I sank back into the chair, its metallic frame cold and unyielding, like something ripped from a religious hunt where the accused endures endless torment at the hands of a sneering inquisitor. This wasn't far from the truth… or at least, it felt that way in the haze of the dream. I knew it was just that: a dream, a fleeting echo playing out in my mind, distant and unreal, like watching a scene unfold through fogged glass.
These dreams were always the same: echoes from a life that wasn't mine. My eyes saw through his, like a mask that didn't quite fit.
The room enveloped me in shadows, sterile and unforgiving, with a faint tang of alcohol mingling in the air alongside the sharp bite of sweat. Blurs of humanoid figures paced back and forth, muttering words that dissolved into nonsense.
They secured me with metal bands, the clamps humming softly as they locked into place. As they constricted, needles pierced my skin with precise, burning pricks as they burrowed into my veins. A man in a sterile black research uniform approached, the insignia of the New Terran Federation emblazoned on his chest.
His eyes flashed blue and violet as he looked me over. "Stay still. It'll be over quickly. Any movement during the insertion process can paralyze you or damage your brain."
Fear clogged my throat as a collar clamped around my neck, and a mask sealed over my mouth and nose. A haze of yellow bled into the clear bubble, filling each breath with a sickeningly sweet smell and a feeling of suffocation.
My heart froze into an icy beat as I watched one of the medical personnel walk behind me; drills whirred to life, their high-pitched whine vibrating through the air. "Calibration tests are standard, sir. Drill two is a hair behind in frequency compared to its sibling, though," warbled one of the blurs.
Brown hair fell as clippers buzzed against my scalp, shearing it in uneven patches. The fresh smell of antiseptic washed over my senses, burning my eyes with its intensity. "The insertion sites are prepped; initiating serum injection trial Tango-554."
My gaze dropped to the tubes snaking into my arms: one flooding me with a glowing yellow serum, the other siphoning crimson blood in rhythmic pulses.
Acid, like fire, began scorching every inch of me as it spread. I growled, low and guttural, my body arching against the restraints as pain consumed me. Gasping against the mask, I began to feel a light, raking tug from behind. Churning echoes of voices crept into my mind.
What had started as a detached vision, wearing the face of someone else, sharpened. The blurred line between a dream and something deeper… more like a memory, raw and insistent, gnawing its way into my reality.
I fought to push back, to keep the visions at bay, but this new reality tore its way into my soul. The darkness advanced, slowly devouring the room. No longer just a hazy illusion but a visceral recollection that gripped me tight. "I'm nothing… just meat," his voice echoed in the recesses of my thoughts, raw and defiant. The jarring vibrations of the drills blurred my vision, and the smooth hum of metal on bone sang inside my head. "No matter what they do to me… I'll still be me."
Then the horror deepened. From the encroaching void, multiple sets of hands emerged. They were burned, crisped, and blackened, like charred remnants from a fire that never died. Their cries and screams grew into a roaring cacophony, and then one single voice silenced it all. "Look at what he did to us!" They clawed at me from behind, their jagged nails scraping against my skin, pulling me deeper into an abyss of twisting shadows and endless nightmare. "Why? Why didn't you stop him?" The air grew thick with the stench of scorched flesh, and I thrashed against their grip, terror surging as they dragged me toward oblivion. "Join us…" they whispered in unison as I was pulled deeper into the darkness. I couldn't see or feel, only unseen waves buffeting me as the wails echoed around me.
A small, steady voice pierced through the depths of this suffocating ocean. "This dream again, huh?" An obfuscated figure faded into the murk, as if standing above an ocean of shadow.
A little girl, her features vague and shimmering, like a half-formed apparition. Her bright violet eyes locked onto mine, piercing through the chaos, and her mint-green hair floated ethereally in the void. With surprising strength, she reached out and pulled me free from the grasping hands, yanking me upward through the murky depths.
"You're still chasing his shadows? Focus on your duty, not the past." The words echoed through the void as I tumbled, weightless, spinning into darkness. The chaos softened, and my mind drifted back to reality.
Jolting awake, my heart pounded, and my breaths came ragged. The bed beneath me sagged, lumpy and worn. A chill crept up from the cool morning air as I pulled the threadbare cloak up around me, my midnight sentinel, protector of dreams.
Why am I here… and what duty am I supposed to fulfill?
I pushed myself upright, and a wave of nausea dragged me into reality proper. I staggered from the bed, my bare feet crunching on dead leaves and small twigs scattered beneath the gaping hole that exposed the overcast sky above. A dull ache throbbed in my leg, a fierce reminder of the wreck. "I pulled you from that twisted contraption, girl," the old man's voice echoed in my head, laced with sorrow.
I limped to a shelf and grabbed the rusted knife I'd found in the kitchen of the farmhouse I currently called home. The cold, worn wood of the handle felt solid in my hand. The blade, a rusted shard, reflected the sinister nature of my new world.
A dresser, caked in grime, creaked as I caught myself on it. I glanced into its cracked mirror. My face was split by the fractures in the glass. Blonde hair, like strands of gold, peeked out from beneath the bandages wrapping my head; most of my face was obscured. Skin white as snow and smoother than porcelain. A living doll.
"Don't know who you are, eh? Well… we can fix that," the old man's voice echoed, softer now. A fresh wave of sorrow flooded me. An unexpected friend, and a regretful loss.
I didn't really know you, old man, but thank you…
He may have left me, but he'd given me something to hold: a name, a gift. "Bella," the word escaped my lips in quiet rebellion against causality and fate. My eyes burned a vivid red, flecked with gold. I stared into them, and a stranger stared back.
A distinct creak echoed from the hallway beyond my cramped room. I raised my knife quickly, but my heart sank in terror.
Could it be them again?
A chill swept in from under the door. Outside, the clouds darkened slowly, swelling into a brooding mass that swallowed the daylight and plunged the room into deep shadow. The air grew thick and stifling, an oppressive weight pressing in from the hall door. I took a breath to steady myself, clutching my knife like a holy symbol, a prayer to the gods of survival.
Enough dreaming…