He followed the old man's directions.
A road that shouldn't exist. A bridge made of rusted ambulance frames. Beyond that—a fence lined with biohazard tape faded to bone-white.
The structure beyond it was bent, broken, and barely standing. Concrete walls charred black. Windows punched out. On the gate, a plaque:
ST. ELIAS MENTAL HEALTH & EXPERIMENTATION FACILITY Condemned by State Order: 18 Years Ago
He stepped through.
The place remembered him.
—
The walls peeled like burned skin. IV tubing still dangled from broken lights. Charts lay scattered across the floor, their ink smeared—except for one folder that seemed… untouched.
Patient File: M13 Name: [Data Corrupted] Subject Memory Index: Inverted > Threat Class: UNKNOWN
Inside: a photo stapled to the corner—faded, half-burned. But it was him. Smiling. Younger. Wearing a hospital bracelet and the same scar on his cheek.
He turned the page.
The records blurred.
Then—a scream from behind the walls. Metal clanging. He ran.
Down a hall marked ARCHIVE he found a room sealed in plastic. Inside: VHS tapes. Dozens. Each labeled in fine black ink:
Prototype 3-A, Subject M13, Session 07... Reflex Response: Trauma Recall... Procedure: Split Memory Experiment...
And then—one marked in red.
"DO NOT VIEW — Subject Awakening"
He inserted it into the player.
The screen flickered.
Him—strapped to a gurney.
Doctors with blurred faces surrounding him.
One of them whispers, "He volunteered for this."
Another: "No, he begged for it. Said he wanted to forget."
Then it changed.
The man in the chair looked at the camera. Looked at him.
And smiled.
"I know you're watching. I know you've made it here." "But I'm not the one you should be afraid of." "I'm just the echo."
The footage glitched.
And for one frame—just one—he saw a face behind his own. Hollow eyes. No skin. Just white. Grinning like it knew everything.
The lights in the room died.
The screen turned black.
But the tape kept playing.