The silence in the corridors of the abandoned St. Jude's Hospital was heavy, like a lead blanket.
The cold, stagnant air carried the scent of dust and forgotten time.
Ethan tiptoed back through the dark hallways, the beam of his flashlight dancing before him like a luminous ghost.
Every step was calculated, every sense working at its peak.
The fear he'd felt earlier hadn't vanished, but it had now frozen, transformed into a sharp focus like broken glass.
He once again reached the end of the hallway, where the gray steel door stood as a silent testament to a secret in this dead place.
The small red light on the keypad was still blinking steadily, like a mocking eye staring at him.
He stopped a few feet away, hidden in the shadow of a concrete pillar, and the conversation—or rather, the argument—began in his head.
It was a conflict between two voices: the voice of caution, and the voice of resolve.
The voice of caution whispered in his mind, carrying the echo of the terror he'd felt in the guard's dream.
*"What madness are you about to commit? You were almost discovered. A psychic security patrol! Do you understand what that means? They monitor even the dreams of their own employees. This place is fortified beyond your imagination."*
The voice of resolve answered, and it was his own voice, but colder, steadier.
"And that's exactly why I have to continue. Stopping now means they'll be looking for the 'intruder' who tripped the alarm in their guard's dream. Hiding will make me prey. Attacking is the only defense I have left."
"And what if there are real guards behind the door?" the voice of caution argued. "What about cameras? Motion sensors? You're not a soldier, Ethan. You're just a young man who knows how to sneak into dreams. In the real world, you are weak."
"I know," Ethan admitted to himself, feeling the sting of truth in those words. "That's why I'm not going to storm the place. I won't fire a single shot. I'm just going to take a look. One look. Knowledge is all I have right now. And without it, I'm just a target waiting my turn in the dark."
The debate was settled.
The greater danger wasn't in what might be behind the door, but in remaining ignorant of what he was facing.
He advanced toward the steel door.
He ran his gloved hand over its cold, smooth surface.
No handles, no keyholes. Just the black digital keypad.
He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
He raised his hand and entered the code he had paid so dearly for.
9...Beep.
5...Beep.
2...Beep.
7...Beep.
He pressed the small, green enter button.
For a second, nothing happened.
He felt his heart stop.
Was the code wrong? Was it a trap?
Then, he heard a sharp electronic *click*, followed by a muffled hiss, as if air pressure was being released.
The heavy steel door swung inward by a few inches, revealing a deeper darkness.
The air that flowed from the opening was completely different from the hospital's air.
It was cold, dry, and sterile, carrying the faint scent of ozone and clean plastic.
It was not the smell of an abandoned place, but of a fully operational laboratory.
He pushed the door cautiously. It was incredibly heavy.
He slipped through the narrow opening and pulled it quietly shut behind him.
He didn't close it completely, leaving it slightly ajar, just in case he needed to make a quick escape.
He found himself in a pristine white corridor.
The lighting didn't come from normal lamps, but from faint blue LED strips embedded where the walls met the floor, giving the space a strange, unreal glow.
Everything was painfully clean. No dust, no trash, no sign of neglect.
This was another world, completely separate from the decay surrounding it.
He moved forward cautiously, the sound of his rubber-soled shoes the only thing breaking the oppressive silence.
He passed through a short hallway and arrived at a large room with glass walls.
And through the glass, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
It wasn't strange machines or devices.
It was people.
About a dozen of them, men and women of various ages, were lying in sleek white capsules that looked like futuristic hospital beds.
They were connected to thin wires and IV tubes.
They wore simple white garments, their faces peaceful, as if in a deep and restful sleep.
But the massive monitors hanging above each pod told a different story.
They displayed intensely complex and active brainwaves, heart charts beating rapidly, and vital signs flashing red and orange.
They weren't sleeping.
They were battlefields.
Ethan felt his fists clench. These were the "antennas" he had read about in Dr. Thorne's dream.
Humans with natural dreaming abilities, being used as booster stations for Somnus Corp.
He remembered his sister, Chloe, lying in a hospital bed in the same way, and a wave of cold fury washed over him.
He forced himself to look away from the horrific scene. His time was limited.
In the corner of the room, he saw a workstation, a computer terminal still running, its screen displaying complex data.
Perhaps a technician had left it in a hurry.
This was his chance.
He sat in front of the screen. There was no password.
The system thought it was in a completely secure environment.
Ethan began Browse the files, his hands moving quickly over the keyboard.
Most of the files were encrypted or required high-level clearance.
But he wasn't looking for technical details; he was looking for names, for projects.
He typed into the search bar: Morpheus.
A single result appeared. A protected log file.
He clicked on it, and an ACCESS DENIED message appeared. He cursed under his breath.
Then he tried something else. He searched for Ares Thorne.
Several files appeared. He opened the most recent one, a file titled "Asset Monitoring Report."
He began to read. The language of the report was cold and impersonal.
Asset 'Thorne' is showing increasing signs of paranoia... Psycho-stimulant 'P-7' successfully deployed... Subconscious resistance was stronger than projected... Unauthorized external interference detected. Source: 'Morpheus'.
So, they knew he had intervened.
And now, the part that made him feel cold.
Recommendation: Elevate threat level for 'Morpheus'. Initial estimates suggest he may be an unregistered natural 'Conductor'. Real-world identity must be determined and asset captured for study.
They didn't just know he existed.
They were now actively hunting him.
He felt a surge of panic as he quickly copied some key files onto a small encrypted drive he took from his pocket.
Then, he searched for something else, something a dark intuition pushed him toward.
He searched the employee and asset database for the name "Chloe."
A single file appeared. An old, archived file.
Her medical file from the hospital four years ago.
And next to it, a short note:
Asset 'Chloe': Primary-grade natural Conductor. Showed unexpected resistance to initial stimulation. Asset abandoned after familial interference (Brother, Ethan) weakened the signal. Assets with strong emotional ties are considered unstable. Status: Passive monitoring.
Ethan.
They mentioned his name.
They knew. They had known everything from the very beginning.
In that moment, as he stared at his name and his sister's on the screen, the corner of the monitor flashed with a silent, red alert.
[Unauthorized Network Access Detected. Lockdown Protocol Activated.]
He didn't wait. He snatched the drive, stood up, and ran.
He didn't look back.
A faint internal alarm began to wail down the white corridor.
He ran as fast as he could, pushing the heavy steel door open into the darkness of the old hospital, then bolted through the decaying hallways, the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.
He didn't stop running until he reached his car and dove inside.
He sat behind the wheel, panting, sweat pouring from him.
He wasn't trembling from the fear of being caught, but from the absolute rage he felt seeing his sister's name in their files.
She was a target. She wasn't just a random victim.
They had targeted her. And they knew him.
He rested his head on the steering wheel, feeling the crushing weight of the helplessness he had lived with for years as he watched his sister suffer.
Now, that helplessness was transforming into something else.
Something hard and sharp.
He spoke aloud in the silence of the car, talking to no one but himself, his voice hoarse and broken with fury.
"Chloe... they knew. They knew this whole time."
He lifted his head, and any trace of fear was gone from his eyes.
It was replaced by an icy glint, the gleam of unshakable resolve.
"I'm not just going to stop you now," he whispered to the darkness.
He started the engine, its headlights cutting through the night.
"I'm going to dismantle you. Piece... by piece."