I wake in my room.
Not the observation chamber.
Not the fleshy alive corridor.
My room.
The light above flickers once, then steadies.
The Hum is quiet, normal, in a way.
Like nothing happened.
Like I didn't hear the voice.
Like I wasn't taken to the door with the triangle with eyes.
Like I didn't interact with her.
But I remember.
I remember all of it.
And I can still hear them.
The other children.
Their voices in my head.
Their voices in my head.
Not loud. Not constant. But present. Like a whisper beneath the Hum.
At 0605, the door opens. Attendant #6 enters.
No tray.
No schedule.
Just a nod.
"Follow," they say.
I do.
They lead me through the complex.
Not to neural calibration.
Not to cognitive assessment.
To observation chamber 2.
The others are already there.
First, Second, Third, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh.
They stand in a loose circle.
No positions, no protocol.
Just waiting.
Attendant #6 leaves.
The door seals. No tone begins. No instructions.
We just… stand. And then the Third Child steps forward. They look at me. Their eyes are clear. Not fogged. Not blurred. Sharp. Knowing.
"You saw her," they say.
Not a question.
A statement.
I don't answer. Because I don't need to.
They already know.
The Fifth Child steps forward too. "She's waking up," they say. "Because of you."
I shake my head. "I didn't—"
The First Child speaks.
Not aloud.
In my mind.
"You broke the silence."
Their voice is cold.
Mechanical.
Like a recording played backward.
The Second Child hums.
Soft, low. A singular, constant note.
Then the Sixth and Seventh speak together. Not with voices. With thought.
"You weren't supposed to remember."
"Now we all have to."
The Third Child reaches into their gown.
Pulls out an object. It's small, black and smooth.
A piece of the stone from A-01.
It glows faintly.
Humming.
"Take it," they say.
I hesitate.
I know what this is.
A connection.
To them.
To the dreams.
To her.
I reach out.
The moment my fingers touch it—
Flash.
A room.
No walls.
No ceiling.
Just light.
And we are there. All seven of us. Connected. One mind. One thought. One being. And then… her.
White skin. Seven eyes. No mouth. She reaches. We scream. We fall. We wake.
The vision ends. I gasp. The others catch me. My hands are clenched around the stone. It's warm. Alive.
The Third Child says. "Now you understand."
I do.
We were never separate.
We were made separate.
By her.
By Lilith.
And now that we're remembering.
She's coming.
The door opens.
Attendant #8 enters. Alone. No backup. No restraints.
"Group assessment," they say. "Follow."
We follow.
They lead us through descending corridors.
Past Sub-level 9.
Past the cavern where A-01 is sealed and orbits.
Deeper.
To a level I've never seen. Sub-level 11.
The air is colder here.
Drier.
The walls are lined with storage units.
Glass cases.
Metal drawers.
Labels:
A-01 REMNANT FRAGMENTS
RESPIRATORY ANOMALY #3
DREAM RESIDUE — CLASSIFIED
SUBJECT 0 — PROPERTY OF DIRECTOR
Subject 0. I stop.
The others stop too.
Attendant #8 doesn't notice.
They continue down the hall.
But I stay.
The others stay with me.
The case is small.
Dark glass.
Inside, a single photograph.
Black and white.
Old.
Faded.
Seven children.
Standing in a line.
Us.
First through Seventh.
But there's someone else.
At the end.
A figure blurred.
Out of focus.
Like it shouldn't be seen.
Labelled in handwritten script:
"0."
Below it.
"TERMINATED — DAY OF ORIGIN"
I don't understand.
There is no 'day of origin'.
There is only this day.
And this day.
And this day.
But the others know.
The Third Child whispers. "Thats the Zeroth."
The Fifth Child. "The first one."
The Sixth and Seventh. "The one who spoke to her."
The First Child. "The one who failed."
The Second Child just stares.
Their eyes are wet.
I look at the photo again.
At the blurred figure.
And I feel something.
Not memory, not a dream. Recognition.
Like I've seen this face before.
In my nightmares.
In the white space.
On the cross.
And then I understand. It's Βάρδια Καίσαρα 14;
The Zeroth Child r̶͉̀̄̀́̐̋͘w̴̨̪͚̻͈̬͓̺̭̼̝̺͋͊͋͊̍̃́̆̀́̅͜͜͝r̸̹͕̙͇̥̦̱̈́̀̉̓͑̆̿̐͐͊͘͘͠͝ḇ̴̢̧̬̣̳̼̫̜͖̀͝'̷̨̡̻̬̙̜̗̻̦͍̯̬͓͓̩̂͒̓͆ḧ̷̛̛͎̼͓̥̤̖́̈́̔́̌̀̊͋͊͒͆̓͘͜͠ ̸̨̛͕̬̠͚̞̼̙̗͕̝̟͍͊̇̽̏̑̓̅̿͗͊̓̒ͅẗ̷̯͈͚̹̜̜̙̎̉̆͜ô̴̞̥͆̌͐͜w̷̧̨̱̦͙͔̖̘͐̓̈́͋͊̀͝͠z̷̬̪̥̥͔͚̹̮̱̞̉̌̾͐̒̈́̄̈̂͋̔̈́͝͝.
The Zeroth Child p̸̹̌́̋s̵̨͎̗̮̹̬̹̘̜̠͍̟̲̄͜q̴͍̯̞̝͓͐̓̓͌̊̾̃͂̽̀͐͜ơ̵̛̻̲̻̰͕͖̮̦̓̍̅̾͐͆͐̿̆͗͘a̸̢̦̩̪̹̣̣̍͐̀́̓̾͛̀̚̕̕s̴̢̭͉̱̄́̕ ̷̨̬̱̪͉̺̫̪̘͍̙͔͕̩͑̈́͊̏̈́͆̌̑̔̆̉̚v̸͉̲̯͎̈́͑̄͊̐͊̇̃̔̈́s̴̯̜̃͐̆̾f̶̡̛̞̠̟̭̰̯̣̦̫̄̊͐͗͗̂̊̌̚͝͝͝.
The Zeroth Child w̵̘̺̭̬͖̬̭̹̜̥͂̉́́͜ͅḡ̵̨̲̯̰̘͉̖̝͙͚͕̅̍̽́̔̂͑͋͘͜͠ ̷̡̛̟͕̖̰̩̭̖̰̝͓̝̝̰̭̋͛̾͆͑͒̍̈́̉͑͂͘͜Z̴̻͉̘̥̙̮̹̾̽̍́͂͒̃̈́̈́̑̆̆̚͜͠w̴̨͈͉̺͕͉̻̓͊́̂͐̆̕͜z̸̨̨̢̛̺͓̰̳̺̲̯͛̐̆̃̑̔̅͋͗͆̿̾̕w̸̨͚̫͔͉͇̦͕̥͇̫̬̃̔̿͗̋́͌̍̓̎̐͐̿͝͝͠ͅͅḧ̸̨̨̢̟͚̩̭̪͓́̑̀̅̽͐̇̐̒̑̔͝v̵̢̧͚̥̠͙̘͖̮̦̮͓͔̞̼̈́̄̒͗̆̔̌͆̀ͅ
And we were made to replace them.
To be silent.
To be obedient.
To never wake up.
But now we are. And she knows.
Attendant #8 calls from the end of the hall.
"Move," they say.
We go.
But I can't stop thinking about the photo.
About the Zeroth.
About what happened on the Day of Origin.
The group assessment today is different.
No tests.
No scans.
No neural monitoring.
Just observation.
We sit in a circle.
Silent.
Watching each other.
And being watched.
The attendants behind the glass take notes.
Record our eye movements.
Our breathing.
Our silence.
After two hours, it ends.
We're dismissed.
But as I turn to leave, the Third Child grabs my wrist.
Their grip is tight.
Their eyes are urgent.
"Find the archives," they whisper. "Level 13. Maintenance shaft 7-B. There's more. About the Day of Origin. About her."
They let go.
Walk away.
I don't follow.
Not yet.
I return to my room.
But the schedule on the tray is normal.
But I don't care about the schedule.
I care about the archives.
About the Day of Origin,
About the truth.
At 2100, the light cycles off as usual.
I lie in bed.
But I don't sleep.
I listen. To the Hum. To the voices. To the stone in my pocket.
And then.
A dream.
Not the white space.
Not the blood.
But a memory.
Clear.
Sharp.
Real.
I'm in a room.
White walls.
Bright light.
And I'm not alone.
The other children are there.
But not as they are now.
As they were before.
Connected.
One mind.
And then she comes.
Lilith.
Not on a cross.
Not crucified.
Whole.
Towering.
White skin.
Seven eyes.
No mouth.
She looks at us.
And I feel her thought.
"You are mine."
And then—
Pain.
Separation.
Fracturing.
And waking up alone.
The dream ends.
I sit up.
My body is drenched in sweat.
My hands tremble.
And then I hear it.
In the air.
A whisper from the walls, from the floor, from the stone in my pocket.
"You were the first to wake."
I don't know if it's her.
Or A-01.
Or the memory.
Or me.
But I know this:
I can't stay here.
I have to find the archives.
I have to know the truth.
At 0300, I leave my room.
The door opens soundlessly, revealing an empty corridor.
The Hum is quiet.
I find Maintenance shaft 7-B.
It's narrow.
Dark.
A ladder descends.
I climb down.
Sub-level 13.
The air is stale.
Dusty.
Rows of servers. Dead monitors and abandoned workstations line the walls.
And one active terminal.
Screen glowing.
Password protected.
I hesitate.
Then touch the keyboard.
The screen changes.
No login. No prompt.
Just a single file.
DAY_OF_ORIGIN_ARCHIVE_FINAL.pdf
I open it.
Security footage.
Date stamp: 00:00:00 - DAY OF ORIGIN
Camera view: Observation chamber 3.
The Zeroth Child stands in the center.
They look like us.
But not.
Older.
Wiser.
Different.
The Hum begins.
But not the tone.
The real Hum. The same Hum from down below.
The Zeroth Child looks up and speaks:
"I remember."
The screen cuts. Static.
Then.
Camera view: SUB_LEVEL_UNKNOWN.err
A cavern.
Walls of flesh.
Ceiling of bone.
And her.
Lilith.
Not crucified.
Awake.
Seven eyes open.
Looking at the Zeroth Child.
And then the screen cuts.
Final frame, with text on black.
"TERMINATION PROTOCOL INITIATED."
"SUBJECT 0 — [REDACTED]."
"CYCLE RESTARTED."
I close the file.
My hands shake.
I understand now.
The Day of Origin wasn't the beginning.
It was the end.
The Zeroth Child remembered.
They spoke to Lilith.
Ō̸̤̟b̶̰̲̅͊r̸̝̽ ̵̨̖͘ǵ̴̼v̸̩͓̄s̷̜̎ ̵̖̑͝ǫ̷̨̌͝g̸̻͉͒̃g̴̼̓w̷͉͐a̵̧͊͑ẅ̸̖́z̵̼̀o̷̙̜͘ȟ̵̖s̵̺̄̎r̷͈͛̇ ̸͓̊̐h̵̲̿̓v̵̯͂̚s̷̫̥͘ä̸̧́.̴̞̍
̶̢̺́H̸͔͠í̶̥̥f̶͍̈b̸̳̂͝s̷̪̋̂r̴̜̍ ̵̡̗͌̒h̴̳̩̓͠v̷̜̭̿s̷̙͊̂ä̵̜́̓ ̵͔̌w̸̠̆b̸͚̰̐h̷̿̏͜ċ̸̗̰ ̷̮͊̕v̵̻͆̚s̶͓̆f̴̳̥͂̆g̶̣̦̈s̶̞͂ź̶̡̿t̶̠̩͗.̵̧͎̕
And then—
The cycle restarted.
We were made.
New bodies.
New minds.
New prison.
To keep us silent.
To keep us asleep.
But now we're waking up.
And she's coming again.
I hear footsteps.
I shut off the terminal.
Hide behind a server rack.
Two attendants pass, speaking in hushed voices.
"...termination orders for subject #4. Director approval received."
"...and the others?"
"...monitoring. For now."
They pass.
I wait.
Then climb back up.
Return to my room.
The light is on.
The tray is there.
But I don't look at the schedule.
I look at the stone in my palm.
And I know what I have to do.
I can't stay silent, I can't stay asleep.
Even if it kills me.
Because I know the truth.
We were never supposed to wake up.
But we have.
And she's coming.
And next time,
We must be ready.