The sound stopped.
For several seconds, I couldn't tell whether that was a relief or a warning.
The cracks beneath my feet remained illuminated, spreading across the floor in a pattern that looked almost like veins. Pale light pulsed through them.
Then the voice inside my head spoke again.
You remember now.
I pressed both hands against my temples.
"Get out."
Subject Eight grabbed my shoulder.
"What is it?"
"I don't know."
"You're hearing something."
"Yes."
"What?"
I looked at her.
"Myself."
Michael stared at me.
"No."
His voice was barely audible.
I turned toward him.
"What?"
He shook his head.
"That isn't you."
Dr. Vale stood completely still.
Her eyes remained fixed on the glowing floor.
"You knew," I said.
She didn't answer.
"You knew this would happen."
"No."
"Then why are you afraid?"
She finally looked at me.
"Because I thought we had more time."
The light beneath us intensified.
A deep vibration rolled through the room.
The walls disappeared.
Not physically.
They simply became transparent.
I could see the hospital above us.
People were running through corridors.
Doctors were looking around in confusion.
Patients were sitting upright in their beds.
Some were crying.
Others were staring into empty space.
Remembering.
The memories I had released were spreading.
But something else was spreading with them.
A darkness.
It moved through the hospital walls like a shadow beneath water.
I watched it travel upward.
From B9.
Through B8.
B7.
B6.
Then higher.
"What is that?" Subject Eight whispered.
Vale answered.
"The reason we built the archive."
I looked at her.
"You said the archive was created to study memory."
"That was the second reason."
"What was the first?"
"To contain it."
The darkness reached B7.
The room containing my mother.
I felt something inside my chest twist.
"My mother."
I ran toward the wall.
"Wait!" Vale shouted.
I ignored her.
The transparent wall suddenly became solid.
My hands struck glass.
On the other side, I saw my mother.
She was standing.
The restraints that had held her were gone.
She looked directly at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then she placed her hand against the glass.
I pressed mine against the other side.
"Mom."
Her lips moved.
I couldn't hear her.
Then the glass between us began filling with light.
A memory appeared.
My mother sitting beside me when I was five.
She was brushing my hair.
"You're going to forget some things," she said.
Young me frowned.
"Why?"
"Because sometimes forgetting is how we survive."
"Will I forget you?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"No."
She kissed my forehead.
"You'll forget the fear."
The memory vanished.
My mother looked at me again.
This time, I heard her.
"Don't come for me."
I shook my head.
"No."
She smiled.
"You always were stubborn."
The glass cracked.
I stepped backward.
"What is happening?"
Vale answered.
"The connection is collapsing."
"Then open the door!"
"I can't."
"You built this place!"
"Not this part."
The darkness behind my mother moved.
Something passed through the room.
She turned.
Her expression changed.
"Go."
I heard the fear in her voice.
"Mom!"
"Go!"
The glass shattered.
But nothing came through.
Instead, the entire image disappeared.
My mother was gone.
I stood there staring at the empty wall.
Subject Eight came beside me.
"She isn't dead."
I looked at her.
"How do you know?"
"Because if she were, you'd know."
She was right.
I would have felt it.
Whatever had happened, my mother's memory was still connected to me.
But the connection was fading.
I turned toward Vale.
"What is the fourth?"
She didn't answer.
"Tell me."
"The first remembers."
She looked at me.
"The second carries."
Her eyes moved toward Subject Eight.
"The third awakens."
She looked toward Michael.
"And the fourth…"
She stopped.
I waited.
"The fourth doesn't open the door."
My stomach tightened.
"Then what does it do?"
Vale whispered:
"It closes it."
The floor shook.
Michael stood.
"Then we have to find them."
I looked at him.
"Who?"
"The fourth."
"Where?"
He looked at me.
"That's the problem."
A sound came from behind us.
Three slow knocks.
Everyone turned.
There was no door.
Only the darkness.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Subject Eight moved closer to me.
"Tell me that's not what I think it is."
"I don't know what you think it is."
"Something knocking from inside the wall."
"Yes."
"Then that's probably what it is."
The wall split.
A narrow opening appeared.
Beyond it was another corridor.
Unlike the previous one, this corridor wasn't made from memories.
It was made from stone.
Old stone.
Older than the hospital.
Older than St. Agnes.
The air smelled damp and ancient.
Vale stared into it.
"I've never seen this."
Michael walked toward the opening.
"I have."
Vale looked at him.
"When?"
Michael didn't answer.
He stepped inside.
Subject Eight followed.
I hesitated.
Then I followed them.
The corridor descended.
Not steeply.
But enough that every step took us farther beneath the hospital.
The walls were covered with markings.
Some looked like symbols.
Others looked like writing.
I touched one.
A memory hit me.
A group of people standing around the archive.
Not scientists.
Not doctors.
People dressed in ordinary clothing.
They were touching the walls.
Listening.
Waiting.
One of them spoke.
"The child is coming."
Another answered.
"Not yet."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
The memory ended.
I pulled my hand away.
"Those aren't scientists."
Vale looked at the markings.
"No."
"Who are they?"
"I don't know."
"You're lying."
She looked at me.
"I truly don't know."
For once, I believed her.
The corridor ended at a circular chamber.
In the center stood a chair.
An ordinary wooden chair.
Nothing else.
Subject Eight walked around it.
"That's it?"
Michael shook his head.
"No."
He pointed upward.
I looked.
There was a mirror above the chair.
Except it didn't reflect the room.
It reflected me.
But not as I was now.
I saw myself as a child.
Five years old.
Sitting in the chair.
My father stood behind me.
My mother stood across from us.
Vale was there.
And someone else.
A fourth child.
I stared.
The memory shifted.
The child turned.
I couldn't see their face.
My father placed his hand on their shoulder.
"This is the final candidate."
My mother stepped forward.
"No."
My father shook his head.
"We don't have a choice."
"We always have a choice."
"You know what happens if we stop."
My mother looked toward me.
Then toward the other child.
"I know exactly what happens if we continue."
The memory vanished.
I stared at the mirror.
"There were four."
Vale's face had gone pale.
"Yes."
"Who was the fourth?"
She didn't answer.
Michael did.
"We were told there were only three survivors."
Subject Eight looked at him.
"Then who was that?"
Michael stared at the mirror.
"I don't know."
A sound came from behind us.
A child's voice.
"You weren't supposed to find me."
I turned.
There was nobody there.
Subject Eight whispered, "Where did that come from?"
The voice came again.
"Behind you."
We turned.
Nothing.
Then the mirror cracked.
A face appeared in the reflection.
A child's face.
My face.
But older than I had been in the memory.
The reflection smiled.
I didn't.
"Who are you?" I asked.
The reflection tilted its head.
"You."
"No."
"Yes."
"You're another subject."
The reflection shook its head.
"They gave me a number too."
"What number?"
It smiled.
"Four."
The room went silent.
Vale took a step backward.
"No."
The reflection looked at her.
"You remember me."
Vale's face crumpled.
"I thought you were dead."
The child smiled.
"I was."
Subject Eight grabbed my arm.
"What does that mean?"
The reflection answered for me.
"It means death doesn't work the way you think it does."
The mirror cracked again.
I felt something pulling at my memories.
Not taking them.
Connecting them.
Suddenly I saw everything.
The first subject.
The second.
The third.
The fourth.
My mother.
My father.
Vale.
Michael.
Subject Eight.
St. Agnes.
The archive.
The ninth level.
And one final memory buried so deeply that even the archive had hidden it from me.
I saw myself as a baby.
Not in the laboratory.
Not in the hospital.
Somewhere else.
A dark room.
My mother held me.
Someone stood beside her.
A fourth child.
Older than me.
They touched my forehead.
And I heard their voice.
"When he remembers everything, I'll wake up."
The memory ended.
I stumbled.
Subject Eight caught me.
"What did you see?"
I couldn't answer.
Because the truth was beginning to take shape.
The fourth subject wasn't waiting somewhere beneath the hospital.
They weren't another survivor.
They weren't trapped in the archive.
They had been inside the entire time.
Inside the memories.
Inside the system.
Inside me.
The child in the mirror smiled.
"You finally understand."
I looked at my reflection.
"No."
The mirror's surface rippled.
"I understand enough."
The child leaned closer.
"Then you know what comes next."
The chamber shook.
Far above us, alarms began screaming again.
The hospital lights went out.
And inside my mind, the voice returned.
Not my voice.
Not Michael's.
Not my mother's.
The fourth.
"Now we wake the world."