Aven's legs burned as he sprinted through the maze-like corridors, clutching the flickering tablet to his chest. The echoing shrieks faded behind him, replaced by the low hum of failing neon and the soft whisper of dust falling from cracked ceiling tiles.
He stumbled into a smaller gallery, lined with towering glass cases. Inside were things that barely looked real: swirling clouds of light trapped in crystal domes, tattered books with words that rearranged themselves whenever he blinked, tiny mechanical birds frozen mid-flight.
Some cases were empty, labels dangling on rusted hooks. "Personal Apocalypse Simulator (Prototype scrapped)." "Emotion Siphon (Rejected Ethics Approval)." "Parallel Self Communicator (Research Terminated)."
Each name sent a chill crawling up Aven's spine.
He checked the tablet, hoping for some clue. The device buzzed faintly, screen glitching with static, but a single line pulsed across it:
*Core Exhibit Location: Sub-Basement Archives*
He swallowed. That meant he had to head deeper—down to the oldest part of the museum, the place no one went anymore. Even the senior curators joked about it being haunted, infested with broken machines and twisted relics that never made it upstairs.
The tablet's faint glow flickered, showing an old service elevator at the end of the hall. Its doors were partially open, yawning into blackness.
Aven ran for it, feet slipping on cracked tile.
As he squeezed into the lift, the doors screeched shut behind him. He hit the button for the lowest level. The old mechanism groaned and rattled, descending in fits and starts, the lights overhead buzzing and popping out one by one.
He held his breath, gripping the cold metal railing. Somewhere far below, a mechanical whine echoed upward, followed by a deep, pulsing thump that made the walls vibrate.
The lift stopped with a jolt. Aven forced the doors open and stepped into darkness thick as ink.
The air was colder down here, smelling of rust and old paper. He switched on his penlight and moved forward, scanning the endless rows of shelves packed with unlabeled crates, shattered machinery, and yellowed stacks of files.
In the distance, he heard something moving—a soft scrape, like fingernails dragging along metal.
He swallowed, whispering, "Rhea… if you can hear me… guide me…"
A faint glow pulsed ahead. He moved toward it, breath hitching.
At the end of the aisle, in the center of a cavernous room, sat the Core Exhibit. It wasn't much to look at: a black, cube-like object on a pedestal, covered in fine cracks, leaking a faint blue luminescence from within.
The pedestal's plaque was so faded he could barely read it. But three words stood out:
*FIRST FUTURE ARCHIVED.*
He stepped closer, heart pounding. The tablet in his hands buzzed violently, static crawling across the screen. He could almost hear voices whispering from the cube, soft and seductive, offering… something.
Aven reached out, fingers trembling. The air felt electric around it, buzzing in his teeth and bones.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed his wrist.
He spun around. One of the echo-creatures loomed out of the dark, face blank, mouth yawning open in a silent scream. More figures emerged behind it, dozens of them, shambling forward, hands outstretched, black mist trailing from their fingers.
Aven jerked back, almost dropping the tablet. He swung his penlight wildly, the beam slicing through the darkness. The creatures hissed, recoiling from the glow—but only for a moment.
They lunged.
Aven screamed, ducking under grasping hands, and slammed the tablet against the pedestal. The screen cracked, sparking violently. The cube flared brighter, lines of blue light racing across its surface.
The creatures shrieked, clutching their heads, smoke billowing from their featureless faces.
Aven pressed harder, praying to anything that would listen. The cube cracked further, light spilling out in jagged beams that sliced the darkness apart.
"Please… please…" he whispered.
The first echo-creature reached him, claws raking his arm. He cried out, blood dripping onto the cube.
With a deafening crack, the cube split open completely, a wave of blinding blue light exploding outward. The echo-creatures disintegrated into ash, their screams fading into static.
Aven collapsed, clutching his bleeding arm, eyes watering from the brilliance of the light.
When he opened them again, the cube was gone. The pedestal sat empty, scorched black. The echo-creatures were dust on the floor.
The museum was silent.
Aven fell to his knees, shaking.
He had done it.
But deep in the shadows, something shifted. A new whisper curled around his ear, soft and sweet.
"You've only broken one cage," it breathed. "How many more are left?"
He looked up, chest heaving, and saw another exhibit flicker to life in the corner—a new artifact he'd never seen before, its glass case glowing faintly with pale light.
And on its label, written in perfect block letters, was his name.