There are only two ways someone can exit the anomaly once they're inside. The first is random—sometimes, people just reappear, days or weeks after they went in. We don't know why it happens, or what triggers it. They might show up in the mine, or somewhere else entirely, with no memory of how they got there."
"And the second?" Jake asked, stepping closer.
"The second method," Ronald said, "is to set the controller to the exact time the subject entered the anomaly. The system is supposed to 'rewind' the field and pull them out at the same temporal coordinates. In theory, it's precise. In practice, it's almost impossible. The anomaly's boundaries shift constantly, and the data we get back is incomplete. No one's ever managed to retrieve someone this way—not successfully."
Samuel's eyes widened. "So every time someone goes in, it's a gamble."
Ronald nodded grimly. "A gamble with terrible odds. And the more people we send in, the more unpredictable the anomaly becomes. Every entry and exit changes the field, makes it harder to control."
He glanced at Elena, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That's why I argued against her plan. She wants to feed more and more people to the anomaly, to collect data on how it reacts. She thinks if we have enough samples, we'll find a pattern, a way to control it. But all we're doing is making it stronger—and making it harder to bring anyone back."
Jake clenched his fists. "So all those people—Miya, Jeremiah, the tourists—they're just data points to her?"
Ronald's expression was haunted. "That's all they are to most of the management now. The human cost doesn't matter as long as the research continues. I tried to stop it, years ago. That's why they locked me up."
Samuel scrolled through the system logs, his fingers trembling. "What about the random returns? Is there any pattern at all?"
Ronald shook his head. "We've analyzed everything—age, health, time spent inside, even psychological profiles. Nothing fits. Sometimes it's the people who fight hardest to remember who they are. Sometimes it's the ones who give in completely. We don't know why the anomaly lets some go and keeps others."
He turned to Jake, his voice heavy with regret. "That's why your group is so important. You came out together, with your memories mostly intact. You're the only ones who've ever done that. Elena thinks you're the key to stabilizing the system, to making controlled entry and exit possible. But I think she's wrong. I think you were just lucky."
Jake stared at the glass, watching the anomaly flicker and shift. For a moment, he saw Miya's face again—just a flash, gone before he could call out. "So what do we do?"
Ronald looked at each of them in turn. "You have a choice. You can help Elena and the management, try to make the system work. Or you can help me shut it down for good. But either way, you need to understand the risks. The anomaly isn't just a machine. It's something alive, something that learns from every person it takes. The more we feed it, the more dangerous it becomes."
Samuel's voice was barely audible. "And if we do nothing?"
Ronald's answer was immediate. "Then it will keep growing. Eventually, it will break free of this facility—and then there won't be any way to contain it."
A heavy silence settled over the group. The control room's lights flickered, and somewhere deep in the mine, an alarm began to sound—a low, mournful wail that echoed through the tunnels.
Elena turned, her face set. "We're ready for the first test. Are you coming?"
Jake looked at Ronald, then at Lila and Samuel. The choice was theirs—but whatever they decided, there would be no turning back.